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swordgrace · 4 months ago

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𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄.

༺ cregan stark x fem!northern!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a longtime friend of cregan stark, you seek him out to train you with a longsword. though, a duel in the wolfswood leaves you with more of a desire for other things instead of swordplay.

anonymous request.

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 9.3K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, sexual tension, mutual possessiveness, size difference / size kink, cregan is much bigger than the reader, dominant cregan, cregan is a big, brooding hunk, sexually-charged dueling, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, all stark men have a breeding kink, neck biting / marking (biting in general), rough sex, cunnilingus / oral sex (fem!receiving), hair pulling, fingering, groping, light bruising, mild manhandling, soft ending & soft aftercare.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: You can tell that I’m inspired because I’m putting out fanfics at the pace of a madman. I absolutely loved this request, huge thanks to the anon who gave me this wonderful idea and allowed me to bring it to life! ❤️ I loved writing for Cregan and I definitely wouldn’t mind doing so again! Thank you to all the love & support, you all mean the world to me! Enjoy!

“𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 — 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫.”

Lord Cregan Stark’s usual stoicism held a vast amount of protectiveness, the desire to better you in the right way, the Northern way. You had been taught all about swordplay by your father, but through the years, as you grew into your place as Lady of Barrowton, your skills had declined.

Ladies of your station were admonished for possessing any inclination of violence — a woman could not hold a sword, she could only hold an embroidery needle. A woman could not rule, only guide the men that do, and a woman could not become tempestuous, for it meant that she was simply a bad product or undesirable.

Thankfully, Cregan defied all expectations and pledged to teach you, hone your skills again from the ground up, if necessary. You could not be anymore grateful to him for assuming that mantle when he didn’t have to.

Your longstanding relationship with the Warden of the North, Cregan Stark, was the byproduct of many childhood years spent together — it was often you, Cregan, and his late younger brother. A deadly trio, to be sure, running through the Wolfswood and terrorizing Winterfell with typical childish antics.

The joy of youth had begun to run dry — you were nine-and-ten now, Cregan one-and-twenty, ruling over the entirety of the North. Your father was Lord Roderick Dustin, Lord of Barrowton and an infamous fighter, bannerman to House Stark. Of course, his duties were often torn between Barrowton and Winterfell, and so you were left in the care of your uncle.

Learning to fight again as a man would involve many hours and countless sessions held within the Godswood behind the Great Keep. It was only a handful of times each week, provided that Cregan was able to attend despite the rest of his duties.

His closest advisors had beseeched him to abandon teaching you, to let it die and rest with those with more time on their hands. Cregan refused to leave you in the hands of a less capable swordsman — what good was that, letting you learn the wrong way?

A crow’s cry reverberated throughout the Wolfswood, the beat of a flock soaring through the heavily wooded hills. Your sessions inevitably relocated from the Godswood to here, to allow for the cover of privacy and a lack of wandering eyes.

Hardened earth had turned damp and muddy in the presence of a deluge days before, certainly not sturdy ground for true fighting, but it would prove to be a challenge for the both of you. Rain wasn’t common in the North, but it proved to be quite a nuisance whenever it fell — and it fell hard.

He was under great scrutiny for doing this anyway, and Cregan preferred to keep the lectures of old men at-bay for a time, if he could. The young Lord sat beneath the sprawling branches of a massive oak tree, his horse tethered several feet away.

Using a sharpening stone, he turned dull steel into razor-sharp weapons, abandoning the practice swords he often brought with him whenever he met with you. That happened to be another point of contention — meeting with a young maiden, alone in the woods, without any chaperone.

Cregan would never tarnish your honor or sully your dignity — betrothal was inevitable for a man of his station, but he wanted to forget about it. Things were easier when it was just the two of you, sparring in the woods — he did not feel so weighed-down by duty, by leadership.

He felt less like the Warden of the North and simply Cregan Stark.

The mantle of leadership had become heavier with the visit of Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone, asking that he supply his mother’s armies with Northmen. House Stark was an honorable one — he wasn’t about to break vows of fealty sworn before the late King Viserys to make his daughter heir.

It meant that war was on the horizon, a war that would involve himself and his people, a war that held the potential to rip the realm asunder. Cregan had prepared himself for a time like this, when oaths and honor transcended old traditions. Whatever storm was approaching, he was prepared to face it head-on.

His head lifted from admiring polished steel, gray eyes searching for the dappled coat of your horse as it thundered through the Wolfswood. His heart felt lighter when his gaze found you, guiding your steed toward his own to tether it to a sturdy branch.

Love was a dangerous thing, just as perilous as any war fought by men — both on different fronts. Cregan had lost plenty in his life, and he feared losing you. This friendship you had, it almost seemed to take on a life of its own, abandoning the line of propriety and molding into something else, something affectionate.

Cregan didn’t know what he felt for you, but he knew that it wasn’t anything a friend should feel.

Despite the bitter chill of the North, the day was temperate enough, one where he didn’t feel the desire to wear a heavy cloak or layer himself in furs. The adrenaline of swordplay often got his blood rushing anyway, and he would be hot by the time this was all said and done.

The cheer and excitement you often felt was displayed so openly upon your face, lips curled into a bright smile. Cregan had teased you for being too amiable for a Northerner, but admittedly, he looked forward to seeing your sweet countenance and sparkling eyes. There was a warmth you possessed, a warmth hot enough to keep him comfortable when in your presence.

“Dour, as always,” You hummed, dismounting from your gelding with a look of mild amusement. You abandoned the lengthy silks and pretty dresses of a maiden whenever you came to train, outfitted with leather armor that seemed somewhat ill-fitting on you. “I wish to see you smile, Cregan.”

With a sardonic huff, a twinkle reached Cregan’s stormy-gray eyes as he looked to you, brows furrowing together. “I suppose you caught me on an odd day,” He replied, placing the sharpening stone upon the pillar of flat rock he sat atop. “Duties of the Warden of the North.” He sighed, turning his eyes toward the dismal skies.

You could detect his stress from where you stood, moving closer to him until you reached the smooth rock, taking a seat at his side. “Something is wrong,” You stated. Despite the constant banter you shared, you were still friends — Cregan wore his exhaustion on his sleeve in moments of vulnerability. “What is it?”

His shoulders rolled in a shrug, letting the blade of his longsword turn downward into the dirt, its weight resting against his thigh. “Winter is here,” Cregan murmured, countenance etched with a somber look. “War is brewing in the South. I am torn on two fronts.”

The conflict between Rhaenyra and King Aegon II — you knew of it. The realm was prepared to rip itself apart instead of seeing a woman’s ascension, something that you felt a great deal of sympathy for. “What will you do?” You inquired, able to see the furling of tension within his body, even beneath his sparring leathers.

“Uphold the oath made before King Viserys I, and before the realm,” Cregan replied, his eyes filled with something stern and solemn. He would never break an oath — it wasn’t something Northerners took lightly. “We swore to see the ascension of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and we shall fulfill it. I’ve pledged two-thousand greybeards to send South, when the time comes.”

The admiration you felt for Cregan only grew tenfold — it was the Cregan Stark that you had felt affection for, grown fond of. He was honorable, a gentle yet powerful man who wielded leadership with thoughtfulness and integrity. Your lips curled into a warm smile, as smoldering as a summer’s eve as you reached his arm.

“You’re a good man, Cregan.” It was all that needed to be said. There were plenty more sentiments conveyed in your softening stare alone — many things left unspoken, but some of it boiling beneath the surface.

A soft huff escaped him before he shook his head, dismissing your praise with a shrug of his shoulder. “I do what any honorable man would do,” He murmured, but the both of you knew it wasn’t true. Cregan showed great humility even when he didn’t need to. He moved to his feet, holding a longsword in each hand. “But we didn’t come here to speak of a grim future.”

The noticeable difference in stature was a point of teasing between the both of you, and one that Cregan took full advantage of. You stood across from him, head canting to one side. “The only grim future that I see is your face, my Lord.” You chimed, and he let out a mirthful scoff at your prodding and playful use of his title.

He stepped closer, offering you the glimmering blade of a longsword. Your surprise was noteworthy, and he very nearly made a comment, electing to hold his tongue. Cregan knew how to handle a blade — he was a talented swordsman, seasoned and experienced despite his age.

“These are real,” You stated, feeling the weight of the blade within your hand. You half expected the practice swords, but this was a welcome surprise. “Do you think that this is wise?” Admittedly, there was a pang of fear at the thought of swinging a real sword. What if you accidentally maimed him?

Cregan huffed, visage one of stoicism despite the amusement that crept into his stern, Northern timbre. “You’ll have to learn to leave the play-fighting behind, my Lady,” He murmured, watching as you white-knuckled the hilt. He was surprised that your hand didn’t rip apart. “Don’t hold it too tight.”

With a sharp exhale, you glanced at Cregan, whose gray eyes were akin to the onslaught of a winter storm, dark-chestnut tresses framing his face. He was beginning to grow a bit of scruff on his face, likely a byproduct of the stress of his duties.

He was handsome — Northern perfection made flesh and bone, a gentle mountain of a man. In your youth, you had always fancied Cregan to some degree, but his birthright often prevented you from acting on impulse. Then again, it was best left as a fantasy.

You froze when his hand wrapped around yours, calloused digits forcing your grip to loosen. “Don’t keep your hands together,” Cregan rumbled, repositioning your grip — one toward the top of the hilt, and the other closer to the pommel. “You’re acting as if this is day one.” He challenged, and that got your attention.

“It’s heavier,” You murmured, recoiling away with a disdainful expression. Cregan knew that he was beginning to get a rise out of you, lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk. “It’s not as easy to handle as the swords we used before.”

“Did you expect a longsword to weigh as much as a feather?” Cregan inquired, attempting to smother his amusement when you rolled your eyes at him. He prepared himself, squaring up into an attack formation, handling his ancestral blade with ease.

A scoff escaped you, and you mirrored his stance, holding the blade to the best of your ability. There was a burn in your arms from the newfound weight, but you pretended that it didn’t bother you. “I might throw this feather at you.” You grumbled, and at last, that earned you a brief chuckle from Cregan.

“Ready yourself,” He warned, circling you with steady steps. Cregan knew that he wouldn’t hold back for your sake — you were strong enough to take it. You insisted upon it many times before, even if he was initially reluctant to do so. “Don’t hold back.”

With a soft grunt, you brazenly charged at Cregan, hoping that it would catch him by surprise. He seemed to be expecting this, nimbly dodging your sloppy charge as he stepped to the side. You swiveled around, blades clanging together as they reverberated throughout the Wolfswood.

The silver of steel glinted within the pale rays of sunlight glistening through the canopy above. Cregan maintained a stalwart expression, though it began to crack at the seams as you swung again. He parried the blow, shuffling within the fallen leaves and damp earth.

“You’re swinging like a drunkard,” Cregan quipped, knowing that you were smarter than this. In one smooth stroke, he shoved you aside, grabbing the bicep of your sword arm. “Don’t fight like one.” He grunted, brows furrowing together as you struggled within his ironclad grasp.

In a brief stroke of genius, you smacked Cregan’s side with the pommel of your longsword, causing him to loosen his hold as you shimmied away. He let out a grunt, watching as you quickly made distance. It was a dirty fighting tactic — he most certainly didn’t teach you that.

The flash of a triumphant smile crept onto your features, but not before the King in the North charged forth, the both of you bringing your swords up. Something blossomed between the both of you, a strange tension fueled by unspoken feelings. Cregan bared his weight down upon you, causing you to maneuver to the side in order to evade him.

There was a fire within his eyes whenever he fought, a spark that turned into a bright flame. Adrenaline made his blood run hot, and the more the two of you brought your swords together, moving about as if it were a dance, the more enticed and invigorated he became.

Cregan found you beautiful, strands of hair sticking to your shimmering temples, framing your creased brow. The concentration written upon your visage was enough to make him pause, admire the intricacies and commit them to memory. Even when you wore men’s garb to spar, you were still enchanting.

You were perfect when fighting, pouring all of your efforts into beating him, if that were a possibility. Cregan didn’t want to doubt you, knowing that you possessed a raging inner fire, a quiet strength that grew with the tenacity of a wolf whenever you were provoked.

Steel ripped against steel, the duel commencing deep within the heart of the Wolfswood. His heart hammered with excitement, breath hot and labored as he parried another one of your quick, flourishing strikes.

He pressed his advance, barreling forward as he began to back you toward the rock underneath a sprawling tree of reddish leaves. Cregan noticed the panicked look in your eyes, the way in which you tried every move he’d taught you to gain distance.

“The wolf descends, my Lady. Think hard,” Cregan rumbled, wanting you to try and get out of this situation. “The enemy will not wait — they will strike, and you will end up here.” You were intelligent, a quick thinker — he wanted you to be smarter than this.

In what you considered to be another dirty tactic, you kicked a mound of damp dirt in his direction, providing enough of a distraction for you to hop the gap. Again, it only seemed to corral you into a corner. You attempted to swing down with an overhead strike, but Cregan very nearly knocked you into the ground.

“Never strike like that again, unless you want a blade through your belly,” He grunted, watching with mild awe as you brought it down to the side instead, forcing him to parry. Both of your blades locked at the side, struggling to maintain your balance. “Good.”

The dance continued, becoming a game of wit — outthinking and outmaneuvering the other, blades clashing again and again. He pressed you back into a corner as he had before, the distance slim. Cregan didn’t want you to yield — he knew that you wouldn’t.

Anticipation grew, and you found yourself weighing the odds. Perhaps you were simply too prideful to surrender to Cregan, even if all of this was a learning moment. Either way, you continued to fend him off with quick slashes of your blade, to no avail.

The rock became dangerously close, nearly brushing against your back as Cregan pressed his advantage. In a stroke of what you deemed as desperate thinking, you lashed out with a mule kick to his sword hand, loosening his grip enough to knock it away.

You shoved him with all of your strength, and much to your own surprise, he fell right into the dirt. Your heart hammered within your chest, and seeing the King of the North strewn across the ground made you feel some sense of victory.

Cregan huffed, brows knitting together as he stared at you from below, quickly recuperating. “I didn’t teach you to fight like a sellsword.” He grunted, but he had to admit, it was good thinking on your end — even if it was dirty and unsportsmanlike.

A smile fluttered across your features as you wiped the sweat from your brow, preparing to assail Cregan with whatever witty blows you could think of. “It wouldn’t hurt you to learn a thing or two.” You mused, canting your head to one side.

With a stoic grunt, Cregan decided to employ a dirty tactic of his own. It was a playful move, acted out without any malice and instead, wanting to hear the end of your teasing. He lashed out with his boot, sweeping your legs right out from underneath you.

Cregan smirked, watching as you buckled and toppled over, though he never intended for you to unceremoniously land right on top of him. You dropped your longsword somewhere along the way, forehead narrowly avoiding smacking into the hard earth. Cregan caught you before that could happen.

With labored breaths, you immediately hit his chest with a light punch, not enough to ever cause any real harm. “What was that for?” You grumbled, realizing how close the both of you were. He was a large man, warm and muscular beneath you.

“I’ve learned a thing or two, my Lady.” Cregan corrected, a twinkle within his stormy-gray eyes. When he fully noticed the compromising position the both of you were in, his breath hitched slightly. There was nothing stopping him from grabbing your hips and kissing you then and there.

Before fantasy could become reality, you hastily rolled off of him, feeling a light sting of arousal growing between your thighs. You wanted to avoid such a disaster — Cregan was your friend, he was the King in the North. To ascend all bonds of propriety and try for something more would be improper.

He stayed on the ground for a moment longer, moving into a sitting position as he shook his head. “Throwing dirt, pommel-striking, and kicking,” Cregan remarked, planting a palm atop his knee. “Have you been training without me?”

“Never,” You wouldn’t dare seek out another swordsman — there were none like Cregan Stark. “I wouldn’t dream of having another teacher,” You hesitated, lips twitching into a bemused smile. “Though, if I am not mistaken, you do sound jealous.”

Cregan happened to stand before you did, outstretching a gloved hand for you to take. You did, murmuring your gratitude as he hauled you up and right into the expanse of his chest, emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark. There was something indiscernible within his eyes, steely yet softening in sight of you.

The unusual tension had crackled from mere sparks to an open flame, your throat becoming tight as Cregan’s gaze bored into you. His shadow swallowed you whole, wisps of dark, chestnut hair sticking to his face, perspiration glittering across his temples. You still held his hand, watching as his jaw tensed.

“I sound jealous, my Lady?” Cregan rumbled, timbre gentle and thick with his Northern accent. The closer he pressed, the more the reality of the situation dawned upon you, keeping you grounded. You were afraid of resorting to action, afraid that something would happen to tear you both apart.

It was easy to tear down your teasing, playful side to nothing more than a smitten maiden when Cregan huskily addressed you that way. His eyes momentarily flickered across your beautiful features, particularly the soft curve of your mouth, and what little of your neck had been exposed to him.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, lips parting as a soft exhale escaped you. “You do,” You whispered, searching his countenance for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. When you found none, you began to lean up, rocking closer than ever before. “Quite jealous.”

Cregan silenced you with a kiss, one that could melt even the hardiest of ice. It was blazing and passionate, yet slow enough to savor the moment. You reciprocated, palms flat atop his chest as he wrapped a thick, bulky arm around your hips, hauling you in until no sliver of space remained.

You kissed him fervently, allowing your many months of smothered affection to boil over. Despite Cregan’s indomitable, intimidating appearance, he was as gentle as they came. He handled you with respect, his other hand coming to seize your waist, kneading into your curves through your sparring leathers.

Tension boiled over, fueling the fire that had been stoked between the both of you for some time. Ravenous was a mere understatement — you wanted Cregan then and there, if he would indulge you. The ground was muddy and certainly no place to bed.

He bit at your lower lip with a grunt, brows furrowed together in concentration. He hunched in on you, bringing you flush against his body, heat replacing the bitter sting of the Northern chill. Cregan was rough, but inherently passionate with how he treated you — no malice, simply a wolf’s hunger.

“Cregan,” You huffed, mouth agape as you attempted to regain your composure. Whatever restraint you had was hanging on by a mere thread, prepared to snap. “I …” Admittedly, you were at a loss for words, still reeling from the shock of having your affections reciprocated.

His mouth pressed against your jaw as he buried his scruffy visage into the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Seems you’re cold, my Lady.” Cregan grunted, feeling the onslaught of gooseflesh that had permeated your skin, continuing to prickle along your spine.

With a brief chuckle, you reached for his chestnut tresses, tugging on his hair in order to bring him closer. “Fortunately, I have the King in the North to keep me warm,” You hummed, gasping when he brazenly groped at your haunch, strong hands kneading into you. “I want you, if you’ll have me.”

“Here?” Cregan uttered, timbre deliciously thick and husky with desire. Even if he wanted to claim you for himself, he would’ve taken you somewhere warmer, somewhere comfortable. “You’re no animal, my Lady. I wouldn’t fuck you into the dirt like one.” He rumbled, able to taste your yearning.

Honorable and gallant — you only wanted him more after that. As much as you desired to rip your armor off and let him have his way with you upon the rock, the mud and grime afterward wouldn’t have been pleasant. “Your chambers, then?” You mumbled, feeling his warm lips clamor from your jaw to your mouth.

“If that’s what you want,” Cregan murmured, a playful smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. It shattered his stoic countenance, melting away all of those dour inclinations he held before. “You might change your mind, and I wouldn’t fault you for it.”

A huff escaped you, brows furrowing together as you shook your head. Cregan thoroughly enjoyed that you spoke bluntly and plainly — he wanted you more than you realized, keeping his composure for the sake of propriety. There was no telling what could happen once you reached Winterfell.

“I will meet you at Winterfell.” Your answer was clear, solidified in stone. You appreciated that Cregan had given you an out, but that was the last thing you wanted. He gave you another kiss, teeth nicking your lower lip before you retrieved your longsword and mounted your horse.

Cregan watched you ride off from the Wolfswood — the new Lady of Winterfell.

A cold dusk cast its looming shadow over Winterfell, and with it, bringing the sting of ice and a light snowfall. Clouds made their presence known, gray and ominous, covering up the stars until none remained. Snowfalls in the North often ranged between fleeting and treacherous, and tonight seemed to be somewhere in the middle.

Following your dance in the Wolfswood with Cregan, the ride back to Winterfell gave you plenty to consider. You found his hesitation to be noble, but you had made your mind up some time ago. The moment where friendship now transcended into something else had come, and you knew what you wanted.

Perhaps you had kept him in suspense on purpose, waiting until the rest of the Great Keep was silenced before you made the tenuous trek to Cregan’s chambers. You had cleaned up perfectly well, clad in thick, furred robes, ones that left little to the imagination. You assumed that you wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight at all, if Cregan were still intending to follow through.

The doors to his chambers were heavy, embossed wood carved from the thick trunks of Wolfswood oak, the handles resembling the heads of wolves. There was no guard posted outside — there never was.

If anyone knew Cregan at all, it was his staunch independence and his desire for privacy. He was one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms, and no guard would change such a thing. You stood outside, steeling yourself for what was to come.

Your hand hovered above the wood, palm pressing against it before you knocked thrice, breath hitching slightly at the sound of footsteps from the inside. Nervousness suddenly gripped you — none of this felt real at all, and you were prepared to wake up in some distant dream.

For the longest time, part of you had silently yearned from afar for Cregan, knowing that he would someday take a wife, and it wouldn’t be you. You were just friends, and you were cursed to admire him for all eternity with nothing coming to fruition. You had come to terms with it, but now?

Everything had changed.

He kissed you with a fervor in the Wolfswood, a kiss reserved for lovers — had he felt the same way, as you did? Was it simply the desire to have someone he trusted warm his bed? You were uncertain, and you wanted clarification.

The groan of oak reverberated throughout the stone corridors as Cregan opened the door, standing there, tall and indomitable, a tunic clinging to his chest. You could see so much more of him without the chain-and-leather armor, without the obstruction of a thick hide cloak. His broad shoulders seemed to relax in your presence.

Gods, you looked beautiful — Cregan had seen you dressed up on a handful of occasions, but they all paled in comparison to how you looked now, clad in the pelts of wolves, visage free of dirt. His grip tightened along the edge of the door, an effort to restrain himself from devouring you then and there.

“May I?” You asked, wringing your hands together in order to alleviate some of the tension. Cregan stepped aside, stormy-gray hues transfixed upon you as you crossed the threshold into his chambers. Your heart hammered within your chest as he shut the door, crossing the room to tend to the fire.

“I must know what this is, before we go any further.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, strained and desperate for an answer. “What have years of friendship come to, in your mind?” The question was direct, demanding that he state his intentions.

Cregan appeared perplexed, stepping toward you with a hooded expression. “Was that kiss in the Wolfswood not clear enough, my Lady?” He rumbled, hooking an arm around your hips. “I am a man of honor, and I wouldn’t dare tarnish your own. I am still your friend,” Cregan uttered, reaching up to cup your face, “And I am your lover.”

“If I wanted you to tarnish my honor?” You murmured, watching his countenance contort into a look of desire, as if you were invoking a challenge. Heat radiated from him in waves, sinking into your bones, making residence there. He was comfortable, a mountain of a man who held you so gently.

A brief huff escaped him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, yet it did not come to fruition. “I would do as my lady commands.” He grunted, pressing a kiss against your jaw. You tasted perfect, if that were even an accurate description.

His honeyed, husky words excited you — his commitment to you was laid bare before you, and you felt a familiar surge of arousal deep within your bones. “No one else?” Possessiveness swelled within you — you wanted Cregan for yourself. If this were to become something serious, you would make it clear.

“I am yours,” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together as he made his pledge to you. “And you are mine. I would not have it any other way.” He assured you, calloused hand kneading into the swell of your hip through the thick layer of fur that concealed your body. He wished to see it all for himself.

Your foreheads touched for a moment, and despite the charged, tenuous element of sexuality floating about, you quite enjoyed the tenderness of it. “I am yours, and you are mine.” The pledge was soft-spoken through you lips, prompting Cregan to press a kiss against the top of your head.

Without hesitation, your fingers curled into the coarse fabric of his tunic, gripping tightly as you pulled yourself up for a kiss, but Cregan met you halfway in a frenzy. His kiss was ravenous, filled with a rapturous hunger that did not appear subtle at all.

Gone was the chill of winter, replaced by the burning fire that smoldered between the both of you. He kissed you hard, teeth raking across your lower lip as he hauled you close, until there was no sliver of space left between. There was no shortage of desire or passion either, as Cregan’s hand pushed against the leather ties of your robe, wanting to feel your soft skin underneath.

“Cregan.” You exhaled, shivering when you heard that growl reverberate within his throat. Your hands joined him in their lascivious crusade, untethering the rough leather strings of your gown, loosening it up until it sagged upon your body. You nodded to him, a subtle signal that he could have whatever he wanted.

He pushed the thick material aside, watching as it fell around your feet, softly thudding against the stone. You wore nothing at all underneath, supple and beautiful, skin as soft as silk, all belonging to him. “Expecting something from me, were you?” Cregan murmured, pushing your tresses aside, exposing the expanse of your pretty neck to him.

A soft groan tore past your parted lips, belly filling with a fire that demanded to be extinguished. He pressed a hot trail of kisses along your face, starting there as he began to move downward. “Perhaps.” You huffed, listening to his chest vibrate with a brief bout of laughter. The sound was like music to your ears.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mumbled his praises into your flesh like a prayer. His roughened palm moved to clasp against the nape of your neck, digits reaching for your hair as he brought his mouth to your jaw, teeth and lips working in-tandem.

Cregan shivered when your colder fingertips hitched beneath his tunic, feeling the thick, corded muscle of his torso, the few scars here and there. Your digits toyed with the leather waist of his trousers, skimming upward to flatten your palm against his abdomen.

You moaned when he bit into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark, but delicate enough not to break through your skin. He felt along the soft dips and bends of your curves, traveling wherever he pleased until he sank his hands sank your haunches, unable to keep from touching you.

Everything about you invited him in, intentionally or unintentionally. The scent of various herbs and perfumes clung to you, intertwined with that of leather. Each embrace of his mouth was purposeful, burying into the hollow between your shoulder and throat, seeking to make his mark, imprint himself upon you.

He moved enough for you to remove his tunic, assisting in maneuvering the garment off and away from his body. You let it drop to the floor, kicking aside your robes to form a growing pile of garments.

Cregan was perfect — a true Northman, with a hardened body to prove it. He was all thick muscle and strength, sturdy and broad-shouldered. It was refreshing to see a man that didn’t lack in fortitude, and you reached forward, caressing your fingers over the plane of his musculature. He shuddered at your embrace, lips parting slightly.

He kissed you again, devouring your mouth with an unrestrained desire. Even if lust had taken hold, Cregan preferred displays of rough passion instead, wanting to show you just how much you meant to him, the things you did.

A growl stirred within his chest, hands grabbing your hips as he steered you toward the furs in front of the hearth. You reached for his head, tugging on his chestnut tresses as you reciprocated each kiss with one of your own, one that echoed his own fervor.

“Lay down.” He rumbled, gaze simmering with ardor as he watched you descend onto the furs, pelts of direwolves that enveloped you perfectly. Cregan towered over you, lowering himself onto his knees as he pushed your legs aside, bullying himself between them.

You shivered when he kissed your collarbone, roughened palm kneading into the pliant flesh of your thigh. He wanted to savor all of you first, taste you upon his tongue, let your scent linger. Cregan’s mouth was domineering and rough, biting wherever he could, listening to your satisfied whimpers.

“I want to taste you.” Cregan murmured, his voice a husky timbre that sent shockwaves throughout your body, striking at the pit of your stomach. It filled you with a sense of desire, goosebumps cascading along your spine. His inquiry was masked as a statement, but he awaited your approval.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you nodded, feeling a lick of excitement trail down until it settled between your thighs. “Please.” It was all you really needed to say, your incendiary gaze alone inciting a rapturous hunger inside of him.

His descent was slow, ensuring that you felt every nip of his teeth, every kiss emblazoning itself upon your flesh. You sighed with passion, meeting his tempestuous, gray-eyed stare, one that smoldered with desire. You reached for his face, fingers sweeping around his jaw, and you watched as he kissed your palm.

The gesture was brief yet sweet, a break in the swelling tide of carnality and wanton need. Cregan pressed a kiss against your collarbone before he continued his downward venture, lips drifting over both of your breasts, hungrily making his mark against your sensitive skin.

A low grunt escaped him when your digits threaded themselves into his tresses instead, finding their purchase at the base of his skull. The warmth of his mouth drifted over your stomach, feeling Cregan bite at your hips, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. It drove him wild, the desire to claim you seeping into his bones.

Cregan wasn’t much of a talker during acts of sensuality — he preferred to show you through action, instead. When he made it to the apex of your thighs, he settled against the furs, orange firelight dancing across the taut, thick muscle of his shoulders. He pushed your legs apart, letting them rest across his back, rough hands kneading along your legs.

Your breath hitched within your throat, stomach churning with excitable butterflies and arousal. The slick warmth that had coagulated between your thighs was a welcome sight to Cregan, who felt a twinge of smugness knowing that you’d gotten wet already.

He listened to the tremor within your exhale, the squirming of your body atop the furs, the subtle twitch of your thigh when he bit into the sensitive flesh. You were endlessly soft — velveteen beneath his fingertips. The contrast between his rough palms and your smoothness was a perfect duality.

The gray intensity of his stare left you breathless, and he did not break eye contact as he kissed your slit, prompting you to shiver. His tongue raked hot embers across your aching cunt, deliberate and intentional, driving you to an agonizing madness.

Cregan pulled you closer, a growl ringing within the depths of his throat as he sought your cunt, greedily lapping over your slit. He split past your folds, ravenous for whatever you would give him. It made you moan, hand gripping his hair, hips absentmindedly jolting into the vigor of his mouth.

He seemed so herculean, even now as he rested between your legs, broad shoulders etched with a slight tension. His brow was creased in concentration, a low hum escaping him as he devoured your cunt. Cregan did not have any qualms about staying there, head buried between your thighs.

That taut heat within your stomach had been wound so tight, like a coil threatening to snap in two. His mouth was voracious, lapping and kissing wherever he pleased, with the enthusiasm of a man starved. He was passionate and somewhat rough, occasionally turning to bite into the pliant flesh of your thighs.

“Cregan,” You moaned, writhing beneath him, feeling his strong hands clamp down upon your legs, locking you into place. It was pure bliss and agony all rolled into one, your other hand fisting the thick furs beneath you. “Don’t stop,” A whine tore past your mouth, with the wolf more than willing to oblige. “Don’t stop.”

A huff escaped him, one that filled his belly with a raging fire. His cock throbbed within his leather breeches, aching with want for you. He wasn’t about to let you buck and move at your leisure — he wanted you all to himself. His tongue continued to lap at your cunt with heavy strokes, stoking the flame of your arousal.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again.

The sound of your soft, pleading voice calling his name made him grunt, digits digging into your thighs, hard enough to leave faint bruises. You enjoyed the display of strength, his desire to mark you, claim you for his own. The wolf festered within him, and you were prepared to submit to him.

Cregan was stoic and dominant, yet those storm-colored hues softened whenever they flickered toward your visage, the image of grace and beauty. You had always been pretty, yet your perfection reared its head fully when you opened yourself up to him. He was enthralled, reduced to a mere pup in your presence.

His mouth pursed around the pearl of your cunt, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. You gasped, the sensation sudden yet blissful, causing your thighs to squeeze his head slightly. Cregan grunted, forcing you apart again, nose grazing your folds.

The growing shadow of his coarse beard scratched against your thighs, providing you with a brief sting — a delicious sting, at that. You had often teased Cregan for being baby-faced, but he had elected to grow out a bit of scruff, and for that, you were grateful.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal. Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, grip him tight.

The warmth from the hearth danced across your body, illuminating your soft curves and silky skin. Inklings of perspiration began to shimmer against your chest, the fire’s intensity combined with Cregan’s constant body heat. He ran hot, hot-blooded like any Northerner.

His mouth didn’t relent, continuing to suck and kiss at your clit, tongue flicking against your slick entrance. He let one hand drop from your thigh, yet the other still kept you pinned into place. The first stroke of his thick digits against your core made your head spin in a delirium of desire.

Your hips lurched forward, attempting to gain any shred of friction, despite Cregan keeping you locked into place. You felt as if you were going to explode, seeing stars within your vision as his teeth grazed your clit. The sudden sensation made you shiver, hand fisting into his hair.

Cregan teased your entrance, searching your face for any signs of discomfort as his digits worked their way inside of you. You were tight, slick and warm around him as he sluggishly pumped them in and out of you. “That’s it,” He rumbled, grunting when you pulled on his tresses again. “Easy, my lady.” His tone held a playful remnant to it.

A brief huff escaped you, one of mild amusement. The sweetness that ebbed between the both of you soon dissipated into an air of seriousness once again, with Cregan tormenting you, mouth on your clit. He drew each sound out of you with a vengeance, feeling your legs tremble on either side of him.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

“Cregan,” You moaned, grabbing his hair so tightly that you feared you might rip it from his scalp. The roughness of it only spurred him on, enjoying your ironclad grasp as he assailed your cunt with careful laps and thrusts of his fingers. “Gods, I’m close!” You huffed, back arching off of the furs.

He wanted to do it to you again — again and again, make your body submit to him. Lust and passion swelled within him, blossoming through his chest, coupled with the possessiveness he felt over you. You belonged to him, now — his Lady of Winterfell, his.

Cregan didn’t intensify his pace or slow down, and instead, continued his ministrations with a sense of fervor and duty. His fingers and mouth worked in a blissful tandem, nose occasionally bumping into the hood of your clit, tongue dancing across your slit. He felt you shudder beneath him.

A flood of sheer ecstasy consumed you, flesh prickling with an overwhelming warmth as you shivered, reaching your climax in a white-hot crescendo. Your back arched completely, head tossed back against the furs, hands wrangling with Cregan’s tresses.

The buzz you felt afterwards was a pleasant feeling, and as you rode out your peak, you sank back into the mounds of wolf’s fur beneath you. Your grip began to slack on Cregan, enough for him to lift his head, gaze hooded and affectionate.

He pressed a series of sweet kisses along the inside of your thigh, reaching up to the bend of your knee. Perspiration glittered along his temples, but he was far from over — his hunger still prevailed. “You’ve got a grip like steel.” He grunted, moving forward to rest his head against your stomach.

A brazen, lascivious thought passed through him — your belly swollen with his child, an heir to Winterfell, a child of House Stark. It was reckless and wild to think of something so bold, but he couldn’t get it out of his head.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, somewhat flustered at your capability to nearly rip Cregan’s tresses right from their roots. He shook his head, his steely-eyed gaze flickering toward you. “I was quite consumed by the moment.” You confessed.

Cregan crawled forward, pressing a kiss against your mouth. You could taste yourself upon his tongue, evoking a whimper from between your lips. “Never apologize.” He rumbled, briefly nudging his forehead against yours. You observed him in silence, gaze swimming with affection as he rolled off of you.

He immediately stooped down to scoop you right off of the furs, hooking his bulky arms underneath you. You laughed, palms flat against the warm expanse of his chest, foreheads pressed together yet again. You didn’t need to say anything — you knew what came next.

Cregan gently deposited you onto his bed, his shadow eclipsing the glow of the firelight. He seemed massive at this angle, but his gentleness was notable with how he handled you. He unlaced the leather ties of his breeches, stepping out of them.

You happened to swallow at the sight of him — a mountain of a man, truly. A pang of nervousness struck at your gut, afraid that he wouldn’t fully fit inside of you, but it was fleeting. You knew that he would make sure that you were comfortable above all else.

His countenance, often laced with an unapproachable stoicism, softened at the sight of you — it wasn’t something commonplace. You had certainly eased the tension, his shoulders no longer weighted with stress or the burden of leadership.

A brief ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth — if you blinked, you might’ve missed it. “Are you smiling?” You whispered, doe-eyed and enamored with your Northman. Your hands trailed across the honed muscle of his shoulders, nails tracing across his back, and then to his chest.

Admittedly, it was difficult to keep a stony face around you, especially now, with your vibrant, exuberant smile and smitten gaze. Though, in the spirit of playfulness, he let out a rumbling hum, joining you atop his bed. The frame beneath groaned slightly in protest. “Perhaps.” He murmured.

He covered you with his burly physique, chestnut tresses framing his face, gray eyes drinking you in with a hint of tenderness. For as rough and rugged as he could be, Cregan became gentler for you — it wasn’t something he was used to.

Chest to chest, you craned forward, lips seeking his own as you kissed him. It was sickly-sweet, as gentle as a maiden, and Cregan found himself wanting you all over again. A low grunt of approval emerged from his throat, brows furrowing together as he reciprocated.

You reached for his bicep, palm unable to grip around the bulk of his muscle. It made you realize how much smaller you really were than him, in all senses of the word — stature and muscle mass. He had all the advantages on you, but you quite enjoyed the amusing contrast of sizes.

To Cregan, it thoroughly aroused him, seeing your silky digits attempt to wrap around his arm, only to fail miserably. He treated you like a prized jewel, afraid to harm you, afraid to drop you — it made his cock twitch against your thigh, and he heard the hitch within your throat.

“I’ll be gentle.” Cregan assured you, calloused palm gliding along the length of your thigh in an attempt to ease your worrying. You feared that he would split you in half with his cock — not that it was a terrible way to go, but you did want to walk on the morrow.

He lowered his head to your chest, peppering kisses all along your breasts and collarbone, the ridge of his nose brushing over your sternum. The tip of his hardened length slid across your slick entrance, prompting you to shiver with anticipation.

With a shove of his hips, the head of his cock pushed into your cunt, his girth and size something you needed to adjust to. A strangled whine left you, lips agape and slack, hands clawing at his biceps as he gingerly made his way inside of you, inch by agonizing inch.

The discomforting pang of being stretched made your body crawl, attempting to get comfortable beneath him. Cregan noticed the twinge of pain that fluttered across your countenance, and he soothed you with a kiss against your brow, palm still caressing your thigh.

It felt incredible — certainly an adjustment, but pleasurable nonetheless. The girth of his cock filled you completely in ways you hadn’t felt before, and you knew that he would be the only one you would ever want. Discomfort inevitably dissipated into bliss as Cregan gave you time to grow used to him.

“Need you to move,” You whimpered, noticing the fire burning within his eyes, like smoldering embers come to life. Those stormy-gray hues drank you in with the hunger of a starving wolf, and he moved your back up enough to place a feather pillow beneath your hips. “Cregan.”

The newfound angle made you reel from ecstasy, feeling the way in which his cock hit that spot of pleasure for you. He shuddered when you moaned his name, and it activated something salacious inside of him. He thought of you, the Lady of Winterfell, Lady Stark, full and round with his child, his heir.

He moved, then.

His hips snapped forward as he attempted to restrain himself from fucking you into a stupor, executing a great amount of gentleness, fueled with an amorous intensity. Cregan was passionate, cock rutting into you, hitting new depths as he began to show you just how much he wanted you.

A grunt left him when your knees bumped into his hips, occasionally squeezing him like a vice, but the bulk of his musculature kept you properly spread apart. Your mouth clamored for his, lips meeting in a tangle of tongue and teeth. Your nails dug into the thick muscle of his bicep, other hand reaching for the nape of his neck.

You felt him reach for your hand, roughened digits intertwining with yours as he placed it beside your head, pounding into you with a gentle fervor. Cregan was tempered and measured about his movements, sheathing his cock inside of you fully with each thrust.

A myriad of needy moans and whimpers left you, and you did little to conceal the height of their volume. You groaned into Cregan’s mouth when he snapped forward again, and you felt as if he might break you in half — in the best way possible, of course.

His cock was akin to the force of a battering ram in slow motion, ensuring that every thrust drove you to madness, your walls tight around him. The friction between your bodies only contributed to the tension, your chest snug against his, lips tangled together, his roughened digits groping at your thigh.

Your nails raked faint trails of red across the thick muscle of his bicep, prompting him to growl into your mouth, kissing you as if it would be his very last time. There was a subtle desperation to Cregan, coupled with that innate instinct to breed, fill you with his seed and let you carry his child.

The Northern winds began to howl outside, bringing with it an onslaught of snow, and yet you had never been warmer, happily trapped beneath the herculean mass of Cregan Stark. Your foreheads touched on occasion, each kiss building with want until it had exploded into something hot and messy.

Perspiration lingered upon both of your bodies, as his chambers became increasingly hot, like that of a fever pitch. Cregan used some of his body as leverage, pushing himself inside of you again, cock sheathed within you completely until he pulled back, and thrust again. The action became increasingly intense, yet he kept himself in-check.

Your body was perfect, a sight for him alone, made by the Old Gods — he couldn’t thank them enough. Cregan gave you another blistering kiss, letting you linger upon his tongue before he withdrew, mouth lowering towards your chest once more. He was hellbent on pleasing you while chasing after his own release.

As he took one of your breasts into his maw, he felt the sly return of your digits tangling within his hair, and he couldn’t help but briefly smirk into your flesh. He reveled in the way you manhandled him so brazenly, gripping him tightly as your leg hitched around his hips.

Cregan didn’t relent, cock driving into you with a needy force, aching and throbbing inside of you. Your thighs twitched and trembled, and he continued to trace his hand across it before grabbing at your haunch, pliant flesh filling his palm.

Grunts and low rumbles escaped him, colliding with your own symphony of moans and whimpers, desperate for him to come undone. You rolled your hips forward whenever you could, friction creating another delicious wave of heat between the both of you.

He gently bit at your chest, face nestled there as his pace became a touch quicker, cock battering into you, kissing your slick cunt over and over again. Those tantalizing fantasties of filling you with his seed tormented him, driving him into a frenzy.

He hit that spot between your legs that seemed to make you writhe, grabbing at his chestnut tresses, back arching slightly as he turned your senses into mush. Cregan groaned, the sound heavy and husky in your ear as he came, spilling himself deep inside of you. He continued to thrust into you afterwards, the motions considerably softer and less invigorated.

A huff escaped him, a quick breath to regain his composure. His stamina was rather impressive, and if you asked it of him, he would’ve continued on well into the night, but your countenance seemed etched with mild exhaustion.

You whimpered when he stayed inside of you, head bowing towards yours as he pressed a kiss against your forehead, and then to your lips. The gesture was inherently tender despite his rough demeanor, enough for you to loosely drape your arms around his shoulders.

Cregan rolled over to lay next to you, his large form taking up a sizable portion of his bed. He coaxed you close, thick arm snaking around you as he tugged you into the warm expanse of his chest, propped up against the pillows.

The silence was a comforting one, a blissful aftermath of affectionate sentiments and declarations of adoration. He made sure that you were comfortable, shrouding you in the blanket of wolf pelts, showering you in gentle kisses. His grasp was inherently protective, as if he were shielding you from some invisible force.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” Cregan uttered, checking to see if you were unwell. He sometimes got carried away in the moment, and you weren’t exactly tall and stocky like himself. He needed to accommodate you, and that sometimes included being gentler.

With a smitten smile, you nodded, peering up at him through your lashes. Your thighs continued to scream with a dull ache, cunt throbbing and sticky with his seed and your arousal. “Very much so.” You replied, head resting atop his chest as you traced patterns against his abdomen. “If I weren’t so spent, I would ask you to do it again.”

A brief huff of amusement left Cregan, who held you close, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own, his other hand firmly situated atop the swell of your hip. “I cannot promise that I would not ravage you the second the opportunity arose.” He murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

“If that’s what I wanted?” You challenged, noticing the way his expression contorted into a look of desire, but above all, pure devotion. Cregan enjoyed your flirtatious remarks and subtle challenges, chest vibrating with a hum of approval.

“Then you are in for a long night, Lady Stark.”

#house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #hotd x reader #cregan stark #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #cregan x reader #hotd fanfiction

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qqueenofhades · 9 months ago

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“U.S. President Joe Biden issued a memorandum on Thursday requiring allies who receive military aid from the U.S. to provide ‘credible and reliable written assurances’ of their adherence to international law including international human rights law,” the Times of Israel reported. Israel will need to supply written assurances within 45 days or risk loss of aid. The report added, “The memo did not mention specific countries who would be held up to the new standard, but came amid increasing calls in the U.S. to condition aid to Israel due to concerns over its military operations in Gaza which were triggered by the Oct. 7 attacks, in which Hamas terrorists murdered some 1,200 people, mostly civilians, and kidnapped 253.” No one should underestimate the impact of the decision. The Associated Press explained, “Democratic senators on Friday called Biden’s directive — meant to bring breadth, oversight, deadlines and teeth to efforts to ensure foreign governments don’t use U.S. military aid against civilians — historic.”

[.......]

Biden also pressed on with intense one-on-one diplomacy. After his comment on Thursday evening that Israel had been “over the top” in Gaza, Biden engaged with Netanyahu on Sunday in a 45-minute conversation — unusually long by most diplomatic standards (and even more so given that no time had to be spent on translation with English-fluent Netanyahu). According to the White House readout, Biden insisted Israel make “credible” arrangements to protect civilians before launching a widely criticized military plan for Rafah, where civilian casualties could mount. He also pressed Netanyahu again to increase humanitarian aid to the Palestinians. Biden’s patient approach with Netanyahu over months has gradually transformed into a private and public pressure campaign. A Biden official told The Post that the leaders had “a pretty detailed back and forth on that.”

-- Biden delivers tough love, takes historic step: Conditioning aid to Israel

Meanwhile Trump?

Trump has said he would implement travel bans on people from certain countries or with certain ideologies, expanding on a policy upheld by the Supreme Court in 2018. Trump previewed some parts of the world that could be subjected to a renewed travel ban in a mid-October speech, pledging to restrict people from the Gaza Strip, Libya, Somalia, Syria, Yemen and "anywhere else that threatens our security." During the speech, Trump focused on the conflict in Gaza, saying he would bar the entry of immigrants who support the Islamist militant group Hamas and send deportation officers to pro-Hamas protests.

Also: Trump vows to expand Muslim ban and bar Gaza refugees if he wins presidency

Really, really not sure how much clearer I can make it here for y'all, but sure. Something something Trump's actually a better choice on this issue/overall (sarcasm).

#politics for ts #israel hamas war #i mean #i know this argument is nonsense #but sometimes you look at it and feel compelled to point out just how much nonsense it is

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presidentalpaca · 2 years ago

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meta, bytedance, and openai (facebook, tiktok, and chat gpt) have been paying workers in africa $1.50 an hour to moderate their ai. those workers are now unionizing, which has gotten a lot of press. however the really important part will come when those workers begin negotiations. keep an eye out in the future for any support they may need. this is going to be a big fucking battle against these massive, super protected entities just to not be paid starving wages

#news #ai #chat gpt #wga strike #meta #tiktok #unionizing #union #babbles

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montereybayaquarium · 2 months ago

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🌊Ready to make some waves?🌊

Voter registration deadlines are coming up! Remember to register, check your registration status, and pledge to vote.

Voting is one of the most powerful conservation actions you can take—it’s a way to use your voice to protect the ocean and the animals (and human communities, and all life on earth, really) who depend on it. You have the opportunity to elect leaders who will support the protection and restoration of streams, rivers, lakes, and our ocean 💪💙��

Not eligible to vote in this election? You can still share information on candidates, key issues, and the voting process to help your community make informed choices!

#monterey bay aquarium #vote ready #vote for the ocean #first time voters get your feet wet

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thethirdromana · 1 year ago

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There's a lot of anti-Romani racism in Dracula, and today's entry marks the start of it.

So I thought it might be a good opportunity to highlight some organisations that are working to promote Roma rights, and some ways, alongside donating, that you might be able to support them.

The European Roma Rights Centre carries out strategic litigation to support Roma rights, as well as doing advocacy and research. You can sign up to volunteer for them here; one volunteer-run project currently live is called Challenging Digital Antigypsyism, and focuses on identifying and reporting hate speech on social media platforms.

On a similar theme, Minority Rights Group International has a campaign toolkit on countering cyberhate against Roma. The focus of the campaign is Bulgaria, Croatia, Czech Republic, Hungary and Slovakia.

In the UK, Friends, Families and Travellers works to end racism and discrimination against Gypsy, Roma and Traveller people and to protect the right to pursue a nomadic way of life. If you're in the UK, you can ask your MP to sign their pledge card. And if you witness discriminatory comments in politics, you can report that here.

The Roma Support Group, based in London, works with Eastern European Roma refugees and migrants. They have a number of volunteer roles for people with regular time to offer.

#dracula daily #feel free to reblog with suggestions of other organisations and campaigns #let's turn Bram Stoker's prejudice into something positive

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batboyblog · 4 months ago

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Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #28

July 19-26 2024

The EPA announced the award of $4.3 billion in Climate Pollution Reduction Grants. The grants support community-driven solutions to fight climate change, and accelerate America’s clean energy transition. The grants will go to 25 projects across 30 states, and one tribal community. When combined the projects will reduce greenhouse gas pollution by as much as 971 million metric tons of CO2, roughly the output of 5 million American homes over 25 years. Major projects include $396 million for Pennsylvania’s Department of Environmental Protection as it tries to curb greenhouse gas emissions from industrial production, and $500 million for transportation and freight decarbonization at the ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach.

The Biden-Harris Administration announced a plan to phase out the federal government's use of single use plastics. The plan calls for the federal government to stop using single use plastics in food service operations, events, and packaging by 2027, and from all federal operations by 2035. The US government is the single largest employer in the country and the world’s largest purchaser of goods and services. Its move away from plastics will redefine the global market.

The White House hosted a summit on super pollutants with the goals of better measuring them and dramatically reducing them. Roughly half of today's climate change is caused by so called super pollutants, methane, hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs), and nitrous oxide (N2O). Public-private partnerships between NOAA and United Airlines, The State Department and NASA, and the non-profit Carbon Mapper Coalition will all help collect important data on these pollutants. While private firms announced with the White House plans that by early next year will reduce overall U.S. industrial emissions of nitrous oxide by over 50% from 2020 numbers. The summit also highlighted the EPA's new rule to reduce methane from oil and gas by 80%.

The EPA announced $325 million in grants for climate justice. The Community Change Grants Program, powered by President Biden's Inflation Reduction Act will ultimately bring $2 billion dollars to disadvantaged communities and help them combat climate change. Some of the projects funded in this first round of grant were: $20 million for Midwest Tribal Energy Resources Association, which will help weatherize and energy efficiency upgrade homes for 35 tribes in Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, $14 million to install onsite wastewater treatment systems throughout 17 Black Belt counties in Alabama, and $14 million to urban forestry, expanding tree canopy in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh.

The Department of Interior approved 3 new solar projects on public land. The 3 projects, two in Nevada and one in Arizona, once finished could generate enough to power 2 million homes. This comes on top of DoI already having beaten its goal of 25 gigawatts of clean energy projects by the end of 2025, in April 2024. This is all part of President Biden’s goal of creating a carbon pollution-free power sector by 2035.

Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen pledged $667 million to global Pandemic Fund. The fund set up in 2022 seeks to support Pandemic prevention, and readiness in low income nations who can't do it on their own. At the G20 meeting Yellen pushed other nations of the 20 largest economies to double their pledges to the $2 billion dollar fund. Yellen highlighted the importance of the fund by saying "President Biden and I believe that a fully-resourced Pandemic Fund will enable us to better prevent, prepare for, and respond to pandemics – protecting Americans and people around the world from the devastating human and economic costs of infectious disease threats,"

The Departments of the Interior and Commerce today announced a $240 million investment in tribal fisheries in the Pacific Northwest. This is in line with an Executive Order President Biden signed in 2023 during the White House Tribal Nations Summit to mpower Tribal sovereignty and self-determination. An initial $54 million for hatchery maintenance and modernization will be made available for 27 tribes in Alaska, Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. The rest will be invested in longer term fishery projects in the coming years.

The IRS announced that thanks to funding from President Biden's Inflation Reduction Act, it'll be able to digitize much of its operations. This means tax payers will be able to retrieve all their tax related information from one source, including Wage & Income, Account, Record of Account, and Return transcripts, using on-line Individual Online Account.

The IRS also announced that New Jersey will be joining the direct file program in 2025. The direct file program ran as a pilot in 12 states in 2024, allowing tax-payers in those states to file simple tax returns using a free online filing tool directly with the IRS. In 2024 140,000 Americans were able to file this way, they collectively saved $5.6 million in tax preparation fees, claiming $90 million in returns. The average American spends $270 and 13 hours filing their taxes. More than a million people in New Jersey alone will qualify for direct file next year. Oregon opted to join last month. Republicans in Congress lead by Congressmen Adrian Smith of Nebraska and Chuck Edwards of North Carolina have put forward legislation to do away with direct file.

Bonus: American law enforcement arrested co-founder of the Sinaloa Cartel, Ismael "El Mayo" Zambada. El Mayo co-founded the cartel in the 1980s along side Joaquín "El Chapo" Guzmán. Since El Chapo's incarceration in the United States in 2019, El Mayo has been sole head of the Sinaloa Cartel. Authorities also arrested El Chapo's son, Joaquin Guzman Lopez. The Sinaloa Cartel has been a major player in the cross border drug trade, and has often used extreme violence to further their aims.

#Joe Biden #Thanks Biden #kamala harris #us politics #american politics #politics #climate change #climate crisis #climate action #tribal rights #IRS #taxes #tax reform #El Chapo

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fiercynn · 8 months ago

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oh my fucking god can people stop coopting the term "harm reduction". i know language can change but i refuse to let this term change into the literal opposite meaning just so people can justify their decision to vote for a genocidaire.

harm reduction is literally, meaningfully, about reducing existing risk of harm. a person who uses drugs is at risk of disease or illness because they only have access to dirty needles? provide them with a needle exchange program to make it safer for them. a teen who is sexually active is at risk of becoming pregnant or contracting a sexually transmitted infection? provide them with sex ed and protective devices like condoms or dental dams to allow them to have safe sex.

and yes, there is a part of harm reduction that is aimed at not moralizing about the behavior that you're trying to reduce harm from. but if you're a progressive - as most of the people lecturing us about "harm reduction" purport to be - you should already understand that these behaviors are not ethically bad in and of themselves. it is not inherently unethical to use drugs or be sexually active as a teen, so the fact that harm reduction efforts could "encourage" that behavior is also not unethical! if you think that it is, then you're actually a conservative!

and, importantly, the people who benefit from harm reduction were only at risk of harming themselves in the first place. so helping someone make those activities safer for themselves is not only reducing the risk of harm to that person, but, in doing so, it is not increasing the risk of harm to anyone else either.

voting is giving your active support to a candidate, and thus to that candidate's platform. so please tell me how giving your vote to a president who is actively driving a genocide, perpetuating a pandemic, funding cop cities and a border wall, and driving up deportations - none of which he has pledged to stop if reelected - is reducing existing risk of harm? because harm reduction also isn't "choosing an option that you believe is better than the hypothetical even worse alternative". and voting for biden is, in fact, increasing the existing risk of the harm that he is currently enacting on other people, and encouraging his despicable behavior!

if coopting the term "harm reduction" is the only thing making you feel okay about your decision to vote for biden despite all the people who are dead, disabled, deported, or destitute because of him, then honestly, that seems like a you problem. STOP COOPTING THE TERM.

(and if you feel the urge to respond with something along the lines of "but biden's just doing his best! i'm just telling people to vote for him because i'm scared of trump!" then please at least read this post as well before you say anything to me about it)

#fuck biden #u.s. politics #free palestine #genocide #covid #immigration justice #police abolition #prison abolition #ableism

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saradika · 4 months ago

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— just can’t say goodbye

bodyguard!din djarin x princess!reader

rated e - 4.8k

tags: sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie

this is for the 1500 kisses event for @janaispunk! I got din + wedding! Jana, thank you so much for hosting this awesome event & for the gorgeous moodboard! 💖

“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”

He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.

“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.

"I have never meant anything more.”

(or - a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.)

You'd always known your duty.

What was expected from you, of you, drilled deep from an early age. Borne with pride - you were the eldest daughter of the king, after all - until you were wise enough to see that perhaps your obligations and loyalty were as much a chain as they were an honor.

Your life followed a well-worn path. Absorbing the lessons. Hours spent in learning about those before. Women like you - the graceful neck beneath the head of another lord, another king.

Support them, love them, bear them children.

It hadn't bothered you. You hadn't known anything else.

Not until him.

The Mandalorian had been assigned to protect you three years ago. A renowned knight, his allegiance first pledged to your father. And then, you.

Your bodyguard is not from your planet. It’s something you clung to - an endless source of information about things you've never seen or known, when his lips finally loosened.

But you had always seen him for more than just your bodyguard. That it was more than duty that bound you to each other.

Over time, during those hours spent with his back facing your door - a steadfast barrier between yourself and the cruel outside world - you had started to see between the cracks.

To read into his minute movements. Catching the tilt of his head and cock of his hip. The dry comments that slip from beneath his helmet.

Pretending he doesn’t care which of your handmaidens were caught in a dark corner with Ser Shand.

But you know better.

You think that perhaps you were doomed from the start. That it was always going to turn out this way between you.

Because when you had finally reached out to touch temptation - to sink your teeth into that sweet, ripe fruit - he had let you.

And at first - with the way he had allowed your hand to flatten against his armor, fitting into her personal space - you had wondered if it's because he wasn't able to.

People do not often tell you no. You've grown up in a carefully-carved mould - your requests are rarely things to be denied.

The thought had you shrinking back, the flat of your palm pulling back to fingertips.

Until his hand had closed around your wrist, tracing up to map the back of your hand. Bringing it back to smooth against his chest, right above his beating heart.

It had you realizing that perhaps he was just allowing you to take the first desire that has truly been yours. That your hopes and wishes had not been alone.

That all this time, he had simply been waiting for you to come to him.

Hours are spent together since, stolen between dusk and dawn. The near-silent wandering of hands and mouths.

That beskar armor nearly always fixed in place. It’s as much a part of him as flesh and bone. The edge of his helmet only lifting when he gets desperate. Sealing his mouth to yours. Deepening the kiss, until he’s all you can taste.

So much of him is still a mystery, but he’s come to know you as well as the back of his hand. Knows just how to make you bend, and then break.

Working his fingers between your thighs, until you’re shattering his arms. It will be enough to hold him over, until next time.

It has to be.

In the months since that first night, you’ve never tried to push. You’ve long known that you don't need to see his face - to strip him bare - to love him.

Determined not to ask him for more than he can give.

That is - not until tonight.

You've tried to hold on as long as you can. Always had been good at pushing things down. Grinning and bearing - with that polite, learned smile.

The dread you’ve been holding back crashes into you now, a charging lance against a shield. Splintering, and you can feel the ache in your ribs as if truly struck.

You cling to him. Stripped bare, his armor a welcome chill as your fingers slip between the fastenings of his armor.

Tonight, he allows you to loosen them. The room pitch-black, as the moon hangs full against a blanket of stars.

His helmet set carefully on your side table. Too dark to see him, a way around his creed. Trust woven in his actions, and you thank him with the soft press of your lips.

Against his throat. Teeth nipping skin as he groans.

He can’t leave a mark on you. Not a single thumb-print bruise - not with the way you’ll be stripped and scrubbed tomorrow.

So you leave ones on him. Reminders he can keep, until you can manage a moment alone again.

Desire swirls hot in your belly. Your own palm slipping down to tuck against his front, cupping him. Another part of him that he’s denied you fully.

“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”

The potential wrath of your family pales in comparison to the thought of being bound to another. The reality of your situation sets everything in sharp contrast, the pretty veneer you’ve been living in cracking at the seams.

Din’s breath is harsh in your ear - fingers stuttering where they circle against your clit at your plea, coated in your slick.

He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.

“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.

You might have thought he was angry, if you did not know him so well. If you couldn’t hear his own desperation, woven into each syllable.

It has your hips canting into his touch. Each word panted out, as your fingers stroke where he strains.

"I have never meant anything more.”

Your fingers pluck at his belt, but he eases them gently away. Catching your wrist with his spare hand, pinning it to the bed. His thumb sweeping against your skin, soothing as you squirm against him.

The fingers at your clit slip down to press just inside you. As if he’s thinking about it for just a moment, giving you what you’ve long desired.

But instead there’s a finality to his words, as his touch slips back up. Increasing the pressure until you’re moaning into your pillow, the tightly-wound stream about to snap.

His words, murmured into your hair, as you come undone.

"I won't let you throw your life away."

But how can you live, knowing that he won't be yours?

Not in the way you want him to be.

The man you’ve chosen to marry - a high-born Mandalorian from another clan - is kindly enough, but he is not your knight.

No one could be.

Your only solace in this union is that Din is going with you, honor-bound by his own sworn duties.

A blessing in spite of everything. You do not think you could do this without him.

But it does not make the lead-weight of your feet any lighter. The room spins in front of you, stretching long and think as your hearing fades out to white noise.

It's only the grip of your fingers into the King's bracers that keeps you upright. Nails digging into steel, as you take one step at a time.

Your wedding is as beautiful as it should be. As you've always dreamed - your dress in pretty layers of white and gold. Up since daybreak, primped and pampered.

It's enough to almost, almost, have you regret meeting Din. If you had not known a love such as him, you might have been content for a marriage like this.

But of course, it's no more than a fleeting thought. Immediately shut down.

Better to know and grieve, than to not know at all.

You're still as stone, at the end of the aisle. All the movements practiced the night before - the events that had sent you rushing into Din’s arms after.

It hadn't seemed real until then.

Your lips feel carved into that smile. Hewn since the day you were born, your true feelings hidden in the dull sheen of your eyes.

Disconnected, as they drift. Annoyance flickering deep in your mind, when they slide over your groom.

His armor is ill-fitting. The leather straps at the shoulder stretched to their limits, hooked on the last notch. Too much space between the plates of his cuisses, and his poleyn.

You've spent weeks preparing for this, and he couldn't even dress in his finest for the ceremony. It feels like an insult, after everything.

Maybe if you blur your eyes, you can pretend it's him. Just until this is over.

The Cleric chants the words you’ve known since childhood. Repeating the phrases as your palm presses against your groom's. Each phrase bringing you closer to the end.

Only propriety and decades of lessons keep the quaver from your voice. They sound just as you practiced as they slide from you, even when repeated through muted lips.

There's a crackle of energy at the joining words. A golden string, glimmering.

Only now does your hand twitch. Resisting the urge to pull away. If you don't right now - right this very moment - then you will not get the chance again.

Your groom feels it. The slight tremble - his grip tightening around yours. The barest sweep of his thumb against your knuckles.

The movement startles you.

Just long enough for the string to loop around your joined hands, and then tighten.

It's too late now. Bound forever, until death do you part.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

Your eyes go to his helmet, as the ceremony winds to an end. His finger and thumb catching on the hinge, as his head tips towards yours.

You can’t bring yourself to meet him. Not until his lips press to yours. Not until there’s an intimate familiarity to them.

The gasp that slips from you is quiet. A hushed thing, breathed into the chaste kiss. There’s scruff on his jaw where his skin should be smooth shaven.

The height is off, too - something you’re only just now noticing.

It’s like your heart remembers how to beat again. Confusion and hope swirling in you in equal measure.

You squeeze the hand in yours, as the kiss breaks. Eyes shining as you both turn towards the crowd, life finally flickering in them agin.

It’s here, that everything begins to fall apart. Almost fool-proof.

With a bang, a man stumbles through the arched door at the end of an aisle. The pale blonde of his hair is mussed - eyes wide and red-rimmed as he shouts, a finger pointing towards the pulpit.

“Stop them!” It’s a high, hoarse thing, “He’s an imposter-!”

There’s a rippling murmur, gasps and cries as the man’s voice carries.

But your husband’s hand is is tightly grasping yours.

“Trust me?” He mumurs, and you’re nodding.

Following behind him as he darts to the side, making for the hallway. Your skirts bundled up in a fist as your heartbeat pounds behind your ribs.

There’s voices behind you. The stomp of feet, though the guests and the hired protection do not know the castle the way the two of you do.

Ducking down one corridor, and then another. News hasn’t spread fast enough - there’s murmurs from guards that you pass, but they’re not quick enough to stop you.

The sky bleeds red when you burst outside. A ship waits, engines roaring - the same one you watched drop out of the sky years ago, with his first arrival.

“Su cuy'gar!” A voice calls from inside - another Mandalorian hailing as he rushes down the ramp, “You’re late. I’ll stall, but you need to go.”

It's one you recognize as a member of your Father's own guard, hand-chosen. Boba Fett's reputation for ferocity and loyalty preceeding him. Only now do you realize just where that loyalty truly lies.

“Vor entye, ner vod.” Din clasps his arm, a farewell woven into his thanks.

“Ret'urcye mhi, princess,” Boba’s head dips in a nod, “We’ll handle things from here.”

You’re whisked inside, and ship takes off just as guests begin to pour from the door. Boba blends into the crowd as you watch the scene from above, becoming no more than another bystander.

They grow smaller. Doll-sized, and then ants, and then the stars are streaking as the ship makes the jump - shooting you out into hyperspace.

It’s here that your legs finally give out. All that tension building up until it snaps, until you’re collapsing into the co-pilots chair.

Din’s hands are on you in a second. Gloves shucked with his teeth, discarded on the floor. Warm and familiar as they cup your face.

“I am sorry,” His voice is rough. Still distorted beneath your betrothed’s helmet, but you know it’s him, “I couldn’t let you marry him.”

“I know,” You head turns, lips pressing into the palm of his hand, “I was so afraid. I wanted to run, I almost did-”

He feels how you tremble. A ragged breath as his touch turns soft - smoothing over your cheeks, knuckles brushing your neck.

Your name is breathed out, as you relax against him. As your hands start to wander, tugging at the edge of his cuirass.

“I don’t like this on you.” Your voice sounds thick, in your own head. Biting through the emotions that threaten to choke you, “It’s not yours.”

“No.” He hums, and it sounds like a laugh, “Though as my wife, you may remove them now. If you wish.”

Din’s words makes you ache with want. His wife.

You wonder if he’s teasing you, or if all that he said is true. He’s never allowed you to remove more than a piece or two before.

“Is your armor here?”

“Mine is in the bunk. Along with your things, I had them packed while you were getting ready today.”

You smile then. Relief in knowing that this was planned. That he had put the ball in motion, in those few hours you shared before dawn.

Maybe he had daydreamed about it for even longer. Knowing he could not, but still unable to help thinking through things. How he would always choose you, if only you were to ask.

And you finally had, at the very last second.

He lets your hands slip across his chest, mirroring that first night. New, in the way you slip the leather straps free, until pieces are left stacked on the floor.

The flightsuit beneath is his own. Your fingers have traced the stitching night after night, patterns you know by heart. And for the first time, he lets you tug at the zipper under his chin. Guiding it down with you, exposing tanned skin beneath.

It leaves you greedy. Fingers mapping every inch that appeared. Tracing over old battle wounds and scars from a lifetime ago. A pounding in your heart as each second stretches to the next.

Expecting him to take this back. To wrap himself away again, hiding from your eyes.

Soon, only his helmet and small clothes remain. Your fingers drifting to where he’s half hard, another part of him you already know well.

But his hands wander as well. Plucking at the ribbons that weave up the back of your dress, encasing you.

“Are you fond of this?” He’s asking, just as a fingers hooks beneath. The sharp tug that follows the shake of your head has the seams splitting. That ribbon starting to fray, and then snap.

Your gasp is almost as loud, as the fabric rips. The straps drooping down your arms as the dress starts to pool around you, dragged down by the layers of tulle.

“I’ll get you another,” Din rasps - watching, as you wriggle free.

Seeing the layers of lace beneath, meant for another man. Deep down, knowing it was always meant for him.

His bare hands catch at your hips. Sliding over skin, then up.

"I'll marry you again, cyar'ika. Properly,” Din’s words make you shiver, as his touch drifts across your arms, “As many times as you want, as long as you're mine."

“Yours.” You echo.

Reminding you about binding rituals of the ceremony - all the excitement of the escape almost making you forget.

But when his fingers catch yours, dragging your hands to the curve of his helmet, it’s impossible to think of anything else.

Intent in his movement. The tip of his head towards you, the muscles in his chest going tight as he holds his breath.

“Are you sure?” The beskar is cool beneath your touch.

You know what he offers you. Something akin to the vows you recited, something spoken in his own language.

“Yes,” He echos, “I’ve never meant anything more.”

There’s a weight, one of which you’ve never known. That this wasn’t just to save you. That he’ll wind up right back here as many times, until you believe him.

The lift of your hands is slow. Revealing the stubble on his neck, then chin. You’ve seen bits with the tip of his head. A knowledge that the hair is dark, but then there’s the soft curve of his lips.

Ones that you know the shape of, tracing yours fingers over them in the darkness. Pressed against every part of you, night after night.

There’s a patch of hair missing against his jaw. His nose, and you resist the urge to press your lips to it. A hint of curls, grey-flecked at his temples.

And then his eyes.

He needs the mask, you realize. You would have fallen immediately, looking into eyes like that. Warm and dark, as brown and pretty as his hair.

Everyone would have known what you meant to him, if that had caught him looking at you like this.

The exhale of your breath is low. Only a heartbeat until your mouth is pressing to his, insistent.

Hungry, unleashed fully for the first time. His hands slide up your hips, as the helmet hangs from your fingertips. Curling around your back, pressing you to him.

He’s dreamed of taking you countless times. Your own desires mirroring his - something flickering in your mind, now. A thought that maybe, you should move.

Down to his bunk, perhaps.

But there’s something about here. The cockpit, the streak of stars behind you. His strong thighs spread and bare in the seat before you, as you stand between them.

It’s easy to crawl into his lap. To straddle him, your clothed core already damp when you fit yourself against him.

You can feel groan in his chest as your palm flattens against him. One of his real ones - not modulated through metal.

“Please,” It’s hushed, whispered against his mouth. A rock of your hips, grinding against him.

He catches your hand, dragging it down again.

“It’s yours,” He husks, “It’s always been yours.”

Pleasure blooms low in your belly. Your fingers cupping against his length, before they slip beneath the fabric to curl around him.

Eagerly easing him out. His hips lift so you can shove his small clothes down. The weight of his cock trapped between your belly and his, as his own fingers trace the damp fabric at your core.

“I need you,” You breathe, arching into his fingertips. How they press and rub at you through the lace. It’s far past want.

Want was those early days, stolen glances from beneath your eyelashes as your solemn guard. Finding excuses to make him laugh, so sure he must be smiling beneath the helmet.

Din wears his expressions so openly without. His own desire shown in the grit of his jaw. Those lips that part on a groan, as your fist gives a slow pump.

The lace at your hips tears as easily as the ribbons that held your dress together. A pivot of his chair until he can lay you back against the metal panels of the dashboard, chilling fevered skin.

You whine at the distance that now stretches between you, but his hands only tighten where they grip at your waist.

“Shh, cyar’ika. I’m not going anywhere.” He soothes you, as the reason he moved you suddenly becomes clear.

It’s easier for his fingers to fit into you this way. The flip of his hand, as it faces palm-up. The tip of one stroking against bare skin. A familiar stretch as he slips to the first knuckle.

And then, as a shallow gasp slides from you, he sinks further than he’s ever been.

Had to hold back, before. Give you just a taste of what you’ve been wanting. This - the feel of him nudged so deep inside you.

“I know,” Your husband soothes, as his thumb nudges at your clit - distracting you.

From the slow plunge of his finger. How that quick twinge of discomfort bleeds into a pulsing throb you know well.

It’s not long before your hips are lifting. Your breath growing shorter, as a second fingers slips in to stretch you out. Getting you ready.

His cock is heavy where it rests on your thigh, the tip sticky against your skin. Flushed and swollen - making you realize that maybe you had been too hasty, thinking you could take him before.

Your own hands drift - and this time, you watch. Catching how dark and blown-wide his eyes get. The peek of his tongue between his lips when your fingers pinch at your nipples.

The way he inhales, when he feels you clench down around him. Back arching off the console, as his fingers curl against a spot that you never knew existed inside you.

“There,” You moan, as nudges against it again, “Din, please-”

His jaw grits, his voice low, “Yeah? Are you close, ner riduur?”

You’re used to the pretty names he calls you - a hidden way to show his affection. But never like this, with the soft purr of his voice. The way the words slide so easily from his tongue.

It must mean something special.

“Yes,” Your fingers pinch harder, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Biting back the panting gasp of your breath, as his thumb presses against your clit.

“Come for me.” It’s a command, but there’s a razor edge of need in his words, “Always sound so fucking pretty. Let me hear you.”

You’ve always had to hold back. Muffled into pillows, his palm of his hand as it clamps over your mouth.

The cry rips from you today, as you reach your peak. Eyes fluttering shut as the star-lines streak across your bare form - still bright, even as your vision darkens.

Your nails scrape against his skin, as he leans into you. Din’s mouth sealing to yours as you’re hauled into his lap, his thick fingers slipping free.

The kiss is messy, your mind still swirling as you reach down. Desperate for more, now that you’ve had a taste.

He pants into your mouth, “Don’t have to, cyare. This is-”

The words breaking off with a groan, as your fingers squeeze around him. His own need evident with how he throbs against your palm.

“‘s not enough,” You’re breathless, the dregs of pleasure settling low in your belly, “I’ve waited, we’ve waited-”

“Long enough.” He rasps, a flash of teeth in the darkness when you lean back.

Your nod is sharp. Determination in the pull of your shoulders as you lift up, angling his cock between your thighs.

A breath, and then you’re lowering yourself. The pressure you felt before is nothing compared to now - a muffled cry, as your nails bite into his shoulders.

As he stretches you open, even with how slick and ready you are. His own hands tug at you, trying to keep you from dropping down too quickly.

But you take him. You were made for him, after all. You decided that long ago. Even if you had joined with another, you’d never be theirs like you are his.

And you always were a quick learner. That competitive streak in you takes over now - figuring out just how to move in the cramped space.

That sting easing into pleasure, with the roll of your hips. The movement is familiar - you’ve sat astride him before, just never like this.

Never feeling this full, when your thighs are finally flush against his. Din’s hands guiding you like they often did - grasping at your waist, keeping your rhythm steady.

Even as it threatens to stutter, with just how good he feels. The angle you ride him sends him across the place his fingers found. Each drop of your hips sending you higher, eager to follow his murmured encouragement.

“You feel so fucking good,” It’s ragged and low - close to the tone he has when he comes, spilling across your belly, “Been waiting so long so have you like this-”

“Yours,” You sigh, again. Finally able to say it aloud, “I’m yours, we can have each other any time we want.”

Din groans at that, his hips bucking into you.

“Mine.”

It’s possessive. The hairs on the back of your neck standing up, as his fingers slip down again. Needing to know just how it feels to make you come around him, after imagining it for so long.

Your rhythm goes sloppy with his touch. Unable to figure out how to keep moving with your mind so clouded with pleasure. Chasing his touch as you bounce, head tilting back as his lips press against your throat.

Up, and then up, until he’s kissing you again. Your arms twine around his shoulders, curls tucked between pinched fingers as he brings you over the edge again.

Sharing a breath, as you moan into his mouth. His cock filling you as you clench down around him, almost as if trying to keep him inside as your orgasm pulses through you.

Din used to worry about monsters and beasts darkening your doorstep, never knowing he’d create one in you. Hungry like you’ve never known, eager for more even as your energy slips from you.

With his own desperation, he’s not far behind. Not with how you tight you are. Ready to give you everything, now that he finally can.

His jaw grits as he buries himself in you. Doing most of the work now, your legs leaden in your afterglow. Rutting his hips against yours, notching himself deep into where you’re wet and warm.

“Princess-,” Din rasps, like he used to. A low huff of a breath as you correct him.

Your lips at his ear, as you croon, “Riduur.”

“Fuck,” He groans at that, his voice dropping low, “Riddur, where do you want me?”

It makes you moan, the rough tone in his voice. How that name in his native tongue affects him just as much as you.

Your hips begin to move in earnest, skin slapping against skin. Those dark eyes on yours as you answer - finally able to express your hearts desire, after all these years.

“I want to feel you.”

His breath grows harsh, as your hips roll.

“Come in me. Please, Din.”

There’s no need for you to beg. He’s already there - a rough grunt as his hips near lift off the seat. Tugging you down and flush against him as he spills inside you.

You can feel him throb, as his warmth floods your walls. Threatening to spill from you, to leak onto thighs that are already sticky with your release. Sweat-dewed with exertion.

That heady ache of need fades, when you both come back down. It’s just bliss now, warm in your limbs. In his embrace. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re able to breathe.

The stars streak across his skin, illuminating pieces of his face. So like the stained glass back home, each feature split and soldered with darkness.

“Do you regret it?” His voice is low, barely audible over the hum of the engine, “Leaving with me?”

Your head tilts back, as you look at him again. A sight that you cherish, one you hope you can indulge in, but never take for granted.

And after all the questions that led to today - this one has been the easiest to answer.

“No,” You catch his hand, pressing it to your heart. Mirroring his words earlier.

“It’s always been yours.”

In every world - you would have gone with him.

Sometime amongst the late hours, you wind your way downstairs.

Fitting together in the narrow bunk, not minding the small space. Drifting off with a hand cradled against his neck. Thumb brushing his cheek, loathe to leave the warmth of his skin.

Soft dreams swirl in the moments you do sleep. In between the times when you wake - reaching for each other. Another hour spent twined together, re-learning every inch.

Not fearing the dawn, this time.

Because for once... your life is yours.

thanks for reading! and jana, thank you so much for hosting this event, I was so excited to celebrate with you! 💖

Su cuy'gar! - a friendly greeting (lit: "still live," i.e. "so you're still alive.")

vor entye - thank you (lit: "I accept a debt")

ner vod - my brother

ner riduur - my spouse / wife

ret'urcye mhi - goodbye

#1500 kisses challenge #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #din djarin x f!reader

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sylvia-on-the-run · 2 months ago

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The Yemeni ballistic response deep in the zionist entity strengthens the deterrence equation and further exposes the fragility of the zionist entity.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) salutes with all pride and honor, the brave Yemeni people and their valiant Armed Forces, who once again demonstrated their ability to penetrate deep into the zionist entity and bypass American and Western defenses by launching a ballistic missile that struck the capital of the fabricated entity. This new qualitative operation has proven Yemen's capability to enhance the deterrence equation against the occupation and deliver a powerful response to the occupation’s crime of bombing Al-Hodeidah port and the genocide against our Palestinian people.

This operation has left the zionist enemy in a state of shock and confusion, once again revealing the fragility of its defense system, which has long relied on support from the United States and its allies.

This missile strike comes as part of the continued Yemeni front of support and the strikes from the Axis of Resistance in response to the zionist genocide war against our people and in support of the resistance. The Yemeni armed forces have pledged to impose a naval blockade on the occupation and strike anyone who challenges this blockade.

Through this operation, the Yemeni forces have sent a strong message to the zionist occupation, stating that any aggression against Yemen or Gaza will not go unpunished, and the occupation’s losses will be severe at all levels and in the heart of the entity.

This qualitative operation also affirms that the American-zionist aggression on Yemen has failed to achieve its goals of breaking Yemen’s will or affecting its operations in support of Gaza.

The zionist reliance on American and Western defense systems, or the crimes of their allies against Yemen, has failed to protect the zionist entity. The Yemeni ballistic message today is clear and unequivocal: "Stop the aggression on Gaza immediately, or Yemen's responses will continue, intensify, and penetrate deeper into the zionist entity. There will be no red lines in defending the causes of the nation, foremost among them the cause of Palestine and its valiant resistance."

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine Central Media Department Mid-September 2024

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orieriee · 4 months ago

Text

How Hawks Falls in Love

hawks x gn! pro-hero reader

author's note: is tumblr still alive? I've been wanting to write this out for a long time since I caught up with the mha manga. There are some imagines that I would love to share if I have time 😭

warnings: grammar errors(?), it's fluff! A comfort fic!

my masterlist

Despite his friendly nature and his popularity among fans, he finds it hard to let people inside his heart due to his past

But when Hawks falls in love, he tends to approach it with a logical mindset

What is this anxious feeling that he feels when he's with you? Why does his heart race when he thinks about doing something with you?

Maybe it's acid reflux because he had coffee, maybe it's because of the caffeine

But Hawks isn't all that blind about love

It is the common symptoms of falling in love when you experience a racing heart and butterflies in the stomach whenever you think about that special person

But it took Hawks a while to admit that he's actually falling in love

Shit... He cursed inside when he felt a pound in the heart after talking to you

That's when he realized...

Yes, he's falling in love

It took him a while, now that he has admitted it, nothing is different in the way he treats you actually

It's the same friendly manner

It really took him a while

He takes the most careful approach to his newfound profound feelings

Does he want to date you? Or will he dismiss it as just a simple crush? Those options are a never-ending dilemma that runs through his thoughts every time

"Do you have someone you like?"

He took the opportunity to ask when the moment was right

"Yes" you replied

He considered your 'yes' and 'no' before. If there were someone else that you like, he would likely decide to move on and dismiss it as just a one-sided crush

Although he'll most likely still likes you in secret

But you replied with a yes, that turns out to be a confession

And oh how he realized how love-starved he was

The act of love is unusual to him, since he grew up in an unloving household during childhood

But he didn't hate it, it was what he needed

How safe he felt with you whenever you held him in your arms, how relieved he was when he burried his head into your neck, it's a peace haven for him

You're now his home

One he always dreams of having

He swore he would protect you from all harms, to cherish and support you in every joy and challenge that life brings, to laugh with you in times of joy, and to provide solace in times of sorrow.

He pledge to love and honor you, to respect and cherish you, for all the days of your lives

ARGHHH I haven't done this in a long while😭 I hope this isn't too bad! (I think it has been 2 years since I've written a fanfic 🤡) I apologize in advance if there was any mistakes or if it's cringey 💔

I love our burnt chicken XD

Published by orieriee on 9 July 2024

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deliciousangelfestival · 21 days ago

Text

The Imperfect Couple - 17

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: Suicide character.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Author Note: After this, you will hate Steve more.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Historic Victory! Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes Elected with Record-Breaking Votes."

You stood among the crowd in awe, feeling the gravity of the moment as Bucky stepped up first to take his oath. His right hand rested on the Bible, and his voice was steady, resonating across the packed hall and through the media broadcasted nationwide.

“I, James Buchanan Barnes, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, and that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion.”

He glanced at you briefly, pride mingling with disbelief in his eyes as he finished, “I pledge to faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter, so help me God.”

It was almost surreal, watching Bucky stand here, on the cusp of history. You could hardly believe it. He had done it; he was now the Vice President of the United States.

Then came Steve’s turn. He took his oath with an unwavering focus, his voice rich with conviction:

“I, Steven Grant Rogers, do solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

As Steve finished his oath, the crowd erupted into applause. He stepped forward, eyes fierce with resolve, and gave his inaugural speech. "Today, we embark on a new journey,” he began, his words confident and calculated. “I promise to carve out every rotten part to make this country stronger and more flourishing than ever.” The crowd cheered wildly, the energy of the historic day surging through the masses.

Standing close to Bucky, you leaned toward him and whispered, “I hate him.”

He gave a small, amused smirk, clearing his throat as he pulled you closer, his arm draping protectively over your shoulder. “Stay calm, dear,” he whispered back. “We don’t want your bitter expression captured for posterity.” He pressed his hand gently against your back as you both moved through the crowd.

Across the room, Peggy watched the two of you, noting the way Bucky’s hand never left yours, even when he greeted others. The warmth and easy familiarity between you were evident to all. Peggy, however, stood isolated beside Steve, even as every camera focused on them as the new First Couple. She was now the First Lady, yet she felt utterly invisible.

Because in Steve's eyes, he only looked for Hazel. She remembered the disappointment on his face when he learned that the woman and the little boy were not joining him for the inauguration.

Then Caroline Barnes and her husband Julius approached her, their expressions triumphant. Caroline, with a rare, large smile, was the first to speak. “Congratulations, Peggy,” she said, her tone sweet yet cold.

She’d been Peggy’s confidante for years—long before the politics, the campaigns, and all the layers of public life that followed. They shared memories that went back to the days when they were just two young women navigating life and love, laughing over coffee and late-night conversations.

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline’s rare smile as she looked at you next, her eyes flashing with satisfaction. The silent message was clear: you had fulfilled your promise, standing beside her son as the Vice President’s wife.

Bucky, noticing her cold glare toward you, leaned in and murmured, “Seems like you’ve won her over.”

Just then, Natasha, a familiar figure in her sleek Secret Service uniform, approached you both. Her tone was clipped and professional. “The President would like to see you,” she said, giving you a pointed look.

You felt Bucky tense slightly beside you. As you moved to follow Natasha, Bucky instinctively stepped forward too.

“Alone,” Natasha added, her gaze shifting to Bucky.

You exchanged a confused look with him, both of you uncertain as to why you were being called without him. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. With one last glance, you followed Natasha toward the Oval Office.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The Oval Office was imposing, vast and elegant. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room, yet the weight of history and power was palpable in every corner. The walls were lined with portraits of past leaders, and every polished surface seemed to reflect Steve’s ascendant status. He stood before the massive, iconic desk, hands clasped behind his back, exuding an air of unyielding authority. In this space, he looked like a man who could command nations—a conqueror with the world at his feet.

As you entered, Steve turned, offering you a polished smile that held no warmth. “I imagine you’re wondering why I wanted you here alone,” he said, voice smooth yet laced with an edge that left no room for misinterpretation.

Your thoughts were racing. Being in this room with him—Steve Rogers, the man who had climbed to the highest seat of power while leaving a wake of destruction in his path—felt surreal. You could feel the walls closing in, every inch of the Oval Office amplifying the cold reality of his ambition.

Steve raised a single finger, his tone shifting to one of playful scorn. "Not once did you congratulate me." He let the silence hang, watching you. "I know why. You blame me for your friend’s death.”

Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as his accusation hit you. “So you admit it?” you shot back, unable to mask the tremor of anger in your voice.

He scoffed, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Admit it? That man almost sabotaged the campaign. He betrayed you, and when he paid the price, I’m the one you despise? Most people would thank me.”

The words stung, each syllable a twist of the knife. He continued, almost mockingly, his voice lowering as he leaned slightly forward. “Are you sure you’re up for this fight?” His gaze sharpened, piercing. “Find a better reason to hate me.”

Every word he spoke grated against you, each line deliberately crafted to sting. But you swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your expression steady, refusing to let him see the turmoil swirling inside.

He shook his head, dismissing your anger with a faint chuckle, then leaned back against the desk. “What’s your plan, then? After you bring me down—let’s say you even succeed—what’s next? Do you want Nate to grow up with a criminal for a father?”

Your mind raced, the walls of the Oval Office seeming to close in even further as his words lingered in the air. Steve's gaze was fixed on you, measuring, calculating your silence. And then, as if sensing your hesitation, he gave a triumphant smile, his voice like velvet but colder. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

He turned his back, leaving you standing there, stunned. 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Four Months Later

You sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the TV as Steve’s face filled the screen. Every channel was the same, broadcasting praise for him, with pundits and newscasters barely containing their admiration. It was unsettling. The media, usually fierce in their critiques, seemed almost reverent. You clenched your jaw, your annoyance simmering under the polished surface of his televised speeches and the careful flattery of his supporters.

From behind you, Bucky spoke up, his tone casual yet knowing. “That’s why people like him,” he said, coming closer. “He never once said he’d make this country fair or just. But he’s proving himself, little by little.”

You looked up, catching his serious expression. He continued, “Steve knew that every leader who vows fairness and justice ends up being despised as soon as they’re in power. They turn into exactly what they swore they’d destroy.”

You couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of your voice. “So… can we abdicate him?”

Bucky laughed softly. “Abdicate Steve?” He smirked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Honey, that’s a little extreme, even for you.”

“Steve’s ascension was legitimate. He fits the role, and from what the surveys say, voter turnout was historic.” He paused, meeting your gaze with a measured seriousness. “Overthrowing him would shatter public trust—not just in him, but in the entire government.”

“Would it, though?” you asked, challenging him with a raised eyebrow.

Bucky sighed, crossing over to sit beside you. He rested his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t focus on Steve alone—consider what my position means now too. I’m still seen as ‘the new kid,’ the one who made it here because of him. Plenty of people are watching, eager to see me stumble.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the determination there, but also the caution. Bucky knew the stakes, perhaps even more than you. You could feel the weight he carried, the delicate balancing act of supporting Steve while laying the groundwork for his own ambitions.

He took a deep breath, leaning closer, his voice low and resolute. “People may believe in me, but if we move too fast, we’ll lose them. And I won’t let that happen. I know you believe I could make a good president—and I plan to get there. But…” He paused, looking into your eyes, “we have to be patient.”

You remembered the priest’s words: ‘Believe in God’s timing.’ Patience, the one thing you struggled with most in a situation like this. But you trusted Bucky. You could feel his strength, his restraint, his understanding of the game they were all playing.

Bucky’s gaze softened, but his words were firm. “To succeed, I have to publicly support Steve, at least for now. In politics, loyalty and trust are everything. We need them on our side.”

As you processed his words, a chilling realization sank in. Steve’s mocking question echoed in your mind: “Are you sure you’re a match for me?” He was right—his plans were meticulous, every move calculated for safety. And Bucky was right too. This was a game of patience, timing, and subtlety.

But the question remained: Who would be powerful enough to finally bring Steve down?

🌸🌸🌸🌸

At the White House, Peggy approached the front entrance, only to be stopped by two Secret Service agents, their expressions impassive.

“I'm here to see my husband,” she said, her voice firm, though a tremor betrayed her unease.

One of the agents cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You don’t have clearance to enter.”

She blinked, the words sinking in like a slap. “Excuse me? This is my husband's residence. I have every right to be here.”

The agent’s face remained unreadable. “I understand, but orders are orders. Mr. Rogers specified… no access.”

Humiliated, Peggy took a step back, heat rising to her cheeks as a cold realization struck her: Steve was truly keeping his word. She was being kept out of his life, and now, out of his home. She turned, bitterness flooding her chest, and started down the steps, fighting to keep her composure.

As she walked toward her car, laughter drifted from the garden. Curiosity sparked, and she moved toward a nearby window, peeking inside. There, in the garden, was Steve, laughing as he played with Nate, while Hazel sat on a bench, watching them, her smile soft and warm.

The scene twisted like a knife in Peggy’s heart. They look like a family.

She clenched her fists, forcing down a surge of fury and grief. In a voice barely more than a whisper, she asked the guard at her side, “How often do they come here?”

“Every weekend, ma’am,” the guard replied softly.

Her voice cracked as she stammered, “D-Do they… stay the night?”

The guard’s silence was enough, but he finally nodded, “Yes.”

The words struck her like a blow to the gut. She stays here? She sleeps in the White House? Peggy had never once been allowed to spend the night here, but Hazel—Hazel could? The injustice stung in a way that words couldn’t capture.

On her drive back, the scenes replayed over and over, thoughts like poison seeping into her mind. She remembered a press conference where Steve had passionately pledged to support local manufacturing, calling out Hazel as a shining example.

“Like one designer, Hazel Barnes,” he had said, the admiration in his voice unmistakable. “She’s the kind of woman who understands her privilege and uses it to lift others up. Her business is 100% local, supporting homegrown talent. If we had more people like her, this country would thrive.”

The memory burned, the admiration in his tone a raw wound. Not once had he praised her. Not when he was in the military, not when he became governor, not when he ran for Senate, and certainly not now, when he was president. Hazel was now his example, his ideal, the woman he chose to highlight.

By the time she finally reached home, it was close to midnight. She entered the house in a daze, weary from her own broken heart. Yet despite the pain, she clung to her duties, driven to exhaustion by a schedule that seemed never-ending. As she set her bag down, her assistant approached her, offering a warm, sympathetic smile.

“The twins had a good day today,” her assistant said softly. “They finished their study sessions and met with the psychiatrist. They’re making great progress."

Peggy’s tired eyes softened at the news. “Thank you. That’s… that’s wonderful.” She gave a slight nod, the smallest glimmer of peace settling in her chest.

Quietly, she made her way to the twins’ room and opened the door to find them still awake, caught in the glow of a handheld game console.

“Hi, Mom,” one of them greeted her, quickly hiding the console behind his back. Both boys looked at her with guilty smiles, expecting a reprimand.

But instead of scolding them, she stepped forward, placing a soft kiss on each of their foreheads before wrapping her arms around them in a rare, tender hug.

“Mom?” they asked, voices laced with concern as they took in her weary expression.

She managed a small, tired smile. “I’m just… tired. That’s all.”

One of the boys squeezed her hand. “Take a hot bath, Mom. We’ll make you some milk with honey.”

The gesture nearly brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you, boys,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. “Thank you so much.”

They left, shooting her worried looks over their shoulders as they went downstairs to prepare her drink. Peggy moved into her room, slipping off her heels and sitting at her vanity, removing her makeup with slow, methodical movements, as though going through the motions might somehow soothe her mind.

A knock came at her door, and she turned to see the twins standing there with a warm mug in hand, faces bright with concern. She mustered a smile, taking the milk from them. “Thank you,” she said, taking a sip. “It’s delicious.”

The twins lingered, watching her carefully, but after a moment, they seemed reassured. She looked the same as always—tired, maybe a little worn—but still their mother. With quiet “goodnights,” they slipped away to their room, leaving her alone in the silence of her own thoughts.

Peggy finished the drink, placing the empty mug down with trembling hands. She reached into her desk drawer, fingers brushing over an object she hadn’t touched in months. She pulled it out slowly, staring down at it for a long, heavy moment before standing and making her way to the bathroom.

She undressed and stepped into the hot bath, letting the warmth soak her weary body. But as the heat wrapped around her, it couldn’t reach the coldness embedded in her heart. She leaned her head back, staring up at the ceiling, her mind swirling with everything she had once hoped for Steve, all the faith she'd placed in him.

He was supposed to be different. She’d thought that becoming president would have brought out wisdom and fairness in him, but instead, he clung to his principles, more ruthless than ever. Memories of the admiration in his voice when he praised Hazel flooded her thoughts, a contrast so sharp it was almost cruel. Steve had never looked at her that way, never spoken her name with that warmth, that pride.

For a moment, her mind drifted to Bucky and you, the loyalty he had shown you, unwavering, year after year. In the past five years, through everything, he had remained faithful, and you had accepted him fully, supporting him in ways Peggy could hardly fathom. She had never known that kind of love with Steve.

She looked down at her wrist, fingers tightening around the object from her desk. Her phone lay beside her, and she typed a short message before putting it aside. She traced the edge of the object against her wrist, whispering, “I’ll set you free.” Her voice was barely audible, fragile against the silence.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

At 2 a.m., Steve was pulled from sleep by the sound of his bedroom door opening. He sat up, irritation flashing in his eyes, ready to reprimand whoever had dared disturb him. But then he saw Natasha standing there, her face pale, eyes wide with urgency.

“Mr. President… I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice tight, “but this is very urgent.”

A chill crept through him as her words seemed to hang in the air. He got out of bed and followed her, feeling as though he was moving through a thick fog.

Moments later, Steve found himself staring down at Peggy in the bathtub, her body pale and lifeless, the water around her a deep, dark red. His knees buckled, and he collapsed beside her, reaching for her, his arms wrapping around her as if he could somehow bring her back.

“Peggy…” he whispered, his voice breaking. He tightened his hold on her, feeling the unbearable weight of the silence that filled the room.

The twins, William and Charles, stood just outside, tears streaming down their faces, unable to fully grasp the scene before them. They looked at their mother, broken and cold, the life drained from her, and their father, on his knees, clutching her like a lifeline.

Natasha cleared her throat, eyes averted as she whispered, “Mr. President… we should make an announcement.”

Steve’s head snapped up, his eyes sharp and commanding. “Stop.” The firmness in his voice was absolute, leaving no room for argument.

The room fell into stunned silence.

“Tell the public that the First Lady has collapsed from exhaustion,” Steve said coldly. “She was tireless, supporting me without a moment’s rest. Now… she’s taking time to recover.”

The twins’ eyes widened, shock and betrayal mingling with their grief.

“Dad?!” William’s voice cracked, staring at his father in disbelief.

“It would be disastrous for this country to know that the First Lady took her own life,” Steve continued, his tone as unyielding as steel. “It would tarnish her memory. She’d be seen as unstable, weak. This is for her legacy, for the image she worked so hard to uphold.”

The twins shook their heads, voices choked with pain. “No. Mother isn’t like that. She’s not some unstable woman.”

Steve knelt beside them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders, his voice soft but unyielding. “Boys, trust me. This is for the best. We want people to remember your mother’s dedication, her strength. Not… this.”

He pulled them into an embrace, eyes glistening as he held them close, as if his grip alone could silence their pain. Over their shoulders, his gaze drifted back to Peggy’s lifeless form, his expression unreadable. For a split second, a small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips as he thought, Her sacrifice won’t be forgotten.

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qqueenofhades · 1 year ago

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i registered to vote for the first time ( i feel old) now that im an adult but my state has closed primary elections which i was wondering if you have an opinion about. my initial thought was that its bad because i had to register democrat (rather than my states green party which represents my beliefs more) just so i could vote between democrat candidates, which feels like being pressured into supporting the weird pseudo two party system we have. but then i looked it up and apparently a reason for this is so that people from opposing parties wont purposefully mess up the votes just so that their preferred candidates have an easier time winning, and i think that makes sense too. but is that actually the reason theyve closed it or is it just to force us dem/republican?? cause it feels strange

Okay, look. I respect the fact that you're a young person, and I appreciate that you have not only registered to vote, but plan to vote in the primaries, so I don't want to lecture you too much. That said: I am taking you out for coffee, I am sitting you down, I am looking into your eyes, and I am urgently telling you the following:

The Green Party is a scam. It is a scam. It has existed for decades in American politics as an empty shell corporation weaponizing the good intentions of young people like yourself, because all it theoretically stands for "it's good to save the planet maybe." Which is not something that any non-insane person seriously disagrees with, but there is no world in which that cause is actually furthered by registering/voting Green (you mentioned that you did vote for Democrats, which -- good, but listen to me here, youngun, okay?) It ran Jill Stein in 2016 to siphon more votes from HRC, and this election it plans to run Cornel West, a pro-Russian tankie who positively equated Bernie and Trump, as another spoiler candidate. It does not stand for "protecting the planet" or America in any real way. It has never elected a single senator or congressman, let alone a president. It stands for empty performance/grievance political theater by those people who feel too morally superior to vote for/affiliate with Democrats, often because the internet has told them that it's not Cool or Hip or Progressive enough.

If your main priority is climate/the environment, you're doing the right thing by registering as a Democrat and voting for Democrats. (Also: the adjectival form is Democratic. It is the Democratic party and Democratic candidates, otherwise you sound like the Fox News host who wrote a book literally entitled "The Democrat Party Hates America.") They are the only major party who has in fact passed major climate legislation and have made environmental justice a central tenet of their platform. As opposed to the Republicans, whose Project 2025, along with the rest of its nightmare fascist prescriptions, openly pledges to completely wreck existing climate protections and forbid any new ones, just because we weren't all dying fast enough under their death-cult rule already. That's the main logical fallacy I don't get among both the Online Leftists and the American electorate in general: "the Democrats aren't doing quite enough as I'd like, so I'll enable the active wrecking ball insane lunatics to get in power and ruin even the progress we HAVE managed to make!" Like. How does that even make sense?

On a federal level, the Greens have contributed nothing whatsoever of tangible value to American or international climate policy/legislation, environmental justice, or anything else, because as noted, they don't have any elected candidates and mostly focus on drawing voters away from Democrats. There might be plenty of good candidates on the local or city level, which -- great! Vote away for Greens if they're available, or the only other option is a Republican! But on the federal/primary level, please understand: once again, they are a scam. There is no point in affiliating yourself with them. You're welcome to register Green and vote Democratic, if that makes you feel better or if you prefer having another label next to your name, but once again, I'm telling you in my position as a salty Tumblr elder that they have done nothing but harm to the causes they claim to care about, because "environment" is such a nebulous priority and has demonstrably been hijacked to stop the American government entity, i.e. the Democrats, that is actually working to improve on it.

As for your question: nobody is "forcing" or "pressuring" you to vote in primaries. By your own admission, you made a conscious choice to register as a Democrat in order to vote for Democratic candidates. If you were just a regular registered voter of whatever party affiliation, you would vote in the general election for whatever candidate the primary process produced. But if you are sufficiently vested and committed to that process that you would like to have a say in who is running under that party label, it is not unreasonable that you would register as a member of that party. Nobody has twisted your arm behind your back and made you do so; you are taking a considerable level of initiative on your own. Likewise, open primaries can be both a good and bad thing. This falls under the "the political system we have is flawed, but we can't magically pretend it doesn't exist and act according to our own fantasyland versions of reality" thing that I keep saying over and over. So yes, if you want a role in shaping the Democratic candidates who emerge from a Democratic primary process, you will usually register as a Democrat, and nobody has forced you to do that. It's that simple.

Likewise as a general programming note: I'm trying to cut back on politics a bit right now, because I don't have the spoons/bandwidth/mental health to deal with it. I apologize. So if you've sent me a politics-related ask recently and haven't received a response, I'm not deliberately or maliciously ignoring you; I just am not able to handle it as much as usual and will have to put it on pause. However, I feel as if this is important enough to be worth saying, so, yeah.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

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livelaughlovesubs · 5 months ago

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Omgomg requests ya boi got an idea

Reader x shy clumsy incubus!Sigma

He's a new incubus and has no experience except pure instinct. Luckily, his first target (you) is sympathetic and willing to show him a good time. At first he's flustered and covering his face as you work him open, and by the end of the night, you have him shamelessly drooling and desperately grinding back into your thrusts as you grip his tail

It’s almost the same thing so I paired the two (I’m sorry to the anon for taking so long) anyway… AHHH MAN I STILL LOVE THIS BABY SM <3 he’s still my background! Partly cuz I’m too lazy to change it haha

Dom!reader x sub!Incubus!sigma - reader is gender neutral

Warning: no lube no protection, all night long, until he breaks (lol), saliva as lube, fingering, pegging (I use dick), taking virginity, biting, tail pulling

“Okay.. I can do it, it’s not difficult. I have to, otherwise I’ll starve…” sigma tried his best to pump up some confidence, staring at himself through the mirror. It’s been an entire years now since he became a fully pledged incubi, yet he hasn’t made any advances on any humans. Just look at him! He was all skin and bones! All this time he had to nurture himself through the emergency packs for his kind, in cases where they can’t come into contact with mortals.

The demon clenched his fists before starring at his to-do list. Written on it were the basics that were taught to him while he was still young. Tips and tricks on how to seduce humans, as well as the appropriate clothes or language to use. “You can do it, sigma..!” He said to himself while staring at his body. Then he slumped and sighed, “damn it.. would anyone find me attractive when I’m so slim? I heard muscles are in trend right now.” When he tried to clench his Bizeps, a look of horror washed over him. Those were noddle arms! He can’t hurt a fly like this!

“Don’t they also prefer the bold and confident type, like fyodor..?” He thought to himself. Despite his old acquaintance being just as- if not, weaker than him when it came to physical strength, he was doing way better than him. Many fell for his trickery and became his slave. Though it’s been a while since he saw him, has that man perhaps settled down on a specific person? Sounds unreasonable, it wasn’t like the fyodor he knew.

Nonetheless, it wouldn’t help him to worry about others when he was on the verge of losing it. It’s not like he doesn’t want to, he was too awkward to actually invade someone’s dreams! Again, what if that person doesn’t find him attractive? He’d lose every ounce of self respect if that happens. “No, don’t worry about it.. it will be fine, who would be able to resist the temptation of an incubus anyway?” He tried to reason with his subconscious one last time, finally mustering enough courage to seek someone out.

And that someone was you.

It was in the middle of the night when sigma decided to visit you. He snuck into your room with some simple magic, and started to climb onto your bed. Not on top of you though, only kneeling next to you. What if his weight woke you up, he doesn’t want to drag this out too much. “Ah.. a real human, they looks so peaceful, sleeping like this. They won’t wake up too soon right?” Sigma whispered, starring holes into your body. The boy desperately hoped you won’t wake up, since he wouldn’t know how to handle it. Yet he also kind of wished you would, so that he’d have a reason to return home empty handed.

“Okay, it’s now or never. Hah, I want it too after all. I’m so hungry.” As soon as he was ready, he reached his hand out to you, caressing your thighs. He wanted to get straight to business, hoping to end this as soon as possible when another hand shoot out of the darkness and grabbed his wrist. “Ahh!?” The incubi yelped, stumbling backwards, about to fall off the bed if it weren’t for his tail desperately wrapping around your torso for support. His instincts caused him to use his tail to stabilise himself. “What’s this?” Suddenly your voice reached his ears, poor guy didn’t even have time to breath when you pulled his wrists and made him fall back into your lap.

“IiiiKK..!! Wa-wait.. let go of me!” He panicked and tried to yank his hand away. “Hold up, you came into my room so suddenly, why does it seem like I’m the bad guy now?” You complained, then said, “also.. what is this.. leather? Rope?” After saying that, you poked his tail, making him shudder in surprise. “UghhH! Don’t touch that!” Sigma immediately yelled, a deep blush covered his face. “Hey, wait. What are you?” Finally you realised something was wrong and asked him that question, all while staring at his pretty face. He was so petite and cute, totally your type, but if he turned out to be a stalker you wouldn’t hesitate to make him pay.

To your surprise that person started crying, breaking down as he looked at you through wet lashes. “I’m so bad at this..! All I wanted was food! Let me go, I won’t come back ever again!” Then the guy with the two coloured hair hide his face in his hands, while fat tears rolled down his flushed cheeks. When you heard his comment, you took pity on him, not to mention the vulnerable state he was in. “You’re hungry.. Is that why you came here? I’m sorry to hear that, what do you want to eat then?” You tried to be kind to him, poor thing was starving. Seems like he was a thief who wanted to steal your food, but he accidentally found your bedroom instead. How clumsy…

“I- i… no, you wouldn’t do it with me anyway.” He shouted, making your ears bleed a little, “hey.. tune it down, and what do you mean?” Sigma covered his mouth with his palm, then said, “I need very special food.” You tilted your head, asking, “do I have it here?” Without thinking about it, he responded yes. So you commented, “if that’s the case you can take it.” The boy stopped crying so much, instead he gazed at you and tried to be as serious as he could be. Afterwards he mumbled, “I’m an incubus.. i-I’ll need you to..to, erm.. do that with me, please…”

He couldn’t help himself, you smelled so delicious. Besides his body and mind told him to not let this opportunity go to waste. You seemed nice enough for his first, so he thought now or never. On the other hand, you were wondering if what he said was true. Then you remembered the rope around your body, or rather, his tail. “Are all incubus’ this shy?” You questioned him. “Er, no.. I guess I’m the only one who’s timid. I mean- this is my first hunt..!” Oh dear, he was trying to justify himself, but it only made him sound even more pitiful.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. While he glared at you with a blushing face, you suddenly pinned him down onto your bed as you said, “so why are you waiting? I said I’ll let you eat.” His wrists were now held up above his head and his face pushed into the mattress. “Wait, I-I’m not ready!” Sigma complained, feeling his body heat up at the sudden change in position. “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow with you.” You whispered gently, afterwards your hand slipped lower and lower, until you were caressing his butt. Gosh, his skin was soft, you felt like you were corrupting an angel instead.

Then you rubbed his rim with your middle and index finger, using your other hand to reach for the drawer. You took out everything you might need, but then noticed how you didn’t have lube near by. “Huh, this might be difficult.” You muttered under your breath, contemplating over what to do. “Er, what is?” The incubi gazed back at you with teary eyes, his lips were trembling as he talked. “I don’t have any lube here.” For a second you were almost hypnotised by his looks, but you managed to snap out of it. “I see, well, you could use my saliva, it has a similar effect.” Sigma proposed. Since he was offering it to you, it’d be impolite to decline, right?

Which led to your current situation, where you are caressing his back and spine with one hand, while the other one was over his face and sticking two fingers into his mouth. “Mhmm, hmHh..!!” He let out some muffled choking sounds, all due to your fingers messing with his tongue. You were shoving them too deep inside, he can barely breathe! “GuuHh.. huhMmm.” The boy groaned again, until you finally pulled your digits out. At this point he was already a blushing, flustered mess. Drooling around everywhere as tears threatened to spill. “Good job.” You told him, before smearing his saliva around his entrance. “Ha-haaaa…” sigma had to calm himself, this is it, today is the day he finally catches his first prey! So why does he feel like the prey today?

No long after you sticked a finger inside him, it slipped in very easily. “This makeshift lube is working pretty well.” You complimented him as your middle finger slid in, stretching his rim. “Uh-uHh! It feels weird?” He gasped, his tail was wagging around so cutely. “Shh, don’t tense up now, deep breaths, little incubus.” As soon as you finished your sentence, a second finger joined in. And oh boy he was already a wreck now. Hands clenching the sheets like his life depended on it, back arched so beautifully while those shining tears finally dripped down his cheeks. “Ah. Ha-hnnGg.” Poor baby couldn’t help but moan out loud, especially after you pushed your fingers knuckles deep inside. No one has ever touched that place, it was such a foreign feeling!

His insides were soft and warm, he basically welcomed you with open arms. Those squishy and spongy walls squeezed down on your fingers whenever you moved too fast, or curled them. Each time he’d also let out a whine of pleasure, shaking slightly to accommodate the electricity running through his body. “You.. hnghh, don’t tease..” that was all he managed to say, before a series of moans and whimpers escaped his throat. All because you found that one sweet spot inside him, and now you were poking it continuously. “This must be your prostate? Heh, how cute your voice is.” His voice was so high-pitched after all, almost like a girl. It must be in the nature of lust-demons to be so erotic all the time.

You slowly scissored him, spreading him and preparing him for the main event. But you didn’t neglect his comfort at all, once in a while you’d purposely brush over his weak spot or lean close to him to bite his shoulder. “Uh, haah.. why, why are you so nice..?” He asked, the spot below him was already wet with tears. “Hmm, because I want to?” You didn’t have a concrete answer, maybe it was his charm. Nevertheless when you deemed him ready enough, you speed up your movements a little. Now fingering him at a decent pace. Squelching sounds echoed through the room, such a lewd sound that it embarrassed the little incubi.

“HNng, ha-hmNn, it feels good to-good..” he moaned out again, but this time to his dismay you pulled your fingers out of him. “What-what?!” The boy immediately gasped, a disappointed look across his face. Did you get sick of him, or he wasn’t a.. attractive enough anymore..? “I’m sorry, little incubi, I can’t held myself back anymore.” Before he got the chance to turn back, he noticed how your tip was pressing and poking against him. “Ah-ahh..” another moan slipped from his lips at the realisation, he had to gulp loudly to swallow his nervousness once more. “Please, be s-slow.. go easy on me.” After hearing him say that, you had to use every ounce of self control you had to not pound on him right there right now.

Instead you heed his words and took your sweet time bottoming out inside him. “Is this pace alright?” You asked him after he managed to take the tip in. To be honest that was pretty dumb of you. Did you really think he could still register what you tell him, when he’s literally already in subspace? His eyes were widened and with each inch he took, his mind would go blank a little more. He could swear he couldn’t feel his limps anymore, legs and knees already going numb beneath him. He just didn’t know it would feel so good to get stuffed full..! All these sensations were getting to him, to the point he was melting, shaking and a flustered mess.

When you finally managed to fit your entire length inside, expect to see him begging, pleading for you to ruin him. At this point, his instincts were taking over, causing him to plead with you in the sweetest voice ever, just so you will finally start taking him to paradise. How can you say no to such a honey sweet temptation? Not even five minutes later you were jumping him like any rational thoughts of yours got wiped out, trusting into his slim and adorable body while holding his waist with your hands. His tail wrapped around your torso once more, pulling you closer to him so that you could trust into him deeper.

Or how he’d grind his hips against yours whenever you rub your dick deep inside him <3. He was such a cutie! Pervers noises came from the male like he was praying for something, blabbering with no end in sight. You bit his back and neck area some more, taking special care to not bit any fatal areas. The way his body was covered in traces of you was so beautiful that you wanted to keep him. He was like your perfect match. “AaahhH..!! Oh-ooHh, deeper, ha-harder..! <3.!” Sigma couldn’t control his own body anymore, he was just yelling out whatever was on his mind. His body was as if it got a mind if its own, doing everything it could to keep you pounding into his swollen and puffy hole.

After observing him for a while, you licked your lips. Lowering yourself once again to whisper into his ear, one of your hands grabbed the base of his tail. First you stroked and rubbed that area, then you pulled and yanked on his surprisingly soft tail. “You are doing so good for me, is this really your first? Your cunt is taking me so damn well~” You can’t even imagine how much he shuddered at your words. If he was a younger version of himself, he would have came from your teasing remarks alone. Sigma didn’t want this to end, he wanted to keep getting filled like this until his mind turned mush. All he could say as a response was, “Plea-please..! Fu-fuck me, more..haah…<3”

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