#To preserve the Earth for future generations | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

almostfoxglove · 3 months ago

Text

AN END TO DROUGHT

written for @perotovar's offering of Frith

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Javier Peña x f!Reader GOD: Freyr God of fertility, harvests, and peace WORD COUNT: 5.4k CW: Smut (f!oral, m!oral, unprotected piv, creampie).

SUMMARY: The future of your family's homestead hangs in the balance as Javier Peña comes home in the middle of a drought.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

For two fortnights you’ve seen no rainfall. Not a single, silver drop. The orchard, rich with the stunted globes of pale apples not yet fully formed, withers browner every day. Leaves crisp and folded in prayer, the last-ditch desperation of dying fronds. You spend hours hauling well water to the rows of cropland on which your livelihood relies, but it isn’t enough. Each morning you wake to the sun rising phoenix-like on the horizon, hotter and more accusing than the day before.

You speak to the trees, the fledgling stone fruit, apologizing when there is no more water your body can carry, when the well runs dry.

Six generations your family has raised apples like they raised their kin.

Now it will die in this drought with you as its shepherd.

Hopeless in your waking, back throbbing, shoulders sore, you rise from your bed at the crack of a new dawn to the fragrance coaxed every Sunday by your mother’s slender hands. She is fragile now in that child-like way, skin thin and veins sapphire blue, hearing going, but sturdy, still, for you. Doesn’t matter that you’ve been grown for decades now, solely responsible for the farm and her mounting care—your mother bakes a pair of her grain-kissed boules every week without fail.

“There you are,” she says, when you are just two steps away. These days she cannot hear your footsteps on the stairs.

“Sit, now,” you say softly, slipping your hand over hers to take the bread knife, and with a soft tsk your mother surrenders before settling at the breakfast table.

You break bread together: salted butter swept glistening over the delicate crumb and sturdy crust, spoons of preserves canned the year before. Cinnamon and cloves, honey and stewed apples, wild pickled blueberries. It takes so long to notice the change in the air, but when you do it’s obvious—you aren’t sweating in the way you have for weeks. The house, once sweltering, has cooled ever so slightly. When you gaze out the windows into the orchard, the sky is no longer the blue you’ve come to resent, but a wash of cotton batting.

Clouds.

Your mother, thin wire glasses low on her nose, grins at your expression.

“He’s home,” she says.

“Who?”

Her smirk is the same as you remember it being when you were a girl. “The Peña boy,” she says, lifting her bread slice to her mouth. “Weather always fixes itself when he comes ‘round.”

You hum beneath your breath. You can picture him only vaguely—lean and liquid, little more than a silhouette in the distance on the other side of the fence that cages your family’s property from his. His father you know better, see often. Spiced apple cider traded for horse manure or Chucho’s brawn. Twice this past winter he fixed your fence after a furious storm and asked for nothing but a loaf of your mother’s bread in return.

Javier you’ve not glimpsed in a decade give or take, if you’re remembering right. Moved somewhere south for duty’s dauntless call.

In the lullaby of easy silence, you finish your meal, rinse the dishes, and walk out into the fields with the second loaf in hand where overhead the sky is performing a miracle befitting the gods: letting out the first tender, forgiving drops of rain. Your body brightens as you watch it freckle and darken the starving, yellowed earth.

A caw, something of a laugh, shocks loose from your chest—delight, pure in its relief.

Tracing the aisles of death-bed apple trees, you sweep your fingertips along their trunks. Water pools in the green spades turned to spoons for liquid crystal. The precipitation for which you’ve longed and begged and prayed: here, at last, to save the grange.

The rain picks up. Forceful in its abundance, peppering the sandy earth. Soon your boots stick as you walk between trees, dirt becoming mud, so you shield the boule beneath the leaf of your buttoned shirt.

At the end of the orchard, the log fence stands and the grass grows tall and clover-riddled, purple thistles starved yellow in the heat. You stride towards the fence, far beyond which the Peña house stands white and shingled, framed by the umbrellas of old oak trees that border the meadows in which their herd of equines laze back and forth, grateful as you for the merciful change in weather. It is beautiful here, though it’s easy to forget when all the season brings is wilting.

You hear him before you see him: a quiet, clicking tongue.

Then a mare picks up her cantor, spurred forth by Javier—indeed returned, wide in the shoulders and dark hair slicked by rain, out forty feet or so—tanned skin made gold around his eyes by yellow aviators, periwinkle shirt undone a button too low. More handsome than you remember, but it’s been a long time.

Your mother was right: it seems he brought the rain home with him.

As you come to a stop near the fence, tall grass clinging to your calves, his head turns slowly in your direction. Jaw working over something—gum, if you had to guess. You lift your free hand, show him your open palm, and he takes a last look at the horse before sauntering your way.

Like you, he’s undisturbed by the rain. No shelter-seekers here; you’re grateful enough to bathe in any storm. Come hell or high water—isn’t that how the saying goes? You’d swim any flash flood after all this unending dearth, drink any tidal wave.

“Heard you were home,” you call out over the pebbling downpour, watching his broad hand rake through his hair.

Much more handsome than you remember, the nearer he strides. Unhurried, Javier lifts his sunglasses off to slip into his shirt pocket and even from some way off you don’t miss the path of his brown eyes as he takes you in. Against your better judgment, the hungry stripe of his gaze flips something low in your stomach, something needy.

He stops just shy of his side of the fence, no more than an arm’s length away, as the splatter of kind weather kicks up the earth’s perfume.

“This morning,” he admits, his voice all gravel and mead. Low and heady, a little sweet. Not shy—his eyes drop again, this time to your stomach where you’re holding the bread beneath your shirt. Sort of useless now—the rain’s too strong to save it—so you draw it out, flashing him by accident a glimpse of your bare stomach where his gaze stays pinned.

Then, bread rising in your hand, seeded crust glistening as it speckles wet, his eyes at last leave you to follow it. “Ma thinks you brought the rain,” you say, not bothering to hide your smirk.

The corner of his mouth pulls into his cheek. “That so?”

You shrug, loaf held like a waitress’ tray not yet offered. “Accordin’ to her.”

To your surprise you see in his eyes what appears to be timidity—perhaps bashful to be given credit for the sudden end to the wrecking drought he’s no doubt heard about. With a sweep of your arm, you present the bread in your outstretched hand and one dark brow rises high on his head.

“Before it’s drenched,” you insist, and Javier takes it, smile lopsided and pretty.

Above the chuffing sound of a horse grazing on the trampled grass, the sky splits like a seam and sunlight cuts through the cloud’s white cover, throwing down a ribbon of yellow that licks the stables.

Javier tilts the bread in his hands, inspecting the ear, the crust. Flashes those dark eyes back at you, exacting and tender at the same time.

“Our way of saying thanks,” you say, already stepping backward, toward the apple trees. “Neighbor.”

The rain doesn’t stop for three days—just long enough to wash the ash of long-snuffed forest fires from the orchard’s leaves. When the sun returns whole and yolk-gold to the sky, it brings heat of a kinder type. Warm for the growing things but barbless in its licking flame. You swear in just three nights the orchard lifts itself from its stupor—broadens, stretches, unfurls new leaves.

Your mother bakes like she’s got an army to feed and doesn’t wait till Sunday to do it.

“Take them, take them,” she insists, as fragile in stature as she is adamant in tone. Such a small, hunched little thing. “Least we can do.”

“Ma,” you sigh, powerless to her persistence, how she rests the arched handle of a basket in your hand for you to take. “You don’t seriously think he—”

She tuts softly, shoos you with one pallid hand before re-knotting the bow of her apron behind her back. “Just be grateful,” she says. “S’only right.”

Might as well be a girl again because here you are, obedient. Carrying the basket of seeded bread across the grass, between reborn apple trees, the fragrant orchard rows that days ago seemed doomed to die. Your heart thuds, surrendering itself to gratitude. Suppose it doesn’t hurt anything to take the Peñas bread.

Javier’s out in the pasture cleaving a rotten log from a sunken fence panel with an axe. White t-shirt translucent and clinging to the muscle that banks his back, he heaves the blade down with a biting crack and a grunt. Your footsteps give you away—he straightens as you hop the fence between your properties and land on his side, halting his rhythmic swinging.

As he turns, face halved by the shadow of an oak looming overhead, eyes squinting to make you out in the light, Javier cocks an eyebrow, dimple winking in his cheek.

“Neighbor,” he says, unabashed, now, in his lingering gaze. Dark curls cling to his temples and forehead, licked by sweat, across which he wipes the back of his forearm before setting the axe down against the fence.

Growing up on adjoining farms never sowed friendship between you—you’d estimate you’ve exchanged no more than a couple hundred words in damn near four decades—but there is in Javier a certain familiarity. A sense of him fitting into the landscape, reliable as an oak always looming in the distance. As constant as these valleys and hills, as the house beyond his muscled shoulder. Never something to acquaint yourself with, but something to rely upon.

Peculiar to stand before him now—twice in the same week—exchanging words.

You hold out the basket, linen cloth folded neatly over the boules. Javier, eyeing you suspiciously, takes one cautious step toward you with his hands on his narrow hips, peering down at your offering. His eyes flicker beyond you to your house and though you don’t look back you’d bet the whole season’s harvest that your mother is standing on the porch, watching. Guaranteeing you hand off the gift as she’s asked, like you aren’t well past grown.

Amused, he hums low and quiet. “For me?” he muses, knowing the answer, and when you roll your eyes he only smirks. Pleased, maybe teasing you.

You squint at him—glistening, all sinew and bated breath. Your mother’s mind may be failing in that drawn out, terrible way—hearing fading, her logic a little swimmy—but standing this close to Javier you can’t blame the woman for mistaking him for a god.

“Just take it,” you say, betrayed by the curl of your lips. “She won’t let me back in the house ‘till you do.”

This time as he slips the gift from your hand to his, Javier sweeps his fingertips against your open palm, sending a sparkle of heat up the length of your arm. You watch him peel the frond of cloth back, unveiling the golden tithe as you drop your arm at your side. When he inhales slow and deep you can smell it too, that redolent unfurling of warmth. Hypnotic, despite its familiarity. Hypnotic, too, is the breadth of his chest as he takes that long, indulgent breath, thin fabric slick to his damp, lithe form.

“She really think I brought the rain?” he asks, frowning a little. Watching you like he knows you’re watching him. Each of you sizing the other up, scrambling to build opinions of someone who’s only ever been a figure across the lush trees and grass.

Did you once lose a kite to one of their oak trees? You think you might remember a young, rawboned Javier climbing a web of gnarled branches to fish it free, delivering it safely to where you waited on your side of the fence. Yes, you can see it now—that lazy, one-sided smile on his boyish face, the sun-bleached kite, and the relief of its homecoming to your trembling hand.

Three decades older he is no less honest in the way he awaits your reaction.

“Or she’s messing with me,” you admit. “I never know anymore.”

His scoff triggers yours—a brief, quiet chuckle in the remains of a salvaged summer. Javier shrugs and yes, you think he catches the way your eyes skirt briefly to his shoulders because his jaw ticks, cheeks hollowing as he sucks his tongue against his front teeth. He turns his head in the direction of their house, sees no sign of Chucho, same as you. A low hm sound rattles from his chest.

You’d swear the sun flares a little hotter when he returns his gaze to you.

“If it rains again,” Javier says, his voice swooping to a deeper shade. “What will you bring me?”

You cross your arms. “I think you can count on the bread indefinitely.”

“Don’t mean her—I mean you.”

Traitorous, your heart: how it speeds, skips a note or two in its once steady pattern. “I don’t think you brought the rain,” you tell him. “Just timing.”

When he narrows his eyes, his crow’s feet swallow them. Mustache quirking, pink tongue darting over his bottom lip. “Call it hypothetical,” he says, and you’re not sure if you were standing quite this close just a moment before, if one of you has moved and if so, which.

Hunger rarely devours you in any of its forms. A life spent in service of harvests leaves little excess to spend. Yet it stirs unmistakably, low and begging, at the sound of Javier’s gruff voice and the graceful way he pins your eyes to his mouth with every tiny movement of his lips. He doesn’t have to smile for you to feel him smirking—a fact alone that feels somehow mythic in its dominion, its quiet, unassuming power. All of him marble-sleek and solid, the image of virile beauty. It almost feels like a shame to think you’ve seldom stood this close before.

You jut your chin to the sky—that blue untouched by a single cloud—and shake your head. “It’s not going to rain,” you say, steadfast in your certainty. “Not anytime soon.”

“And if it does.” He doesn’t say it like a question—rather, an inevitability—which is to say you hear his real meaning: and when it does.

Head shaking, cheeks set aflame, you once more roll your eyes, this time turning back to return to your side of the fence. Over your shoulder you call out, “If it rains this week, I’ll bring whatever you like.”

For six days there’s nothing but sun. You watch the apples blush on their branches, those first pinkish stripes that promise a red and sugared fruit. Autumn will bring spices and cider, days and weeks and months of fermentation, of watching fruit turn liquid and then to gold. This stretch of summer is make or break for the harvest to come: the right weather now can mean perfection or a crying shame.

All week you watch Javier at such a distance he appears as only a tiny, charcoal figure roaming the fields, hauling lumber and picking up the far-off slack.

Yet often when you do, you think his head looks to be already angled in your direction. Impossible to know for sure in the blazing light and with so much land between you, but you’d take that bet. You’re pretty sure he’s watching you too.

You’re sure, also, that you’re right about the weather. At the dawn of the seventh day the skies look no less blemished than they have all week. Doesn’t look at all like it’s going to rain. To your surprise, you’re a little disappointed, but the feeling passes.

You push out into the orchards, tend to the lifelong task of keeping everything verdant and alive. Sweet is the air at this early, fragile hour in which the birds are just now waking, filling the world with their jubilee. Sky pink at the horizon, white overhead, you spend the morning gloating to no one but the trees—you were right, and Javier was wrong. But when midday breaks golden and ripe, he nonetheless appears in the tall grass, hand steadied on the neck of a tobiano as he and the creature walk between gated pastures, and his face turns in your direction, catches you drinking icy cider on the porch while you catch your breath between tasks.

This time when he catches your gaze, he lifts his free hand, forefinger spearing up at the sky. Too far to call out to each other, you have no way of asking what the gesture is for, so you step down from the croaking porch into the crabgrass and look up.

There hang, above you, newborn wisps. Clouds ashy at their bellies.

But clouds are just clouds. They aren’t rain.

The reckoning comes an hour later.

You dismiss the first, shy drop. A fluke, a fleeting blip of your imagination. Then the second: clear and wet on your forearm. Then a third. Soon it’s unavoidable—above you gray has gathered like dust bunnies beneath a couch, the bright summer shaded by the weather’s impossible will—and the rain that falls is not a patter, not a whisper, but a stony fist fight. The kind of rain that comes sweeping and determined, that has something to prove.

It’s like autumn has taken the stage two months too early. Childlike in its eagerness to command your attention—a downpour harsh and giving.

You emerge at the end of an arbored aisle to see Javier cut stoic against the shaded sky just shy of the boundary between your properties, chest wide and proud, just as drenched by the onslaught of rain but not fazed in the slightest. Too cavalier to smile but its essence hangs in the air between you, silver as any raindrop, unmistakable in meaning. He nods in the direction of a stable not far from the first shelter of elder oaks and without a word or invitation lopes off toward it, so fluid in his lazy strides, legs a little bowed and no small bit solid, hugged tight by denim that might as well be painted on.

You are following before your mind can think to.

You are hopping the fence.

You are dashing for the shadowed stable after him.

Breathless, hair kelped to your cheeks, clothes more water than textile, you cannot at first make out the stable’s interior, eyes not yet adjusted to the shift in light, ears booming with its cacophony. “Okay,” you say to the darkness in which Javier must be standing, blinking fast, wiping the rain from your eyes. “You got really fuckin’ lucky. What do you want?”

Embers warm in your chest—the first fronds of new wanting. You know what you hope he’ll say.

A flash of movement as your eyes adapt: Javier’s tanned arms reaching for you. His broad hands frame your face and you are not yet surefooted as he, swept up in his sudden, steady embrace. You hear yourself laugh over the barrage outside, silenced only by the blackness in his eyes—all that warmth and brown swallowed by his pupils. Your hands cuff his wrists, holding him to holding you without hesitation.

It should be awkward, this first real meeting of your bodies. How Javier steps up to press the length of his torso to yours, sly in the subtle turn of his lips as he breathes one quiet word: You. But it isn’t. He slots his lips to yours like kissing you is just another step in his languid stride, graceful and planned, his arms dragging you against his steady frame. The softness of his mouth a welcome surprise. Dizzy on the first swipe of his begging tongue, you’re entirely unaware of Javier walking you backward until your shoulder blades hit the stable wall.

What a gift it is to be kissed and kiss with one’s whole body. Javier licks hotly into your mouth, sucking sweetly on your tongue or bottom lip depending on his whim, hands holding you flush to the fire of him. When he moves to your jaw, the soft flesh of your ear, you are a candle never before lit, touched a thousand times wrongly and made finally right.

Javier mumbles something lost under the bellowing tempest. Every raindrop riots on the sheeted roof.

“What?” you pant, eyelids heavy with lust. Your shirt hangs open, as does his, both unbuttoned though you’d not noticed their undoing. Now visible in the gray light is the bronze of his freckled chest, the dark hair drawn from his navel to the waistband of his jeans.

You’d stare, but Javier then laps at the hollows of your neck, drinks rain from the dip in your collarbone, and you hum softly, entranced by his touch, eyes fluttering closed. He moves his lips closer to your ear. “Perfect,” he repeats, before his mouth is lost once more to the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your chest.

Meanwhile the path of your hands draws a symphony from him: low grunts and breathy huffs and, when your fingertips trace the hair on his stomach to graze his jeans, an earthy moan sweeter than any rainfall after any summer.

Javier cants his hips against yours like he’s making a promise.

How sublime, the wet ask of his tongue down your stomach as he falls to his knees.

Though he—after catching your eye, fingers frozen over the fly of your shorts until you nod—is the one to strip the layers from you first, you aren’t certain which of you is the one who’s praying, only that the reverence hangs heavy as a heatwave in the humid air.

Your head falls back against the stable wall. All but the roar of the storm is lost beyond your panting bodies as Javier kneels at the altar of you, shelves one of your legs on his shoulders, and laps hungrily from your aching heat. The pledge of his mouth sucks the air from you—your hands fly to the laurel of his hair, bathed locks slipping between your fingers as you clench and throb and tug, hardly conscious of the whimpers you let out in the wake of his tending.

Dutiful, he brings you gasping to the brink of some new chasm. Tongue expert in its tracing, circling, slipping, driving. Lifts his face to smirk just before you fall, dark stache glossy with your need and eyes blown black, and perhaps you’d be annoyed if Javier looked arrogant at all, but his confidence appears to you only assured. Resolute in his wanting. As if the world would have to come to a sudden, gasping end for his concentration to falter at all.

“Like that?” Javier asks, perhaps as winded as you. Genuine, you think, in his asking, though he must know.

You’re not sure if you remember how to nod or speak, but your hips buck on their own accord, desperate for him to see this through.

“Yeah,” he rasps, his thick fingers squeezing your hips. “Think you do.”

Then his grin vanishes as he resumes and all at once you are tumbling, swept away in a landslide and earthquake at the same time as he slips two fingers into you, coaxing a rush of pleasure into his mouth. You might cry out his name, but the sound is lost to the din of the deluge.

When next you catch your breath, Javier is standing, denim wet and straining against the swell of his length. Hesitation is no longer a word you know or hold, already greedy for his taste, so you urge your mouth to his and lap the taste of yourself from his tongue, fingers busy with freeing him, the slick peeling of his jeans. You fall without realizing you’re falling, sunken to the ground with Javier’s cock heavy and throbbing in your hand.

He might whine when your tongue flickers sweetly against his weeping head—but there’s no mistaking the desperate groan dug loose from the earth of Javier’s chest as you bring the whole of him into the furnace of your mouth, wet and tight and willing. Your moan sends a shiver through his body, then Javier’s hand shoots out fast as a gunshot, palm slamming into the wall to keep himself from toppling.

“Shit—” he gasps, and you look up at him through dewy lashes to find his eyes have closed, lips swollen and jaw hanging open.

Again, you hum. Make a game of the stroke and slide and swallowing that makes him quiver until it’s too good, too good, too close baby and he pulls you off him, drool slugging down your chin. His cock aching, surely, when you nuzzle your cheek against it, tempted to take it in your throat again. But you smile as he plummets to meet you on the ground, then swoon when he lays you out on the topsoil not yet drenched by the rain.

“Wanna feel you first,” Javier murmurs, petting the hair back from your face, lapping the spit from your chin with his tongue before he unites it with yours. Lips plush, more tender than you expect amidst his fervor, the kind of kissing you can’t help but lose yourself to. You think you’d kiss him the rest of the day, through any night. Brows pinching when he pulls away, cupping the blaze of your burning cheeks with the palm of his hand, thumb swept across your upper lip as he gazes down at you with adoration.

“Need to fill you,” he groans. “Don’t I, hm? Dime, baby.”

Thighs spread to make room for him in the bowl of your hips, you pull him over you by the shoulders until he blankets you, covering all but a sliver of the rain-rich sky visible through the stable’s entrance, and the oak tree’s canopy lashing in the fevered gale.

Is his shirt below you now, somehow? You think it must be—spread carefully to protect your needy flesh.

“Yes,” you breathe, as Javier kneels between your legs, fisting the base of his cock. “Yes, yes.”

A grin, but not of ego—he is only pleased. Pious in his watching the way breath shudders in your chest. Javier nods, brow dented low and serious, curls black with water and plastered to his face, and pumps himself once, then takes your ankles in his hands. Sets them flat on the ground, bending both your knees to frame him. Hands butterflied and wide, tracing the slant of your thighs to the bend of your hips like all of a sudden he has all the time in the world.

Maybe you do. It almost feels like you do.

Like this might not be a spell that breaks with the end of the rain.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I know,” you breathe.

With both hands Javier lifts your hips from the ground and pulls you toward him until your core presses against the underside of his cock. He hmphs, transfixed by this silken meeting, and thrusts his hips once, gently, rubbing himself between your folds. You whimper at the friction, cunt fluttering, begging.

Javier clicks his tongue as you claw at his forearms, hips pitching in his hold to ask for more, and this time there is perhaps a drop of pride in his cunning gaze. Glad to be the one you stir for, the one you choose.

“Needs me, hm?” he coos.

You paint the air between you with his name.

“I know,” he murmurs, guiding himself to you now, nudging his tip against your clit once, twice, then notching.

Then rhapsody. The urging in and dragging out, the sweet perfection of Javier inside you, taking space that now seems like it was made for him from the start. “Fuck,” you hear yourself say, more breath than voice, and Javier grits his teeth as he feeds his cock to you slowly, throbbing and whole.

“So soft,” he grunts, resolve slipping—his hips snap against yours on the next thrust and you yelp from the bliss of it. Teeth bared above you, Javier yanks you flush against his slender hips, buried to the hilt as he tries to catch his breath. “Shit, baby.”

Thighs clamping around his waist, you writhe, plant your palms on his sternum, desperate for more.

“Javi,” you plea, and in a flash Javier spreads his hands over your hamstrings, pins your thighs to your stomach, and bends over you, fucking you into the ground.

Your teeth bump when he moves to kiss you, then he tilts his head and it’s all saccharine again: his tongue lapping sweetly into your mouth, mustache scraping against your cupid’s bow. Like this, the angle is exquisite. So deep it’s like he’s everywhere, stretching you out and stringing you taut and Javier must feel it too because he starts to grind, the thatch of dark hair at the base of his stomach rubbing against your clit as he grazes his teeth along the underside of your jaw.

“That’s it,” he mumbles. “Damelo, baby, quiero sentirte.”

You shatter, or bloom, you can’t totally decide. Exaltation in a single moment, your whole body electric in its trembling, clenching, gasping. Javier falters only when your body comes down from its high, emboldened to move again. Folded as you are, you can only whine and moan and sparkle as he once more takes up a rhythm. Smooth and hot as cider on a cold night, his cock glistening with your need as he pulls out and presses in, patient again.

“Perfect,” he prays.

It’s possible that this is heaven.

You don’t know when it stopped, but the skies have quieted. A lick of sunlight casts into the stables and falls over the expanse of Javier’s back and shoulders as he rocks into you again and again and again. Hand weaving into the curls at the nape of his neck, you hold him to you as his pace begins to stutter.

Javier licks the column of your throat, purring against your neck, “Lo quieres, baby? Hm?”

“Yes,” you tell him, one arm winding around his shoulders. “Deep.”

He kisses you once, then pulls back just enough to watch your face, his own lust-tense and sneering as his high builds and climbs. You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip, tell him to let go, and he is beautiful—lit copper and gold by summer’s warmth as he drops his forehead to yours.

Perfect in his promise, Javier offers all to you, fills you wholly, his body tense and then unraveling. His weight drops onto you properly as he paints your cunt with his seed. When you grunt he lifts just enough to free your legs without leaving your heat, and you lock your ankles over the small of his back.

Javier nuzzles his nose to yours.

You aren’t sure how long you stay like that, but when you’re standing again, his hands guides your weakened legs back into your shorts. You button each other’s shirts instead of your own.

Outside the stables, the earth sings petrichor, grateful for the fleeting flood. Across the fence beyond the tall grass your orchard sparkles, glittered with rain as you stand beneath the oak tree gazing out in gratitude. Javier’s hand ghosts over your spine and you feel a rash of goosebumps break out as if he’s once more touched your skin.

His breath is warm against your hair, the apple of your cheek. “Don’t wait for rain next time,” he whispers, then slinks off regal and graceful as a wildcat, clicking his tongue to call out the horses to the pastures now marbled with loam.

It doesn’t rain again for weeks, but you go to him anyway, hopping the fence that cradles your homes to seek his arms.

moodboard by @perotovar & dividers by @saradika-graphics

tag list & some mutuals:

@thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @tuquoquebrute @thundermartini

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @jessthebaker

@burntheedges @studioghibelli @la-eterna-enamorada29 @goodgirlwannabe @guiltyasdave

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @pedgito

@jolapeno @pastelpinkflowerlife @ak-vintage @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours

534 notes · View notes

monst · 3 months ago

Text

Possibility

Tim Drake x Afab. Reader

Extra: 18+ Content (MDI), Voyeurism, M. Masturbation, I know I said no more fluff for him for a while but like.. I couldn't help it... Pining- He’s down bad, Chappell Roan lyrics in there lmao

Wc- 1.2k

“Stay the night for observation?” there was a hopeful lilt to Dick’s question. But he wasn’t focused on it, his lips parting to answer before his mind caught up.

“Yeah, sure.” Vaguely he knew he wasn't acting like himself. And based on Nightwing’s frown his older brother also knew he was a bit out of sorts. Except that when pressed, he'd claimed to be fine. Dick walked out of the infirmary heavy concern written across his features. He promised to come back as quickly as he could. It was just a quick in-and-out mission, especially with the several leaguers coming to aid the Titans. Dick would be back fairly soon. He could stay for a bit longer. No biggie.

He breathed deeply, eyes preoccupied with watching his fingers pick at the sheets. He wasn't lying he was fine. Physically at least. It's just that what he’d seen was burned into his mind and wouldn’t leave the forefront of his brain.

As a new standard of procedure for time travel the JLD would poke through your brain to make sure nothing world-ending was ahead. And he hadn't witnessed anything earth-shattering concerning the general population. But he had experienced something world-changing for him. He's lucky Zatana just let him go with a laugh after her inspection.

He could feel his face warm at the memory. He didn't expect, not in his wildest dreams to ever have a chance with you. But he saw it clearly with his own two eyes, his body over yours. His very nude body rutting into your equally as naked form. And oh if that wasn't doing things to him, like the simmering heat that spread from his lower abdomen and stretched across every inch of his skin. His crush on you was in his mind inconsequential. Never mind the fact that he was attracted to you from day one.

You’d met a few months ago, a worldwide emergency that drove you out of your more ‘I work alone’ type of heroics. Afterward, you were invited to join the big leagues and he was adamant about asking you out. Not only was he attracted to you physically but you ticked off every other category for him, you were very competent, easy to get along with, funny, considerate, and matched his snark. However, that fell through the cracks when someone on the JSA beat him to it. Your swift ‘I don't date people I work with’ shutting down any further pursuit on his side. That didn't mean you couldn't be friends. And friends you were, and after countless missions together you were finally hanging out with him outside the mask.

He was content with that. No really! Having you around as a friend was way better than the alternative. You two just clicked. And he wanted to preserve that even if that meant not being the one you call baby. But his little foray into the future might’ve changed things.

Flashes of your sweat-slick body arching into him invaded his mind. Your fingers clinging to his shoulders as his future self's hands roamed your body. You were just as pretty as he imagined. His eyes flickered around the empty room. No one was behind the curtain separating his bed from the other cot. With that in mind, he let his hand slip underneath the waistband of his boxers. He shivered once his fingers met the heated base of his throbbing length. He squeezed remembering the way your breasts fit in his palms.

Those beautiful sounds he was driving out of you. They still bounced around his skull. A tone he'd never heard from you but would give anything to hear again. He bit his lower lip, leaning his head back as he began a steady pace. His eyes shut as he recalled every detail. Twisting his hand mid-shaft at the way your breathy voice called his name. The punched out ‘Tim’s!’ bringing heat to his face.

The sight of your pretty pussy glistening with his spend was mouth-watering, lovely folds all wet and messy because of him. He felt his hips jerk into his grasp, thick pearly beads sliding down his fingers. God the way your gorgeous eyes rolled back, your pleasure leaving red lines across his back. He mewled at the image. You were so perfect. His other hand was about to busy itself by pinching his pink nipples when the security system called out your alias, Signaling your arrival at the watchtower.

He looked down to his lap, the glossy mess on his thighs, his dick slick with his pre-cum, your voice just in his ear begging for more. Fuck. He cupped his flush cock as he waddled into the bathroom intent on finishing. Locking the door just in case as he fisted his cock, the wet slap echoing in the small restroom. He groaned, eyes rolling back as he recalled how your voice broke on his cock, how you desperately claimed to be his. And you could be.

He whimpered. There's a chance for what he saw to be real. If he played his cards right you'd be-

“Fuck!”

His palm covered his mouth barely managing to stop the long whine from slipping past his lips as he released himself into the toilet. Thick spurts painted the ceramic just as his seed had painted your flesh. He felt dizzy. But your voice from behind the door pulled him from his lewd fantasies.

“Yo red you okay?” He cleared his throat and replied with a quick yeah. Flushed down his sticky cum and washed his hands before stepping out. You were sat at the edge of his cot, in full gear sans your mask. He wondered if you were scheduled to go off with the Titans. If so you were going to be late, strangely the thought made him blush.

“Hey,” you chimed. A smile in your voice as you searched through a large tote bag?

“Hi.” You looked up at his hoarse tone, sharp eyes searching him to sus out any injuries. He saw when your shoulders relaxed, finding nothing of outward concern. He was glad that you didn’t comment on his flushed complexion. Probably because he was always flushed around you.

“So.. I spoke to Z what's this about time travel?” He rolled his eyes with a grin. Nosy, you were also very nosy.

“Nothing serious except that I should really change the layout of the nest, got in and out way too quickly.” He slid back into bed allowing you to hand him a smaller bag. “What's this?”

“Contraband” you winked. He opened said ‘contraband’ and felt butterflies fill his stomach. Inside was a mini care package, a post-it with your scrawled ‘get better soon’ attached to your Nintendo Switch. There was also a sandwich, a bag of chips, and apple slices. He smiled at the Zesti Cola you included. He knew you were more of a Soder Cola person so you must’ve gone out of your way.

“You shouldn't have.” He flushed. You shrugged, standing up to stretch.

“I was already packing for a mission and heard you were here so yeah.” You waved off. “Oh here's the charger.”

“What about you?”

“I packed my DS, that and we should be in and out pretty quick so it’s only for the drive.” A device on your wrist pinged dragging your attention from him. “Shoot I gotta go! See ya later!”

As he looked through his game options, his lips pulled into a smile, sure you were friends now. But now he knew there was a possibility to be more. He just had to figure out how.

#red robin x reader #tim drake x reader #tim drake smut #uh random bullshit go!#Did I finish this fic instead of editing the over four pages of general hc for him? Yes yes I did #god I'm this close to scrapping that cause man I don't wanna edit it :')

365 notes · View notes

elbiotipo · 4 months ago

Text

Ocassionally you see articles that are like "scientists are trying to hide how bad things are" and I'm the opposite of that. I've done my work on ecological restoration (actually grabbed a shovel and planted trees) and I'm amazed at how fast nature can restore itself. Ecologists used to think restoring tropical rainforests, to give an example of a complex ecosystem, would take centuries to go back if it was even possible -this is why you see all the dystopian fiction of rainforests going extinct- when in fact, it has been proven that without human pressure, ecological succession takes place and rainforests grow back nearly to its original physionomy in a few years, even if diversity does take a time to bounce back. Reintroducing animals might sound harder and it is, but we must remember that animals have faster cycles than humans. Just letting breeding pairs in protected areas is often enough for populations to grow back, as in the reintroduction of jaguars to Iberá in Corrientes Argentina, and many other cases. What is even more interesting and encouraging is how cheap, both in the monetary and the general effort sense, these works are. If a bunch of underpaid biologists, rural people and park rangers can do it, imagine if they had the full support and backing from states and international institutions.

We are at a stage where, besides climate change, we are facing tremendous biodiversity loss and this mostly comes to our methods of land use and food production. But these can be changed. We must assume the fact that nature is not a pristine untouched thing, but humans, in every continent they have lived in, have long managed its resources. The Amazon Rainforest is full of useful plants that hint at silviculture which is still done by its native peoples, the deserts and tundra that seem uninhabited have been home to pastoral and hunter-gatherer peoples. Humans have shaped all habitats on Earth, even the most 'untouched' ones. Just as they have managed their environments and natural resources, other civilizations have managed or mismanaged them. Now that industrial civilization has spread across the globe, we need to find a way to balance our need for food and other products with the need to preserve and take care of Earth. This can be done, we can ensure both a good quality of life and a protected biosphere. We can stop the dichotomy of humans separate from nature, assume our historical role as managers and stewards of natural resources, and do it with our modern understanding of ecology and science.

This does mean that it will take a lot of popular mobilization and change to uproot current interests and create states that uphold these principles. But I'm a marxist. I don't 'believe' in class struggle, I think it's a fact based on observations about society, and I also think that this current form of capitalism will eventually be replaced by socialism, and I believe the future socialist societies will not do the same mistakes as the past. We not only can create new societies that can take care of nature and the general welfare of people, but I also think that as history proceeds, it will be inevitable.

#cosas mias #ecology

264 notes · View notes

all-encompassing-hero · 4 months ago

Text

One thing I love about the Horizon franchise is how both Zero Dawn and Forbidden West make it explicitly clear that while the current threat might be the machines and rouge AI threatening Aloy and her people, the true evil behind everything is and always has been capitalism and, to an extent, the One Percent.

[Spoiler warning for both Zero Dawn and Forbidden West]

Obviously, there's Ted Faro, a man who, through a combination of overinflated ego and massive incompetence, doomed the world twice over. First, accidentally, by designing war machines capable of consuming organic matter as fuel and programmed with code so complex, it took several hundred years to crack. And then, on purpose, by deleting thousands of years of human knowledge and history in some misguided attempt to help the future generations. A man who not only built the Torment Nexus from the book "Don't build the Torment Nexus" but then deleted all records of both his construction and the story from which it came so that future generations would not be able to learn from the mistakes of those who came before them.

Now, while the Zeniths are not as heavyhanded about the themes of the evils of capitalism compared to Ted Faro, they do still uphold that narrative. Remember that the Zenith crew was composed almost entirely of the rich and famous. Rich and famous who would rather save their own skins rather than try to help humanity in its final hours. When they managed to do the impossible and achieve immortality, what did they do with it? Squandered it by becoming lazy, only using it to essentially prolong their own pleasure. Some even became greedy enough to go beyond physical immortality, and when that greed caused the destruction of their home and threatened the new life that had begun on Earth, what did the remaining Zeniths do? Turned tail and ran. Because the only thing that matters to them is self preservation.

Tilda might actually be the worst of them. Because while the others may not care that they're in the wrong, Tilda is the only one who believes she is in the right. Tilda, the woman who was arguably the closest to Elizabet, who watched her choose to stay to help develop the Zero Dawn project rather than abandon Earth, who has been grieving that loss for over a thousand years, believed that, given a second chance, Elizabet would choose to abandon Earth. Tilda, who believed that she was doing the right thing even as she was attempting to force Aloy to abandon her people the same way she wanted Elizabet to abandon Earth. Tilda, who died believing that the woman she loved died a pointless death even after seeing the new world created by Zero Dawn.

The Horizon franchise is and always has been a story about technology. How technology can do so much good in the hands of the right people, but also so much evil in the hands of the wrong people. And it keeps telling us that the "wrong people" are the rich and greedy, the ones who only look out for themselves, the ones who would leave humanity to die if it meant saving themselves.

My biggest hope for Horizon 3 is that it continues this message. That it continues to show that technology can be used for good, but only when in the hands of people who have the best interest of others at heart rather than their own.

#horizon zero dawn #horizon forbidden west #aloy horizon #ted faro #tilda van der meer

155 notes · View notes

internetskiff · 8 months ago

Text

Breen's unfortunately pretty underrated amongst the Valve antagonists, which I suppose is understandable compared to the likes of GLaDOS or The Administrator, but just like those two I feel like there's plenty of things to talk about when it comes to him. He seems like a very conflicted character, especially if you take into account the BreenGrub account and Laidlaw's Epistle 3. First of all is, of course, the leadup to the Black Mesa incident, with the G-Man seemingly making an offer to Breen which seemingly involved overloading the Anti-Mass Spectrometer while processing an extremely pure sample of Xen Crystal - and yes, while it's pretty obvious that the order to overload the systems was very intentional and motivated by whatever deal they struck, I believe that when it comes to the aftermath he may have been sold on a lie. Considering his actions as Administrator of Earth being entirely in the interests of keeping Humanity from feeling the full force of the Combine, I don't think "Becoming the de facto leader of all of Earth" was on his agenda. Perhaps G-Man promised that whatever their deal would entail would bring about a prosperous future for humanity, perhaps all he promised was the possibility of establishing contact with another sentient species (which is something he technically did provide), or perhaps it was something else - there's simply way too much room for speculation there, I think.

A little detail from a HL:A newspaper implies that his position as Earth's administrator wasn't exactly handed to him on a silver platter, instead he had to go out of his way to reach out to the governments with information on how to communicate with the invaders, at which point, already beaten down by Combine forces, they simply gave him the all-clear to speak for all of mankind. This still begs the question of who, or what, gave him the knowledge of how to speak with them - however, it's safe to say if they didn't, Earth would've been left a smoldering pile of rocks and withered carcasses. Once again, he acts with Humanity's best interests in mind, having to choose between the lesser of two evils - it's either enslavement or extinction. He simply chose the option in which Humanity would survive, even if just for a little while longer.

And ever since, we're watching the aftermath. He's trying to talk the last generation of Humanity down, so they may either pass of old age or be absorbed into the Combine - at least if that happens, something gets preserved. Once again, the alternative? They'll just wipe the slate once they get the local teleportation technology they desire. Breen sees no other way than to go along with their demands. He's eventually proven wrong, of course, but he refuses to see the Rebellion as anything but a suicidal march towards the extinction of the human race, and he sticks to that belief up until he is killed by Gordon at the tip of the Citadel. Of course, this doesn't make him a good person. Not at all. This belief has lead him to seek out and destroy anyone who tries to resist. He shows no sympathy to them. He paints them as fools. He himself believes it so. This intense hatred for anyone who resists is seen perfectly in how he treats the Vance family. He views them as fools. As narrow-minded rabble in the streets, senselessly struggling against a tide beyond their comprehension. He's willing to send off a father and his daughter into a world far beyond simply to use them as a bargaining chip. Listening to the two comfort eachother as they're almost raised up to a fate surely worse than death, the only expression on his face is that of pure contempt and annoyance. He's a very fascinating character that I wish Valve would explore again if they ever do another Half Life set during a time period in which he was still alive. He's a coward that easily bends to the oppressor, yet in the end he only does it to make sure something survives. He's cruel to those who resist because he's completely convinced they're going to get everyone killed. He is the Combine's perfect puppet.

haha anyhoo so why was he straight up serving on the magazine covers in HL:A like what was up with all that

#hl #hl2 #hl 2 #hl:a #hla #half life #half life 2 #half life alyx #breen #dr breen #wallace breen #the combine #universal union #gman #the gman #g man #g-man #rambling #think about him a normal amount. sorry

233 notes · View notes

theofficialpresidentofmars · 3 months ago

Text

thinking about how avatar legends implies that Lu Ten was on his way to figuring out that the Fire Nation were the bad guys pre unfortunate demise, so naturally here’s an AU where Lu Ten gets it together sometime before he dies during the siege of Ba Sing Se, does something about it, consequently survives, and how it would affect the rest of the world.

Lu Ten had always been a people person, a skill which served him well as the future crown prince and made him a favourite in the court, and a skill that led to him realising that the way that the Fire Nation treated other people as a whole was not something he could stand to be a part of anymore. He’d always been sheltered from the brunt of it, he suspected in part due to his duty as a prince not being one that involves seeing the worst of what your nation has to offer, and just as equally due to his own father trying to preserve his innocence at best, and trying to deliberately avoid sparking his natural curiosity at worst. He’d worked his way up in the military by his own hand as a result, in order to get his answers on the frontlines himself- and what he’d found wasn’t pretty. The Siege of Ba Sing Se has torn families apart, seen cultural history razed to ashes, and has in no way done anything to spread the peace and prosperity of his nation with the innocent people of the Earth Kingdom. It had confirmed all his worst fears about the Fire Nation, and about his own father. Lu Ten knew there was truth to be found, and truth he did find- a truth he could not stand by and idly ignore.

And so Lu Ten challenged his father, on the five hundred and fiftieth day of the siege. It was not a rallying call for action, or a public spectacle, rather a series of raised concerns in the enclosed space of a tented war meeting. But it was a challenge in the eyes of the seated officers, it was a challenge by Fire Nation law- he had undermined his own father’s authority, challenged his honour, and there was only one way to settle these sorts of things. If Iroh wanted to keep the respect of his men, he would have to fight his own son, and win, in Agni Kai.

Neither of them wanted this. Iroh offered Lu Ten the first strike. Lu Ten refused, and when Iroh persisted, refused to fight at all. Although Lu Ten would not surrender, it would be the easiest victory in Fire Nation history.

Iroh could not bring himself to harm his son, but if he let Lu Ten go without any punishment, he would lose the respect of his men. He asked, then commanded Lu Ten to surrender, to accept that his father was right. But Lu Ten simply refused, over and over. An hour went by without a single flame. Eventually, Iroh realised that even in stalling, he was losing. He did not like what he had to do, but his son was grown. He had forced his hand, and he could not be allowed to think that he was exempt from his duty as a citizen due to his status.

Iroh sent out a burst of flame. It would have been ridiculously easy to avoid, or to block, and then Lu Ten would have fought back enough for his defeat to not ridicule Iroh.

But Lu Ten simply let it wash over him, let it touch upon and burn his skin. It hurt, but it reinforced a further truth within his mind- his father would choose his nation over his own son. That was the last thing he’d needed to know.

Iroh was able to call a defeat there and then, a punishment enacted, a warning that Lu Ten would be further reprimanded later. But when he reached his son’s tent hours after, he found it only empty- of both the firebender and his belongings. Lu Ten had disappeared, and as the next morning made evidently clear, deserted.

…

Only days later, Iroh returned to the Fire Nation in disgrace. The Siege of Ba Sing Se had been on a downwards slide, but the Agni Kai had damaged morale, and had publicly humiliated the Dragon of the West, causing the Fire Lord to order a strategic retreat. The once-great General had been made an example of by his traitorous son, and had brought shame upon their entire bloodline as a result.

When Iroh’s younger brother suggested a change in the order of succession not long after, Fire Lord Azulon was a little more open to the possibility. Ozai was made the Crown Prince, and Ursa was there to see it. Iroh did not grieve his son, nor chase him over the world in a spiritually enlightening journey of self-discovery. Instead, he closed off and hardened up after his failure, much to the dismay of Ursa and the young prince Zuko.

Lu Ten became the Fire Nation’s most wanted criminal, but seemed to disappear off the face of the planet entirely. No one could catch him, no one could ever seem to see him. Some joked he’d gone and found the Avatar. But it was made clear that he no longer had a home to return to.

…

Sozin’s Comet was close approaching, and it was time for a new era. A new Fire Lord was crowned, after the old one perished peacefully in his sleep. The Fire Lady went missing, although not many noticed, as she’d appeared in the public eye less and less.

The new crown prince of the Fire Nation found himself in a war meeting, and as some things never change, was unable to stop himself from standing up for what he believed in.

Zuko consequently found himself in an Agni Kai arena, facing his father. Under different circumstances this might have gone some other way, but Zuko had heard about his cousin. He’d heard what had happened, how even though his father had tried not to hurt him, he’d come away burned, disgraced, and had almost toppled the entire royal family as a result. He’d heard how Lu Ten had refused to fight, and how his own nation wanted him dead for it.

Zuko knew he was not as widely beloved as Lu Ten, and he knew that his father was not afraid to hurt him, not if it taught him a lesson. So even though everything inside him screamed this is wrong, this is cruel, this is unfair, don’t fight him, don’t let yourself become a part of this, Zuko did not back down. He knew that his father could not and did not expect him to win. He knew that his father wanted to publicly demonstrate that his will as the Fire Lord was correct, and as such, he would receive the least punishment if he helped to show this. Defeating a child who did not fight- that was not a display of strength. Zuko was expected to fight for his honour, and he was expected to lose, but the honour was in the act of fighting, not winning.

Zuko rose, and accepted his opponent. He swallowed his every instinct, and took the first strike, a weak and pitiful thing. Zuko fought, and some part deep within himself was irrevocably changed as a result.

He lost, but his father did not banish him, did not brand him. He was dishonoured, but he was allowed to stay, allowed to learn from his ‘mistake’ in the sanctity of the palace walls, surrounded by tutors and teachers appointed by the Fire Lord.

Zuko did in fact learn something. He learnt to sit down, and shut up.

It didn’t matter what he thought. He was too young to understand the scale that the Fire Nation operated at, too inexperienced to understand the weight of the sacrifices his people made for him. And he was clearly alone in whatever he’d thought before, as no one had stood up for him in the arena, no one had offered to take his place, or spoken up for him. That was just how things were done, and Zuko was alone.

His father had been angry with him after the battle: not that he’d fought, but that he’d fought weakly. That was going to have to be the first thing remedied. If Zuko were to be the crown prince, it would not do to have Agni’s chosen be outshined by even his own younger sister.

His mother was not there to protect him. His uncle was busy with his own things. His cousin had left him, had run away, never to return.

The new firebending teachers were ruthless, painful, and effective. If he disappointed them even slightly, the price to pay was high.

Zuko learnt how to suppress his emotions, and in turn, himself. It worked.

…

Lu Ten had learnt how to fend for himself during his time in the military, and had been able to live off the land, travelling from Earth Kingdom village to village for the better part of three years, before he heard of the Avatar’s re-emergence.

Wasn’t that something.

He’d spent much of his time helping people, both through hands on work that his youth, strength, and fitness allowed him to take on beyond most people in needs’ own capabilities, and through very small scale political and charity work where his charm managed to set things right. Nothing that could draw too much attention to himself though, as he knew the bounty on his head was high. He’d been working his way down through the continent, and had managed to avoid any dangerous confrontation with his homeland so far.

Then the Avatar arrived, and Lu Ten was no longer the Fire Nation’s most wanted. Lu Ten himself was greatly pleased at the news, and hoped that it might herald the end of the war. He also hoped to one day meet the spirit, but had no plans of his own to seek him out.

That was, until he heard the word of his capture, by none other than the newly-promoted Admiral Zhao. The Avatar had been apprehended, and was being held in Pohuai Stronghold.

Pohuai Stronghold? That’s not too far from here.

And so it happened that armed with a single sword, an Earth Kingdom theatre mask he’d spontaneously picked up from a street vendor after being reminded of a game his young cousins used to play that involved sneaking around (Zuko, although you’d probably disagree with me for doing this, this one’s for you), and a dream, the former prince of the Fire Nation met the Avatar in the highest cell of the fortress, and then again properly after a successful escape.

…

“Ha. Azula, come have a look at this.”

His sister walked up to him and snatched the letter out of his hands. “This is a correspondence from Admiral Zhao saying that the Avatar is no longer in holding at Pohuai Stronghold. What’s funny about that?”

“Read the details. He was broken out by a single man wearing a Dark Water Spirit mask. Can you imagine?”

Azula sighed. “I can, actually. That sounds like just the kind of stupid thing that you would do. In fact, if it weren’t impossible for you to have traveled that distance in the time since it happened, you would be my first suspect.”

He laughed again. “I’m flattered, although I’m not stupid enough to break into a highly armoured Fire Nation prison with only a sword.”

The eye roll of serious doubt he received in response was almost audible.

“I would have brought two swords.”

“Idiot.” Azula read the rest of the letter. “Either way, this isn’t something to laugh about. We’ve lost the Avatar, who if you’ve forgotten, could bring an end to our whole civilisation.”

That did sort of kill the mood a little bit. She was right, as always.

“… But it’s a little funny that it happened to Zhao, of all people.”

“That guy is such a kiss-ass.”

“Trying to get in the Fire Lord’s good graces when he can’t even defend a fortress from a single lowly peasant in a play-mask?”

“They’ll make anyone an admiral these days,” Zuko agreed, and they both smiled, united by their hatred of a common enemy.

There was a moment of quiet that followed, and they both took turns reading the letter again.

“I should hope our ground forces in the area are at least competent enough to find and apprehend the criminal shortly,” Azula decided.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we should push for an execution. It would send a message to those would-be ‘heroes’ looking to harbour the Avatar.”

Zuko sighed. “Probably for the best.”

…

this is only just the beginning. I have more planned. Lu Ten bonding with team Avatar, Iroh having a later-in-life come around to being wrong. Azula and Zuko being sent on missions together, and Zuko WILL be forcibly kidnapped, separated, and taken under someone’s wing whether he likes it or not (he won’t). Silly things happen, but at the end of the day, it’s all towards the same goal.

And even in this different universe, some things won’t change. And some things that seem to have changed already will right themselves with time.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko #atla zuko #atla fanfic #atla azula #azula #lu ten #lu ten atla #uncle iroh #fire lord ozai #atla au

76 notes · View notes

twentyeightsuns · 5 months ago

Text

Pale Blue Dot

"Consider again that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

- Carl Sagan on " Pale Blue Dot", a photograph of earth taken by NASA's Voyager1 on February 14,1990.

#astrophotography #physics #space #nasa #nasa photos #carl sagan #pale blue dot #earth #photography

71 notes · View notes

musings-and-overanalyses · 1 year ago

Text

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind: Why This is My Favourite Ghibli Movie

CW: Major high-school English teacher vibes ahead. Proceed at your own risk.

Nausicaä of the valley of wind is a story of the titular character Nausicaä and her being a bridge between the world of humans and nature to bring peace, thus fulfilling an ancient prophecy.

Nausicaa is the princess of the Valley of the Wind. The film begins with her walking and exploring the Sea of Decay, an area with toxic air, plants and fungal spores. She collects some spores and finds the hard molten shell of an Ohmu (gigantic blue-blooded trilobite-looking creatures), which her people use to make weapons and tools. As the name suggests, the Valley of the Wind is a civilisation that depends on and bases their culture around wind, which one can see through an abundance of windmills and gliders, including the one that Nausicaä rides. They are shown to be peaceful people who do not interfere with the politics of the warring human kingdoms or disturb nature. Nausicaä in particular is shown to have a special gift with animals—from calming Ohmus to having a pet fox-squirrel. As the existence of the kingdom depends on the sea wind that shields them from the effects of the sea of decay, there is a general reverence towards nature and its other members such as the Ohmus, that are often referred to with honorifics.

This was an element I liked: the symbolism goes deep in this film; for example, with the nature of wind—it being the very breath necessary for life is contrasted with its other face, through toxic spores in the sea of decay capable of killing anyone who inhales it.

It is revealed that humans had built The Giant Men, weapons so dangerous—not unlike our atomic bombs as shown through the characteristic mushroom cloud—that the destruction caused by the war had unleashed the fury of the Ohmus, an otherwise gentle species. They wiped out entire civilisations and where they died, the Sea of Decay grew on their decomposing corpses, showing how all life is interconnected and that even in death the rage of the Ohmus, and through them the rage of nature, wouldn't subside. It is then that the viewers find out that this is not some far-off planet, but a post-apocalyptic future on earth.

New species of plants and fungi made the Sea of Decay their habitat—nature and life always find a way. It is implied that the humans lost the war referred to as the Seven days of Fire, but the truth is that it is not a war that can ever be won. Even if you win the war against nature you lose. As the story progresses, we see that the plants and fungi that Nausicaä collected from the Sea of Decay are actually trying to purify the soil and water—nature holds no grudges but only seeks balance.

The seventh of the Giant Men, a sentient atomic bomb if you will, apparently hid underground for a thousand years until the kingdom of Pejite found it for use against their enemy, the Tolmekians. They both remain oblivious to the sheer destruction that can be caused by this Giant Man and they don't care either. Despite the balance between humans and nature being a delicate one, instead of trying to rebuild together, they justify to themselves that the war is necessary for self-preservation and to put humans back on top of the food chain.

In their hubris, the Tolmekians and their princess Kushana believe that with the help of their superweapon they can destroy the Sea of Decay despite knowing that it will trigger the wrath of the Ohmus. The Giant Man however is not complete and hence, though the devastation is great, the final giant man dies and all that is remains to be done is to calm the wrath of the Ohmus.

Nausicaä saves an Ohmu child who was injured by Tolmekian soldiers to lure the Ohmus into a war. She saves the baby Ohmu and sacrifices her own life to calm the sea of maddened Ohmus. The now-calm Ohmu then revive Nausicaä, symbolising the mystical healing power of nature and its ability to support and create life.

Nausicaä is an excellent protagonist, and how the trope of the chosen one is utilised is beautiful and full of symbolism. Right from the get-go, we see her being inquisitive and brave. She is willing to defend her people but not through violence. And it is made abundantly clear that her avoidance of violence is not due to any lack of strength; when she strikes down the soldiers who killed her father, rather than feeling any sense of pride (as one might expect from a character not used to strength), it sickens her. She shows understanding even towards Kushana, whose men took over her kingdom. She sincerely loves and respects animals and plants.

There was a prophecy among the people of the valley of wind that a person clad in blue over golden fields will save their kingdom and bring peace. And towards the end of the film, Nausicaä's clothes becoming blue with the blood of the baby Ohmu she saved and the golden fields being the tendrils of the Ohmus healing her is poetic to say the least.

In addition to a good female protagonist, we also get a powerful female antagonist in Kushana, who starts out as a one-note expansionist ruler, but it is revealed that she lost her limbs and got severely maimed by the sea of decay, motivating her to destroy it once and for all. Proud and arrogant, sure, but she has a motive beyond just wanting power and possesses some form of a moral code. In another story she could be the protagonist bravely defending humanity against the evil, alien-esque trilobites and spores.

It was a unique and meaningful choice on Miyazaki's part to symbolise nature through the Ohmus—alien-looking giant insects—instead of something cute and fluffy. Oftentimes humans care more about the conservation of animals that they find cute (pandas over, say, Panamanian golden frogs), but an animal doesn't have to appeal to human aesthetics to be worth conserving.

Absolutely not to be missed is the breathtaking soundtrack by Hisaishi. There are symphonies, techno music, sitar-like instruments and a child's humming, all elevating every scene to give a moving experience.

Ultimately it is an ambitious story that aims to deal with themes of coexisting with nature, the futility and dangers of war, and of how innocent children who should live carefree lives are dragged into it and made heroes. This film is often categorised as falling into the genre of Solarpunk: a literary and artistic movement that centres around building a sustainable future interconnected with nature and community. Although this film does depict violence and wars, it ultimately shows a peaceful future is possible.

Truly a masterpiece. 9/10.

230 notes · View notes

danieyells · 6 months ago

Note

Hello! Thank you so much for posting the guys’ voicelines! If it’s not too much trouble, could I ask for Yuri’s and Ritsu’s? I’ve been especially curious about Yuri’s since reading his line at the beginning of the game if you choose him lol Again, thank you so much!!

(i posted ritsu's separately!)

no anon you may not study yuri. yuri studies you. how dare you. bad guinea pig! you get no experiment tonight!

the rest of you, however, may come appreciate the good doctor with me. You can come too studying anon i won't tell yuri

some of his lines really kinda subverted my expectations of his character? /affectionate) like i thought he would be quite different! not to say his profile is dishonest, but. . .idk lol i love him he's. . .he's special.

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"What are you dawdling for? Change out of those rags and report to my lab immediately!"

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"What madness is this? Why do you have unread messages!? Check them immediately! Research is a race against time!"

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"You should feel honored to be chosen as the test subject of Dr. Yuri Isami, genius and visionary!"

"Jiro! Jiro!! What on earth are you doing!?"

he calls for jiro the way a parent calls for their kid who's minding their business in another room--

"Lowbrow schools of thought with the gall to oppose my research will bear a mark of shame for generations to come. One day, the world will be forced to acknowledge me."

i realized this early on since i chose him in the pre-prologue so i always had access to him on the home screen but. since anomalies have to be kept secret from the world he kind of can't be acknowledged for what he does in the long run, can he? since he specifically works in anomalous medical sciences much of what he does and works with has to be kept only within the institute's understandings. . . .

"I always preserve the lives of my patients. I cannot make guarantees for any other parts of them, however."

sure you're a disembodied head in a jar but you are a living disembodied head in a jar! don't worry they'll get you a new body!!

"I ask their cooperation for the sake of the future of humanity, and this is what I get!? Jiro, how much do we have left in our research budget!?"

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"What a bracing morning. Jiro, prepare my wake-up tonic."

is 'wake-up tonic' a fancy way of saying coffee or do you have some mixture of herbs and spices that wakes you up

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Are you injured or ill? Oh dear, how unfortunate. I shall begin the experi— Ahem, the treatment, immediately."

the way he says this is so incredible but tumblr will not let me upload the video for some reason he is so hype to try putting strange things in you.

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Jiro's not feeling well, you say? Very well. I shall test my latest formula on him."

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Oh, it's you. And here I thought I had a patient. I am currently reviewing today's lessons, so please leave unless you're here for treatment."

he's very studious for a genius. not a lot of the ghouls actually go to class.

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Wha... Wh-Where did you come from!? Th-Th-Th-This!? It is a medical journal! The Ace Doctor Wows Minds In Another World Thesis!"

MY GUY IS READING ISEKAI MANGA ABOUT DOCTORS AND PROJECTING do you think he reads like hentai about doctors and scientists too. probably not right he's too haughty to think about things like that before they happen

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"The only blood I stain myself with is that atop the operating table. On missions, I have Jiro to fight in my stead."

it's okay to say you're just not much of a fighter lmao

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Anomalous medical science is uncharted territory. Should I become its pioneer, all will bow before my intellect until the end of time... Ha ha... Ah ha ha ha ha!"

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Hmph. We have no time to spare on your drivel. Hurry up, Jiro!"

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"It's about time for Jiro's check-up... Hm? Wake up, Jiro! I've discovered an abnormality already!"

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Hmm, this case is somewhat complex... No, there's no need for my expertise here. Jiro, prepare to operate immediately."

'this is too complicated for a human but not too complicated to be jiro's problem!' disregard that jiro may be smarter than him. . . .

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"Prepare the new formula, Jiro. A specimen has arrived. What? You're not here for treatment?"

listen sometimes you just wanna pay someone a visit! it's not my fault you live in a goddamn hospital.

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I will soon be finished with today's lessons— then I shall return to the lab to confirm the status of my latest test subject."

this is between 11 and 4pm, so you're basically just hearing him talk about his plans for after school lmao just normal student things!!!

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Why yes, I attended every lesson today, as always. All studies are linked, after all. Though it takes a mind such as mine to recognize that."

I DON'T THINK IT'S THAT HARD TO SEE THE LINK BETWEEN MEDICINE AND EVERYTHING. . .UNLESS YOU JUST DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ILLNESSES OR MEDICINE. . . .

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"What is that slovenly visage, worm? Tell me, do you have an excuse for looking more emaciated than me when I spent all night researching? I didn't think so!"

would you like my laundry list of reasons i look tired yuri because i can get it

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"I must personally administer Jiro's shots three times a day. The treatment is rather unique, you see."

'you see i use my peni--'

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You have business with Jiro? Not before bringing it to me, you don't. He is merely my assistant—as house captain, it is I who possesses the authority."

no talking to his son assistant without going through him first! sorry anon who asked for an appointment with jiro yuri has to approve it

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"I'm busy with my experiments. Go back to your dorm and ready yourself for your next appointment. Jiro, see her home."

i feel like he doesn't want you to see what he does to his other test subjects. . .not because they die or anything, they always live, it's just a little gruesome to see. He's not as rough with you. And he needs to make sure you keep coming back. And he needs to make sure you get home safe, so he's sending Jiro with you.

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Even harmful anomalies can have use as medicinal ingredients... This is the sort of immeasurable value my work provides."

isn't that common knowledge in the medical world though. . .i mean obviously getting the right balance is crucial but that's not an entirely new concept, 'let's use the harmful thing for something good'--

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Don't forget that body of yours is a vital specimen! Is it not common knowledge that lack of sleep is the root of all illness!?"

DON'T YOU AND JIRO REGULARLY PULL ALL NIGHTERS IF NOT FOR DAYS AT A TIME?????? maybe yuri is just immune to illness. . . .

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"Good morning, M... M... M... My, what an adequate morning it is, no!? Hmph... Don't confuse me like that..."

IF YOU DIDN'T CHOOSE YURI IN THE PRE-PROLOGUE IT'S IMPORTANT TO KNOW. . .when Yuri jumps he says "goodbye, mama."

In Japanese it's somewhat more apparent that he's about to call you 'mama' in the voiceline. Maybe it's just my interpretation based on lines 23 and 24, but I think something happened to his mother where he failed to save her with surgery and at higher affinity he begins to project that need to save terminal/cursed patients' lives on you in particular. And he starts to think of you the way he thinks of his mother, but also as his favorite test subject. That or it's a loop/timeline thing and you're actually his mother--do you guys think he'd be able to be convinced into mommy kink shit he clearly has mommy issues it might help

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Mark my words, I'll have those pompous, preening parasites at Frostheim kneeling before me..."

man they do not like frostheim here in mortkranken. the fact that this is so high up is like. . .i wonder if there's some serious beef here.

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Jiro's gone!? ...So be it, then. I grant you the privilege of being my assistant for the day. Be grateful, worm."

jiro will come back when he needs his medication, it's fine! woohoo! do we get a nurse outfit!?

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"There is no life I can't save... There can't be... I am Yuri Isami...the genius visionary doctor..."

it sounds like he's downright scared to fail to save a life.

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"My next surgery must be a success... I... I cannot afford another failure..."

i am once again assuming his mother died on the operating table while he was trying to save or otherwise help her and he's extremely traumatized by it. on the other hand would he say 'goodbye mama' if she weren't still alive? maybe she's alive but she's in a coma or hospice or critical condition or something. and he's studying anomalous medicine to figure out how to save her.

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"You belong to me. I will never hand you over to another researcher... (gasp) N-N-N-No, you've misunderstood! I-I just...!"

i'm literally the doctor's favorite lab rat because i am so obedient and intelligent and-- he blushes in the second line--he meant it as a test subject/lab rat or assistant thing but he also accidentally said how he really felt at the same time. . . . But you're his, he will be the one to save you, when he stands atop the world as world renowned genius anomalous medical doctor yuri isami you will stand by him as his proudest subject who's helped him confirm many theories and save many others' lives and he will work so hard to keep you well you are his and he doesn't want anyone else to learn what he can learn from you--

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"Struggling with pollen allergies? I have a new formula here developed in Mortkranken, shall I test it on you?"

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm! Hmm hmm hmm! Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm! Pa rum!"

so i don't know enough classical music to be able to tell what the songs he hums are, but if anyone wants to give it a shot i can try uploading the audios of him lol just lmk

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Which house's ghouls are out in the field at present? Oh my, I do hope they come back with some exciting injuries."

i wonder who his favorites to fix up are. . .on the one hand, he hates frostheim. so he might wanna be rougher with them or subject them to more unique experiments and make them admit his intelligence and skill. on the other hand obscuary must be the most interesting ones to work on since they're so unique?

(between 8pm and 5am)

"When did the cherry blossoms bloom...? The changing of the seasons seems rather superfluous when I am engaged in my research."

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"Jiro, make a record of today's temperature. We need to take the changing climate into for illnesses particular to summer."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Darkwick will provide me the materials I need for my research, provided they fall within our budget... But that is simply insufficient."

have you tried selling organs? taiga says it's very lucative. surely you have some lying around?

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Hmm...hmm...hmm...hmm... hmm hmm hmm hmm, Pa pa pa pa pa pa rum!"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Why do you look so distressed? If the heat is proving too much for you, I can prescribe you something to lower your body temperature."

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"Why must a peerless genius such as myself be saddled with performing piddling health checks for the new students!? It's asinine!"

aren't you the only legitimate doctor in this place by your own admission!?

(between 11am and 4pm)

"A trip to admire the fall foliage? Why yes, I am interested. After all, I'm sure Jabberwock's mountains possess all sorts of undiscovered ingredients. Let's get going."

just make sure you ask towa before taking anything. . .he might not appreciate you messing with his plants. . . .

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Sports...? Hmph, such nonsense is entirely superfluous to my life. Why needlessly expend energy in such a manner?"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Hmm hmm, hmm hmm, hmm hmm, hmm, hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmmm!"

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"Freude! Schöner! Götter! Funke! Tochter aus Elyyyyyyysium!"

HE IS SINGING ODE TO JOY IN THE ORIGINAL GERMAN.

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Eureka! A new formula utilizing an anomalous plant that only grows in subzero temperatures has been discovered, by...! Jiro..."

c'mon yuri be proud of your vice captain!

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Our research budget for the new year is nearly spent... Come, Jiro! We're going to negotiate with the faculty!"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I despise the snow. It brings nothing but revolting memories... There, we're done with today's checkup. Any other questions?"

. . .what happened between Yuri and Jin. I NEED TO KNOW.

His birthday: (September 14th)

"You...remembered my birthday!? Ahem... If you wish to give me a present, make it either a talented assistant or a useful test subject."

people don't remember his birthday much i assume. . .or they tend to stay away from him so much he just doesn't get much attention or appreciation.

Your birthday:

"I am here to celebrate your birthday. Do you feel honored? I've prepared a new formula for you. Let's continue this in the lab, shall we?"

your birthday present is being part of more experiments! aren't you honored???

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year. I am on my way to make my first shrine visit. You didn't think me the type? I-It's just a tradition!"

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"Hmm, my blood sugar was just starting to drop. I suppose you do have it in you to be considerate every now and then... Pardon? Valentine's Day? ...(gasp)"

oh he has never gotten valentine's day chocolates before has he. or at least not recently.

White Day: (March 14th)

"I suppose I can concede you have proven yourself useful in the lab, worm. ...This is a token of my gratitude."

he didn't blush when he got the gift but he did blush giving you one so. . .i'm taking it this isn't obligation chocolate.

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"Hmph, did you honestly think you could fool me? I won't fall for your cheap tricks. I've already been fooled by Jiro seven times today!"

comically jiro's says he doesn't remember pulling any tricks on yuri at all. . .so yuri may be assuming anything he dislikes or is inconvenienced by is a trick lol

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Trick or treat! I have coordinated the ultimate matching costumes for Jiro and I... Yes, perfect."

the fact that he wanted to match costumes with jiro is so cute. . .like he really has this goofy side that doesn't come out much, but it seems like he enjoys celebrations and relaxed things, he's just too busy to engage in them. he likes isekai manga and holiday traditions and costumes. . .then again there's coordination and order involved in a matching halloween costume. so maybe he just likes the order and structure of it all.

Christmas: (December 25th)

"Merry Christmas. You can hand me my present at your earliest convenience. You did prepare one for me, didn't you!?"

he's surprised you remembered his birthday and valentine's day but he expects a christmas gift???

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"I am a very busy man, so if you don't require examination, then we're done here."

(13 affinity and above)

"Hmph. You really think yourself important enough to make a genius like myself wait around!?"

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"Where on earth have you been, worm!? Next time you plan on taking an extended leave of absence, I expect you to inform me in advance!"

THERE WE GO. after yesterday where tumblr decided to freak out on me and just fuckin delete it all i'm glad it's out of the way today lol. I REALLY LOVE YURI HE REALLY FEELS SO. . .PATHETIC. he's the self-reinforcing type who really feels the need to hype up his own greatness and reinforce his authority while, as you get closer to him, letting you see how vulnerable he is and how scared he is of failure. and at first you're a specimen and a lab rat but after getting close enough he shoos you away from his experiments and you can even be his assistant(in jiro's absence) instead. . .his profile makes him sound very in control and aggressive but he doesn't really seem that way in his voicelines i guess? and here and there he's goofy and caring. . .he's kind of a loser(affectionate)!

one of my favorite characters lolol i am so looking forward to the mortkranken chapter because that's going to be so dramatic i bet. . . .

#yuri isami #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker spoilers #datamining cw #danie yells at tokyo debunker #danie yells answers #danie yells with anons #I ONLY HAVEN'T DONE TWO CHARACTERS I THINK.#i'll do them eventually even if no one asks haha #i have so many asks and reblogs and things i need to get to haha i'm sorry i'm such a mess everyone

109 notes · View notes

quitealotofsodapop · 7 months ago

Text

First Princess Songzi to the Stone Matriarch to Guanyin:

referencing my updated "Celestial Family Tree" + what the monkey doing there? and the Stone Monkeys lived on FFM theory.

>:3 huehue been cooking on this au/theory for a while now

First Princess Songzi had become so digusted by her father comparing humanity to little more than beasts, that when she reincarnated she was reborn as a Stone Monkey/Shí Bǎomǔ.

A Stone Monkey who would become the last Stone Matriarch of Flower Fruit Mountain. She ruled for many years, fair and merciful in a way unknown to demonkind at that time. Her orange-gold fur seemingly glowed in the sun as she watched over her troop, her eyes warm with the light of Heaven itself.

Until the Great Flood.

Being creatures not meant for deep water, the Stone Monkey troop that had survived on Earth for so long had found themselves all but wiped out within a single tidal wave.

The Stone Matriarch wailed and cried for any of her lost troop to answer her for years. Her own mate among the missing and presumed dead.

There was not enough food to feed those who had survived the initial waves, and not enough clean water to sate the thirsty. From her grief, the Stone Matriarch and those who had survived began making preparations.

Preparations for the Matriarch to fling a light into the future.

The Stone Palace which had housed countless generations of families was left how it was on the day the flood took them all away. Signs left to tell the next generation or whomever found it that; "We were here. We lived and loved and died. Let the Earth remember us." They wrote upon the walls of the caverns and painted the rocks with their stories so that whomever found them would Know.

The Matriarch found the highest peak of the mountain, one which saved her from the flood waters, and began praying to Hòutǔ and Nüwa (as was customary) as she dug her final resting place. The goddesses of the deep earth and of creation were of great importance to their kind.

The Matriarch buried a peach seed beside her in case that if she failed, her body would at least feed the children of later generations with the fruit.

And she went into her deepest sleep.

The Boulder utop Flower Fruit Mountain had not been there since the "beginning of the Earth" as the tales said - but it might as well have to the yaoguai that settled on the island once the flood waters receeded. The young goddess Nüwa not only created a new Heavenly Pillar to repair the world, but also helped the displaced creatures of the earth find new homes to settle safe from Heaven's destruction. The Boulder greeted them to a paradise lush with fruit and flowers.

As a stroke of misfortune; a waterfall, formed in the aftermath of the flood, concealed the entrance to the Stone Palace. Meaning that those who had settled, did not discover it for some time. And the waters of the cavern eroded some of the many stories left on the cave walls.

One day the Boulder split open, revealing an egg-shaped stone. A young monkey falling out of it like a chick from a nest. The troop of monkey yao had no idea what to make of the little one. Only the bravest four cubs (Ma, Ba, Beng, and Liu) dared to approach this outsider and greet them as a new playmate.

The cub was nicknamed "Xiao-Shihou", their "little stone monkey". Later to be known as their King for his bravery and resourcefulness.

And even later renamed Sun Wukong as he had learned the ways of man and immortals.

Sun Wukong never met his mother. He never knew he had a parent to speak of. But he would learn from his time in Heaven that he was not the Only of his kind that existed once. That there was once strangers like him out on earth and in the stars. And that there might be a way to continue their work...

So he began researching ways to preserve his life and create his lone-parent child at the same time so that they would not be left alone as he was. The knowledge of Liu'er Mihou being a subspecies survivor was uncompletely unknown for millennia afterwards.

When The Bodhisattva of Mercy; Guanyin appeared in court on the day Sun Wukong lashed out at Heaven, her knowledge of her past lives rushed to her heart like an arrow. Before they were Miaoshan she were another human, and 30 so lives before that often a mortal animal or a plant. But her first ever reincarnation - the one which spearated them from their first life as First Princess Songzi - was that of a Stone Matriach preparing a safe place to bare her baby.

Guanyin could not inform Heaven of this fact - as it would put a target far greater than even now upon their past-self's child. The Jade Emperor and Queen Mother still found it difficult to separate Guanyin from their passed daughter. They simply would not be able to comprehend the stone monkey's connection to them.

So they pleaded for Sun Wukong to survive his punishment, even if it wasn't ideal for him or his people. Even all knowing - The Buddha simply could not let the Monkey King's destruction go unpunished or untested. Until he could become more patient, more wise, he must rest and mediatate upon his actions. Guanyin would approach the Monkey King many times throughout his Journey, always with the air of a worried mother. They even comforted and cried with him when he discovered the fate of the island after the war, and later when he lost his mate. Though at the time Sun Wukong he did not understand exactly why the Goddess cried with such sympathy alongside him.

And depending upon the story (AU), the Bodhisattva may have accidentally set the perfect conditions for their own spirtual grandchild to be formed.

The Goddess of Birth became a creature able to bare their young without a partner at the cost of their own life. And later in creating her child, the Stone Matriarch would enter the cycle of reincarnation to eventually become the Bodhsattva notorious for their Mercy and their skills in bringing life into the world.

As for Sun Luzhen?

The Matriarch's Mate (Patriarch? Consort?) had not died in the flood waters as she had thought - but had been swept away into a cavern where they too presumed their love had been taken into Diyu. The Consort in turn buried themselves into the side of the mountain's base as opposed to the top - the Egg that formed only discovered over 2000 years after it's twin when the mountain itself was cracked open.

Sun Wukong meets this long-overdue cub in the clean-up effort, and discovers to his horror and sorrow the origins of them both.

Along the walls of The Consort's resting place lay a vast record of all the Stone Monkeys that came before them - the Matriarch having always adored her studious mate's rambling. The Consort even leaving aside names they and their mate had considered for their planned vast brood ("little heaven" and "walks reality" was among them), and wishes that whomever found their baby or any other stone egg take care to remember those who sacrificed to ensure their survival.

Sun Wukong drops to his knees upon reading the pre-chinese markings uncovered by Azure Lion's battle. The newly-hatched cub in his arms cooing with curiousity at his matching sun-orange fur.

80 notes · View notes

mybookof-you · 18 days ago

Text

2024.11.06

I awoke earlier than usual this morning after a restless night of sleep. Coffee was brewing as I heard the news piping into the kitchen that America, my country, was destined for an eminent Trump presidency. I reacted at first with disbelief, but as further information was delivered the reality became clear. My heart is broken. I sat with my warm mug alongside my husband taking in this reality. I have been crying for about an hour or two. So much inexpressible grief and concern for those who will be most ill-effected. So much worry for the direction of the future of our planet and our global human connection.

The news I watched pointed to the fact that Trump represented a change in economies that spoke to middle America. I cannot blame people for wanting to preserve their pockets, homes, and families or values they feel are eroding. I do not believe Trump’s answers will fully realize those hopes for positive change, but it looks like we are going to find out. I believe he is the wrong answer to those concerns.

I fear that Trump’s presidency will deliver authoritarian rule in a way we will not be able to overcome for generations. Again, it looks like we are going to find out just what a second Trump presidency will bring. Most of all, I fear that people who will be devastated by the coming administration will not be heard, and their muffled cries will go silently into the darkness, forgotten like so many who have historically been marginalized, dealt with, and eliminated.

I fear for Ukraine, Israel, Palestine, and Taiwan. I fear for under-represented groups like the LGBTQ community, communities of color, and the poor who suffer beneath a structure which keeps them from rising above their situation. The elderly. The expendable.

I fear for our planet, and the future of all creatures which depend upon it. The answer may come from the science that has already explained the climate change we are experiencing. That devastation will predictably continue exponentially if we do not act responsibly. The future may be on Mars. The future may be aided by genetically modified plants and new methods of growing food. I believe science will help us in our uncertain future.

Though, I would rather not go there. The state of health of planet Earth is the only area I wish to move backward and promote a more sustainable lifestyle, economy, and direction based on interdependence of people from across small, local communities to the global community. We all matter, and more than us, the Earth itself is a precious gift we, the top of the food chain, were trusted to steward and preserve. Our very lives depend on the stability of the ecosystem we selfishly trash in order to serve our immediate needs. We can attempt to synthesize what we need to survive the destruction we bear responsibility for, but if the Earth’s design and system of functioning has worked why fix it? Why not listen to what She is saying and change to follow Her lead. She will outlive all of us, whether we are lucky enough to be here or not. She does not need us. We need Her.

We need one another. I do not want to move backward toward dehumanizing those who are not like us. The human self-centered thing to do in crisis is to square-off and draw lines between ourselves and those who do not share our perspectives, our cultures, and our skin color. It is easy to fall into that false sense of security, when, in truth, our future is safer and more sound when we consider the whole of creation, all people, all creatures, and all elements of our world.

Purging and sanitizing the world of anything we do not accept as our personal own is not a solution. It is self-deprecating. It is a plan to eliminate and silence perceived enemies and create new ones. It is an unending path toward bloodshed. It is genocide. It is an endless cycle of victimization from which no one is guaranteed protection.

I would advocate the preservation of all life. Communication. Understanding. Respectful disagreement. Compromise. Solutions reached to promote all peoples and all of life. There are most certainly no easy solutions. My hope is that viable solutions which value all of us are attained. That is what I will attempt to work toward within the tiny space I occupy and continue to find hope. Tomorrow is another day, and I claim it for me and for you, for all of us and for everything.

24 notes · View notes

mpreg98 · 8 days ago

Text

The Guardians of the Hidden Pines

Deep within the farthest reaches of the ancient forests, untouched by time, lived the "Tawatse", a secret all-male tribe of Native Americans. For centuries, they had remained isolated from the outside world, hidden by the dense canopy of trees and protected by sacred wards passed down from their ancestors. The Tawatse followed the old ways, holding steadfast to the traditions and knowledge of their people, preserving their heritage far from the encroachment of modern civilization.

What made the Tawatse unique was their sacred bond with nature and their role as "bearers of life". In their tribe, it was the men who carried the next generation, blessed by the spirits of their ancestors to bring forth life while continuing to hunt, build, and protect their sacred land. Each pregnancy was seen as a divine gift, a connection between the tribe and the spirit world, their bellies swollen with the promise of future warriors, shamans, and protectors.

The Tawatse lived in harmony with the land, gathering herbs for medicine, crafting tools from the wood and stone, and hunting only what was needed to survive. Their deep connection to the earth granted them the wisdom of the seasons, the cycles of the moon, and the spirits that roamed the forests. Every new birth was celebrated under the stars with song, dance, and offerings to the earth, the tribe’s way of honoring the sacred duty they proudly bore.

As their bellies grew with the next generation, the men of the tribe continued their grueling tasks, unbowed by the weight they carried. Their resilience and strength were legendary, a testament to the harmony between body, spirit, and earth. The outside world knew nothing of the Tawatse, and the tribe intended to keep it that way, safeguarding their secret existence and ensuring their way of life remained unbroken, passed down to the children they carried in their wombs.

Generations had lived and thrived in this secret, sacred space, a living testament to the power of tradition, honor, and the bond between man and nature. The Tawatse would continue as they always had, untouched by time, their legacy hidden within the whispering woods.

19 notes · View notes

writingwithcolor · 2 years ago

Text

Jews (and Muslims) in space! AKA fun with halakhic hypotheticals

@whiteraven13 asked:

Hi, I'm writing a sci-fi book that involves a long spaceflight before arriving on a new planet. How would being in space affect things like Shabbat (since no sundown) and praying towards Mecca? I want people's faiths to be important in the book because it always drives me up the wall when sci-fi stories are like "In the future people will be enlightened and won't need religion any more." Thank you!

Oh boy are you in luck, because this is actually something we talk about all the time! An astronaut in our current world doesn’t have the option of taking a full 25 hours off work, but they have in fact marked the beginning of shabbat by lighting electronic shabbat candles. Jewish astronauts have generally observed the shabbat times of their point of takeoff; lighting shabbat candles in orbit therefore has a set precedent.

We don’t yet have a precedent for which direction to face while praying; Judaism and Islam treat this issue differently, since in Islam they face toward the actual direction of Mecca, while in Judaism we face due east even in places where Jerusalem is to the West or North of us. My instinct says that on another planet we would face toward planetary East, but on a long spaceflight my thought is that we would likely not worry about what direction the Jewish prayer space faces, since we also have the convention of facing toward whichever wall the torah scrolls are stored on, regardless of which direction it is. Speaking of which, there has been a torah scroll in space, on more than one occasion.

Judaism has a lot to say about time. We don’t only mark the beginning and end of Shabbat at certain times, we also pray three times a day, at set times, and we observe holidays linked to the seasons--the seasons as they are in Jerusalem, regardless of which hemisphere of the Earth we’re standing on. It might be a jar for characters who have been observing the shabbat times of Houston for years to finally set down on a planet where their sense of time might be completely different--and narrative-wise, that’s not a bad thing: an American Jew stepping off a plane in Australia might have a similar experience.

The question of whether pork products created by a Star Trek style replicator would be kosher is open for constant debate: my gut says that when it came down to it there would be some people who do and some people who don’t accept the kosher status of a replicated pork chop, just as there is now for Impossible or Beyond fake-meat cheeseburgers.

Thank you for your discomfort with the trope of an enlightened future where the traditions of our ancestors have been eradicated, and for wanting to paint a picture of a better future, one where we are valued and given the resources and freedom to preserve and develop our living cultures.

- Meir

I agree with Meir - the good news is these are very realistic dilemmas and you will find lots of relevant commentary online; the bad news is, you will find a lot more questions than answers! But that’s also good news, because you can pick and choose the decisions and outcomes that suit your story. The line of reasoning will matter more than the conclusion.

Not much to add except I answered a slightly similar question with some pointers on things to google and why:

Jewish Character Stuck in Time Loop

Thanks for including our religion and culture in a highly technological future world 😊

- Shoshi

#Jewish #Muslim #science fiction #religion #prayer #holidays #Shabbat #Mecca #asks

1K notes · View notes

covid-safer-hotties · 3 days ago

Text

Also preserve in our archive

By Julia Doubleday

(About a lot more than covid, but talks a lot about it later on)

This week, The Guardian reported that the 1.5 degree climate target agreed upon at the 2015 Paris talks is now “deader than a doornail.”

This will come as little surprise to the public, which has watched as loathsome politician after grinning salesman after equivocating lawyer has steered us ever closer to catastrophe as years and promises fade.

Decades ago, upwardly mobile people in the West were living in a happy delusion. As the Greed-is-good 80s gave way to the Dotcom 90s, the ruling class sold their vision of the future: a rising tide lifts all boats. More money for me means more money for all. Let’s all get rich and happy.

Globalization, neoliberalism, and capitalism, the three ingredients of prosperity everywhere, for everyone, forever. Cut regulations, let businesses thrive, let the markets reign. National borders should constrain people, not capital. In 1991, the USSR collapsed. In 1992, Francis Fukuyama published The End of History. As big business thrived, the Democratic party sprinted toward the center, with the Clintons pioneering “triangulation” and The Third Way. The markets roared. Then in 2001, 9/11 kicked off the 21st century, and a new era of global instability and warfare; the rest, as they say, is (even more) history.

The moments before- the moment where capitalists’ fantasies looked poised to come true- weigh heavy in the minds of our political elite. In the 90s, it all seemed possible; you could denude the rainforest because the rainforest was, after all, infinite; Coca-Cola could suck down all the clean water it desired; big ag could monocrop the hell out of the land; no two countries with a McDonalds would ever go to war; and meanwhile, the middle class would grow, standards of living would increase around the world, everyone would be better off! It was win/win/win/win/win! All those environmentalists and communists were passé; they’d been wrong. The best way to save the Earth, and the people on it, was through economic development.

But capitalism sows the seeds of its own destruction, and now, in 2024, we all watch in horror as the planet heaps punishment after punishment on the species too arrogant to understand the warnings we’re generously given. Every emergency light is flashing red- change course or perish. Our feckless leaders seem incapable of understanding.

It’s not only the Earth that has suffered as the decades of exploitation accumulate. The workers, too, feel the crush as the ruling class cannot resist taking more, more, more for itself. Although distributing its ill-gotten gains more fairly would preserve its own position for longer, those at the top are too deluded, too greedy, too loyal to the belief system of their cult to understand this. Leftist, environmentalist, indigenous voices that were once marginalized now gain audiences through social media.

So, we come to the point that the contradictions of capitalism are intensifying. Workers in the West can no longer envision themselves getting a college education, making a decent living, buying a 4-bedroom home, retiring with a pension. Workers around the world, meanwhile, who manufacture our things, continue to suffer inhumane standards of living. Although the most extreme poverty lessens, over half of workers still live on less than $10/day. The global middle class doesn’t materialize anywhere other than, arguably, China, free from the clutches of the IMF and its predatory structural adjustment programs.

It is against this backdrop that the Democratic Party attempts, every two years, to defend the status quo.

The Democratic Party is a party ferociously committed to looking backwards. They yearn for 1995, when the future was neoliberal deregulation, triangulation, and the Clintons. When Fukuyama announced that history had ended, it seems like a lot of Democratic officials stopped reading.

Now, you might be thinking to yourself, what the hell does this all have to do with the election just passed? Surely, you’re not arguing that the Republican party is the counter-weight here, the anti-capitalist foe? Not at all. No, the Republican party is capitalist, hyper-capitalist. They have, however, faced the reality that the status quo will not continue as is. There won’t be a future where a diverse, global family shares in the wealth produced by capitalism, where the poor are raised up to become the global middle class and globalization saves the wretched of the Earth.

The communist, socialist, or leftist alternative vision of our future is to dismantle the machine of exploitation that destroys, kills, denudes, and steals resources and workers. In order to have a planet, and workers who share in its bounty, we need to rethink the way we govern ourselves and our resources, drastically. And allowing a teeny tiny group of people- billionaires- to have outsize influence over political and economic policy flies in the face of democratic governance itself.

The fascist vision of the future is to buckle in, turn the machine up higher, and kill anyone who gets in the way. Protect the billionaires at any cost, while understanding very well that it is billionaire vs humanity itself. Get your followers to identify with the former and hate the latter. Build walls, keep out climate refugees. Deport people en masse. As things get worse, blame minorities. Distract people with culture wars, misogyny, racism, transphobia; same as it ever was. As the extinction-level outcomes of climate change materialize, shove your followers into a bottomless vortex of conspiracy, let them be dragged to the bottom, sputtering, swearing, soaking and drowning. Republicans, now led by Donald Trump, don’t act as though there will be enough to “go around”; they act as though they are going to divide society into “winners” and “losers,” with the “losers” condemned to low-wage labor, prison, deportation, or death.

This is how feckless liberalism condemns us to fascism. It offers us no future, while silencing the leftists who try. It’s no longer believable to say you represent workers and donors, oil companies and the environment. You have to pick one. When the chips are down, you have to pick a side.

The public is living through the collapse of what briefly appeared stable: a globalized, capitalist economy, deregulated in accordance with the principles of neoliberalism. This global economic system, little-bound by the laws of individual states and thus more powerful than pseudo-democratically run states, is running up against the physical limitations of the planet. Oil is not infinite. Polar ice caps melt. The methane in the permafrost is a climate bomb. Monocropping degrades the soil. More climate disasters mean less arable land for agriculture. Continually overusing groundwater means water shortages.

You can’t run a global society on the principle that what makes money for a private company today is always beneficial, and what harms the collective in the long-term is never detrimental.

The Democrats’ problem is that they will not acknowledge what has become clear to so many of us: that their “triangulation” 90s-era compromise, their brilliant idea of representing both big business and workers is simply not possible. The interests of these two groups diametrically oppose one another, and the capitalist mythology that rich people getting richer helps everyone get richer didn’t turn out to be true. As rich people and corporations have gobbled up an unprecedented proportion of American wealth, they’ve also grabbed up all the land and property, pushing homes out of reach for ordinary workers. When rich people own all the homes, how can poor people own those same homes? Capitalist dogma refuses to acknowledge constraints on resources, refuses to blink as we watch our homes flood, our fields turn barren, our cities begin to suffer water shortages.

The growing dissatisfaction with Democrats’ doublespeak came to a head in 2015. Democratic Socialist Bernie Sanders launched a longshot Presidential campaign against pre-selected nominee Hillary Clinton. What happened next shocked political analysts and observers. Clinton came into the race with the support of every major player in the Democratic establishment, every media endorsement, and a billion-dollar war chest. Sanders, conversely, boasted nothing but a straight-talking style, a refusal to accept corporate PAC money, and a few oft repeated talking points about the billionaire class.

Fueled by $27 donations, Sanders’ campaign went on to win 23 contests, but was dragged down by the unanimously hostile response from Democratic insiders, political commentators, media outlets, and, unsurprisingly, the donor class. A party that was interested in winning vs. the powerhouse Trump campaign would’ve taken seriously a grassroots campaign that was able to perform so well with so many disadvantages. Instead, the Democratic party and its Superdelegates repeatedly put its finger on the scale for Clinton, leading to the disastrous first win for Trump in 2016.

Now, finally, I’m getting to COVID.

A big part of the Democrats return to power in 2020 was COVID. That’s not my opinion; that is what exit polls tell us about voters’ decision to turn out for Joe Biden. The top two reasons Democrats had for turning out to the polls in November of 2020 were racial justice issues and the pandemic.

Democrats never seemed to understand how reluctantly the public returned them to power. It wasn’t an, “oh, thank God, Joe Biden is here,” vote. It was a “we have to get this fucking guy [Donald Trump] out of here” vote. A good chunk of the party was still angry at the way Sanders had been treated. Workers were still suspicious that Democrats were promising to represent them during campaign season, then going on to represent donors. But frankly, the country was in crisis.

In November 2020, vaccines were not yet available for COVID-19. The nation was headed into a winter wave that would kill hundreds of thousands. And, importantly, the media didn’t downplay these deaths, it emphasized them. When a hundred thousand died, their names made the front page of the New York Times. The Democrats capitalized on the gore. When 220,000 had died, Biden announced that “no one” who had overseen that kind of death should remain President. 800,000+ Americans have died of COVID during his Presidency, which he has yet to resign.

Yes, yet again, Democrats pulled a bait and switch. Just like with immigration, racial justice, police violence, climate change and indigenous land rights, Democrats cried their crocodile tears right up until the Inauguration, then dried their eyes. AOC famously went and sobbed at a detention center during Trump’s Presidency, which she did not do again during Biden’s term. Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer wore Kente cloth and kneeled in solidarity with George Floyd in a roundly mocked photo op before going on and giving the police more funding under Biden. I always thought it was a nice touch that Nancy’s mask was around her chin.

And Biden, Harris, and their spouses held a memorial at the reflecting pool for the 400,000 Americans who died of COVID under Trump the night before their Inauguration, only to never again mention Americans dying of COVID en masse again when they actually had the power to do something about it.

In short, Democrats went Back to Brunch, in a big way. The politicians, the analysts, the media allies, the donors, the pundits, and upper-middle-class Karens, the people with “I’m With Her” bumper stickers on their BMWs, the consultants, the actors, the data guys, the people who don’t notice the cost of groceries, they all together, astonishingly quickly, said thank you immigrants, Black people, disabled people, indigenous people, trans people, we won’t be needing you anymore, and went right back to pretending neoliberal capitalism isn’t about to hurl us all over a cliff.

My focus is COVID. I followed closely as, in the delusional world of the Biden liberal, getting COVID (a virus which damages the brain, heart, and immune system) twice a year became a totally okay and in fact laudable thing. I watched as wearing a mask went from being socially positive, to being socially ok, to being socially negative, as Bidenism reverted from anti-Trump to its true form; pro-capital. To protect capital, people need to accept this new condition of employment: more, repeated sickness, zero protections and ongoing risk of disability.

Their catchphrase for accepting this new, degraded quality of life was “back to normal.”

But while I focused on COVID, this wasn’t the only arena where Democrats pushed people “back to normal”. While Trump was in office, the Democrats succeeded in riling up their base about immigration, climate, and racial justice. As soon as they got power back, they tamped it all back down. As far as Democrats were concerned, Trump was in the rearview. So now everyone could go “back to normal.”

No more crying in front of detention camps.

No more kneeling in Kente cloth.

No more masks, COVID tests, or memorials for hundreds of thousands dead.

Donald Trump won this election because 19 million Democrats who turned out for Joe Biden failed to vote. Everyone has their own opinion about why. To me, it seems that in 2020, the public pushed Democrats back into the White House not excitedly, but reluctantly and conditionally. Instead of understanding that they owed the voters, particularly the most marginalized, this last chance at power, Democrats smugly swaggered back into the Oval Office and slammed the door behind them.

“See ya next cycle!” they called over their shoulder. Is it a wonder they didn’t?

For four years, the Biden Administration and “resistance libs” have been acting as if Donald Trump was a bad dream, fascism creeping across America a bad dream, COVID a bad dream. None of it was “real,” we all woke up and wanted “normalcy”, everything went “back” to what it should be, we all threw our masks away and returned to brunch. But that was never what the voters, who elected Biden in desperation, asked for.

We asked for a party, for leaders, who were ready to confront the crises brought into sharp relief under Trump, not bury them.

So wake up now, liberals. Trump was never your nightmare, Biden was your silly little fantasy. Dark Brandon can’t save us. The donor class can’t save us. Triangulation and deregulation and big legislation with giant handouts for oil companies can’t save us. And anything that can’t save us now, will doom us.

Because normal isn’t coming back. The crisis isn’t over. It’s only getting started.

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #pandemic #covid #wear a respirator #covid 19 #still coviding #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #us politics #global warming #climate crisis #capitalism

16 notes · View notes