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deliciousangelfestival · 4 months ago

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The Imperfect Couple - 19 | End

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: Triggering conversation. Character died.

Words Count: 5,588

Series Masterlist

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

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

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

When life seems perfect, it often hides a test—a calm before the storm. For Steve, months after Peggy’s death, everything felt whole, secure. His presidency was steady, bolstered by approval from the public and respect from allies. Policies were sailing through Congress, his popularity was soaring, and his vision for the country was unfolding exactly as planned.

But something gnawed at him, an intuition sharpened by years in the military. A storm was coming—he could feel it.

“Mr. President,” Natasha’s voice cut through his thoughts as she entered the office with a stack of documents in her arms.

“Yes, Natasha?”

She placed a folder on his desk. “Here’s the speech draft for the press conference announcing your engagement to Miss Hazel,” she said, her tone carefully neutral. “If anything… goes south after the announcement.”

Steve took the folder, scanning the first page with a furrowed brow. He plans to introduce Hazel and Nate to the world. The public would need time to adjust to the news, and if the backlash was harsh, he’d be ready with a statement that cast Hazel in a sympathetic light.

“Thank you,” he replied, placing the folder aside.

Just then, the door burst open. An aide stumbled in, looking flushed and frantic. “Mr. President, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you need to see this immediately.” He thrust a tablet onto the desk, his hands shaking slightly as he pressed play.

A news anchor appeared on the screen, her voice grim and insistent. “Breaking news on an international scandal that could shake the nation. Our sources have uncovered what they’re calling ‘Deals in the Dark: Inside the Global Conspiracy Threatening Economic Stability.’”

The words "Steve Rogers" flashed across the screen, and the anchor continued, "Our investigation has linked these troubling deals directly to the highest office in the land.”

Steve’s face blanched. His name—his reputation—was being dragged through the mud in front of the entire country. Rage flared within him as he looked up, his jaw tight. “Get the Vice President in here. Now.”

A tense silence settled over the room as they waited. Moments later, Bucky entered, his expression carefully controlled, his eyes meeting Steve’s with a flash of concern.

“Close the door,” Steve ordered, his voice low and taut.

As the door clicked shut, Bucky stood before him, the weight of the situation hanging between them like a loaded gun. Steve’s hand curled into a fist, his voice barely a whisper but laced with fury. “Did you know about this?”

Bucky looked down, drawing a steadying breath, then met Steve’s piercing gaze. “I knew her was digging into things after her friend died, but… I didn’t know it would go this far.” He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t realize how deep she’d go—or how reckless she’d become.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, a vein throbbing in his temple. “So you’re telling me you had no idea?”

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky admitted, his voice weighted with regret. “And I’m sorry, Steve. I’ll make this right. If you need a name to take the fall… blame me. I’ll shoulder this.”

Steve looked at him, surprised. Here was his Vice President—his friend—willing to sacrifice himself to protect him. It would be so easy to accept the offer, to let Bucky take the brunt of the fallout. It would keep Steve’s image intact, and Bucky could be quietly replaced.

But the advantage of having Bucky loyal by his side was too great. “No,” Steve replied, shaking his head. “This wasn’t your doing. And I need you here, not buried under this scandal.”

Bucky stepped forward, his gaze steady. “It’s alright, Steve. I haven’t done much lately as Vice President anyway. Let me take this on. We’re a team, aren’t we? Your problems are mine.”

Steve paused, looking at him, his anger tempered by the loyalty in Bucky’s eyes. “You’d take this for me?”

“Without hesitation,” Bucky replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Steve exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He extended a hand, and Bucky took it, their grips strong, but their shared look even stronger. Then, in a rare moment of mutual trust, Steve pulled him into a fierce, brotherly embrace.

“Thank you, Bucky,” he murmured, his voice softened with unspoken gratitude.

As they pulled back, Bucky’s expression was resolute. “Whatever’s coming,” he said, his voice low, “we’re facing it together.”

Steve nodded, his mind racing with strategy and resolve. The scandal might be a blow, but with Bucky at his side, he felt fortified, ready to weather the storm—no matter how dark it threatened to become.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

With Bucky's promise still fresh in the air, Steve watched as his vice president worked hard to keep issues from flaring up. Bucky stood tall, his confidence showing as he spoke to reporters and citizens, assuring them that their concerns were being handled. But underneath, Steve could sense the tension in Bucky—his jaw tightened, and worry flickered in his eyes whenever new problems popped up.

Each time one issue seemed to fade, another arose, and it always seemed to lead back to you.

As Steve stood in the Oval Office, the weight of the scandals crashing down around him felt almost suffocating. Illegal domestic surveillance, military manipulation, a nuclear program scandal, and Stark Industries' data misuse—all of it traced back to you. The walls felt like they were closing in as he realized you were the mastermind behind this revelation. Even Bucky was oblivious to the full extent of the details.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady the rising tide of anger and betrayal, and faced you across the room. The tension hung heavy in the air, electric and dangerous. “When will you stop?” he demanded, his voice low and filled with barely restrained fury. “This is not only hurting me but also Bucky.”

You met his gaze, unflinching, your own anger simmering just below the surface. “Come and kill me, you crazy sociopath,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

Steve took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “If you keep doing this, you’ll ruin the future of Nate’s life,” he warned, his tone now tinged with a desperate edge.

“I knew you have a soft spot for him. And I appreciate it,” he sneered. “But imagine him being branded with the image of being the illegitimate child, with his father as the most evil president in history.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Or you could choose this one: he’ll find out who I really am. Instead of shame, he’ll be proud to be the son of the president.”

“You fucking psycho,” you spat, taking a step back, putting space between you and the weight of your shared history. “Using your own son as your shield.”

Steve shook his head, disbelief mingling with a simmering rage. “You hate me because I killed your friend. Sure, I understand that. But if he were still alive, your husband and I probably couldn’t win the election.”

As the two of you locked eyes, the atmosphere crackled with tension—a brutal dance of hurt and anger, intertwined with a strange sense of familiarity. Steve’s breath quickened, the realization dawning on him that the battle wasn’t just external; it was deeply personal, and it threatened to consume them both.

“Everything is about paying back. Everyone in here knows everyone’s secrets.” Steve's voice was cold, his jaw clenched tightly as he glared at you, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, as if holding back the urge to lash out.

"I hate people like you—the idealistic type," Steve said, his voice low and simmering with frustration. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto yours, the tension in the air palpable. "If you get rid of me, there will only be another just like me."

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After talking to Steve, you returned home, your heart still racing with the weight of the conversation. As you stepped through the door, you saw Bucky waiting for you, his expression unreadable. The moment you locked eyes, tension filled the room.

"You’re just a puppet for Steve," you spat, your voice dripping with disdain. "I’m so ashamed of you."

Bucky's face hardened, his jaw clenched tightly as he stepped closer, his frustration boiling over. "You don’t understand anything! I’m doing what I have to do," he shot back, his tone sharp and defensive.

“Doing what you have to do?” you scoffed, your hands trembling with anger. “You’re covering up Ian’s death! You’re a coward for letting this happen!” Your words hung heavy in the air, each accusation striking a nerve as you paced back and forth, unable to contain your rage.

Bucky’s eyes flashed with a mix of hurt and anger. “You think it’s that simple? It’s not just about me! I have to protect what’s left of this place, even if it means making sacrifices!” He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in the way his fingers curled into his scalp.

You shook your head, refusing to back down. “Sacrifices? You mean sacrificing your integrity? You’ve lost yourself to this game, Bucky! I can’t believe you let Steve manipulate you like this.”

Unbeknownst to both of you, your heated argument was being overheard. Natasha listened intently from the hidden bug that had been planted in the room, her brow furrowed with concern as she glanced at Steve. “Both of them are fighting. Bucky sounds surprised,” she informed him, her tone serious.

Steve leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk forming on his lips. “Good,” he replied, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. He relished the chaos unfolding, knowing that conflict could lead to clarity, both for Bucky and for you. The storm brewing between you two was exactly what he needed.

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Even though there was turmoil at home, everything had to keep going. Bucky had to accompany Steve to attend the parade. The parade was a vibrant spectacle, a sea of red, white, and blue, with flags fluttering in the crisp air. Cheerful crowds lined the streets, waving banners and chanting the names of their leaders, their excitement palpable.

"Mr. President! Mr. President!" they roared, their voices a chorus of admiration for Steve Rogers, who stood tall and confident, a smile breaking across his face as he waved back. The warmth of the people's adoration radiated around him, but as the crowd's energy surged, the atmosphere felt electric, almost frenetic.

Beside him, Bucky Barnes maintained a more stoic demeanor. Though he wore the badge of Vice President, the cheers seemed to pass over him, fewer and far between. He appreciated the excitement but felt a twinge of disappointment that the cheers weren't for him. He turned to Steve, his brow furrowing slightly, and remarked dryly, "You know, I thought they would be a bit more enthusiastic about me."

Steve had brought Bucky here to entertain him because he knew about the problems between Bucky and you. You're wild and couldn't be tamed.

Steve chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned closer, "Put a leash on your wife, or she'll embarrass this country." His laughter rang out, mingling with the cheers of the crowd, but Bucky's gaze drifted past him, scanning the parade route.

"Yeah," Bucky replied, a hint of agreement in his voice, but his eyes were still fixed on the crowd. There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite place.

Steve turned to Bucky, his brow slightly furrowed with concern. "How is she?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Bucky crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched as he replied, "I told her to be quieter."

“Good,” Steve said, his expression softening a bit. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "I’m planning to have Hazel by my side."

Bucky's eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. "What?" he exclaimed, his posture tensing as he processed the implications of Steve’s words.

"I knew you’d know," Steve said, a hint of regret creeping into his tone. He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "And I’m sorry. But I promise you, I will give Hazel and Nate the best future."

Bucky fell silent, the weight of Steve’s promise hanging in the air between them. He looked away for a moment, his thoughts racing, before finally nodding, a mix of resignation and reluctant acceptance etched on his face.

Steve smiled, relief washing over him as he saw Bucky's reaction. There was a sense of camaraderie in the moment, a silent understanding forged in the midst of tension. But as Bucky looked at Steve, his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, hinting at the underlying conflict that still simmered just beneath the surface.

"I'm so glad to have you as my partner," Steve continued, sincerity evident in his tone. "May we work together until we die."

"Until we die," Bucky murmured, his voice almost lost in the surrounding commotion.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise, calling out, "Barnes!" A hand waved from the throng, the first time anyone had shouted his name that day. Bucky glanced at the person but didn’t respond with a wave like Steve did. Instead, he gave a subtle nod, a flicker of acknowledgment that felt more calculated than celebratory.

In that instant, chaos erupted. "KYAAA!!!"

A sharp crack rang out, slicing through the jubilant atmosphere. Bucky staggered as if struck by a physical blow, his eyes widening in shock.

The cheers turned into gasps of disbelief, and screams erupted as the crowd reacted in panic, some dropping to the ground, others frantically searching for cover. The Secret Service sprang into action, "Protect the Vice-President!", a wall of suits forming around Bucky as people pushed back in terror, the once-cheerful parade transformed into a scene of horror.

"Bucky!" Steve shouted, rushing forward, his heart pounding as he reached his partner's side. The world around him blurred, and all he could focus on was Bucky, crumpling to the ground.

Everyone was shouting, the air thick with fear and confusion, but all Steve heard was the ragged sound of his own breathing and the desperate cry of his friend. "Bucky!" he repeated, urgency lacing his tone.

Bucky's breath came in ragged gasps, his body sprawled on the pavement. The color drained from his face as he struggled to lift his hand, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through his fingers. With a surge of effort, he grasped Steve's arm, pulling him closer, anchoring himself to his partner even as the life slipped away from him. "All hail the President," he managed, his voice weak but resolute.

Steve's expression shifted from shock to horror, his body taut with the weight of impending dread. Bucky's grip tightened, holding him in place as if preventing him from moving, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them both. "Bucky, stay with me," he urged, desperation lacing his tone.

Bucky locked eyes with Steve, seeing the fear reflected there. A strange calm washed over him as he whispered, "As Nate's father, this is my gift for you."

Then, without warning, a searing pain tore through Steve’s chest, a sharp shot of agony that rooted him to the spot. The world blurred around him as he struggled to comprehend what was happening, realizing in that instant that he was the true target.

Steve felt the impact before he could process the meaning behind Bucky’s words. The world around them seemed to slow as the realization of betrayal hit him. He caught a glimpse of Bucky's fading form, and in that moment, a twisted smirk crept across his lips. "Well played," he murmured, before the darkness consumed him, and he dropped to the ground.

Bucky’s grip slackened, the warmth of his hand slipping away. Bucky’s body went limp, and as everything turned dark around him, Steve felt his own strength faltering.

That day, which was meant to be a celebration, turned into a day of mourning. Two main leaders of the country were injured, and no one knew who was behind the attack. With the most important figures in the nation harmed, it felt like an embarrassment for a country that prided itself on its strength.

Both parties in the government reached a silent agreement to keep the situation under wraps and portray Steve as a hero.

The news headlines that would follow would echo through history: “The President Dies Protecting the Vice President.” It would be a legacy of sacrifice, a testament to their bond. Steve Rogers would forever be remembered as the only president who lost his life protecting another, a tragedy that would resonate for generations.

Everyone would remember him as a good symbol, sacrificing himself for someone, without recalling the darker aspects of his actions. This was the last gift Bucky gave to him.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

2 days later

Bucky's eyes fluttered open, the sterile brightness of the hospital room piercing through the haze of his coma. As his surroundings came into focus, the first thing he saw was you, your face streaked with tears, a mixture of relief and anger etched across your features.

You rushed to his side, gripping his arm tightly, your voice trembling with emotion. "You idiot! What kind of plan was that? Risking your life?"

Bucky's brow furrowed slightly as he tried to process your words, his voice hoarse but steady. "Didn't I tell you? I will accept it if you hurt me."

Both of you pretended to fight to keep Steve from suspecting anything. He knew how much Bucky loved you, and with the two of you constantly bickering, he wouldn't notice that someone else had hired an assassin.

It was Caroline. She was the one who hired the sniper to take Steve's life. Don’t mess with a mother—or a woman like her.

Bucky getting shot first was all part of the plan. Caroline’s intention was to take out Steve, but Bucky warned her that he would also become a suspect if that happened.

Instead, he proposed that he get hurt first, diverting everyone’s attention to him, allowing Steve to be vulnerable next.

It was a risky plan—an idiotic one, really. But Bucky insisted, determined to see it through despite the danger that loomed over them all.

A deep sigh escaped your lips, a blend of frustration and relief washing over you. You leaned against his chest, resting your head there, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. In that moment, everything else faded away—the anger, the fear—and all that mattered was that he was alive.

Risking his life was necessary to make his plan work. He didn't want the past six years of his efforts to go to waste.

The past six years had been exhausting for Bucky Barnes. He had immersed himself in the treacherous waters of politics, drawn in by the intoxicating taste of power that left a lingering sweetness on his tongue.

He quickly realized that understanding the law was not merely a tool; it was a weapon. Knowledge of loopholes became his advantage, a means to navigate the convoluted game of governance. But knowing the rules wasn’t enough; he needed to be ruthless. That was where Steve Rogers came into the picture—his mentor, a family friend for years, whose facade of integrity masked a far more sinister reality.

In Bucky’s eyes, Steve had always been perfect, a paragon of virtue. But as time wore on, the veneer began to crack, revealing the monstrous truth lurking beneath.

Steve was a predator cloaked in a hero’s guise. His charming smile belied a voracious greed that left a bloody trail in its wake. It was a shock to discover that Steve had been having an affair with Hazel, and now he was the father of Nate, the child whose very existence felt like a dagger to Bucky’s heart.

This betrayal was too much to bear. Bucky’s hatred for the man he once idolized simmered just below the surface, boiling over as he considered how to dismantle the carefully constructed empire Steve had built. Bucky knew the rules; he understood the political landscape better than most. But how could he bring down someone so deeply entrenched in the system?

Despite all his advantages, Steve believed he was the master of this game. No, he wasn’t. Bucky’s confidence swelled as he acknowledged that Steve’s skills—his war experience, his tactical mind—would ultimately falter against the true currency of politics. In this brutal arena, the real gold was connections and money. Behind every politician lurked unseen puppet masters pulling the strings, and Steve was no exception.

Bucky knew that while Steve had forged connections, he lacked the pedigree that defined the upper echelons of power. Steve had been a nobody until Peggy Carter had invited him into their circle, and that was when they made a monumental mistake—choosing Steve. He might have had his allies, but he would never be blue blood like Bucky and Peggy.

Then there was Peggy. The last straw. Bucky’s heart twisted as he recalled the circumstances of her death. He was all too aware that it had been Steve's machinations that had ultimately led to her demise. Bucky had witnessed the toll it took on her, the way she had struggled under the weight of her decisions, her life unraveling in the shadow of Steve's ambition. Bucky’s hands tightened into fists at the memory.

Caroline had been the voice of caution, her words echoing in his mind: “This is why you never bite the hand that feeds you.”

She may not have been a good mother, but she had been a loyal friend to Peggy, always protecting her interests, ensuring that her secrets remained buried. Bucky could see how easily Caroline could hire an assassin, how she moved through the shadows like a whisper, orchestrating the chaos without ever getting her hands dirty.

He never thought you and Caroline would join forces to rid the world of Steve. With each passing day, Bucky felt the walls closing in, the weight of the decisions he had to make pressing down on him like a vice. Steve would fall; it was only a matter of time.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky stood in the Oval Office, a resolute figure beside the iconic Resolute Desk, a Bible open in front of him. The room was thick with anticipation, everyone watching him intently as he prepared to deliver his vow. His posture was firm, shoulders squared, as he looked around at the faces of his colleagues and allies, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He glanced at the words on the page, drawing strength from their meaning as he readied himself to speak.

With a steady voice, he began, "I stand before you today, not just as your president, but as a servant of the people. I vow to uphold the Constitution, to protect the rights of every citizen, and to work tirelessly for the betterment of our nation. Together, we will fight against corruption and ensure that government truly serves the people. I promise to lead with integrity, to listen to your voices, and to bring about the change we so desperately need."

You stood behind him, pride swelling in your chest as you witnessed Bucky fulfill his promise to become president.

Behind you sat Caroline and Julius, the latter in his wheelchair, their expressions a mix of hope and admiration. Bucky’s oldest brother, Shawn, had called to congratulate him, his voice brimming with encouragement. Your brother Tim stood nearby, a smile on his face, reflecting the joy that filled the room. At the back, Hazel lingered, her posture tense and withdrawn, reluctant to stand close to her family.

As the applause began and everyone congratulated Bucky and you, Natasha approached Hazel, who stood near the corner as if she wanted to hide.

Perhaps she was too embarrassed to be there. Before, she had come to the White House as Steve's mistress, and everyone knew who she was but kept their mouths shut. This time, she was here only as Bucky's sister. “I have something for you,” Natasha said, extending an envelope toward her.

Hazel hesitated, her brows furrowing in confusion. “For me?” she asked, glancing from the letter to Natasha, unsure of what to expect.

Natasha nodded, a subtle smile breaking through her serious exterior. “Yes, it’s from Steve.” With that, she stepped back to take her position.

Hazel’s fingers trembled slightly as she took the letter, the weight of it heavy in her hand. As she opened it, memories flooded back, and she felt a rush of emotions. It was a final message from Steve, words that resonated with her deeply.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Hazel read the heartfelt letter, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Hazel,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m probably no longer living. And that's okay; I've come to accept it. The world I’ve inhabited has been fraught with danger, and I’ve made choices that have led me here.

Hazel, from the moment I met you, it felt like looking into a mirror—a reflection of my own heart and soul. You brought warmth and light into my life, even when I was lost in darkness. Your strength has always amazed me, and I want you to carry that with you as you move forward.

Live the life you’ve always wanted. I’ve made arrangements for you and Nate, ensuring you both have the financial support you need to thrive.

Please, for our Nate, support him and listen to him. He will need you more than ever now, and I have every confidence in your ability to guide him.

If there is a next life, I hope we never meet again. You deserve someone better than me. Now that I’m gone, please try to forget me and the mistakes I made. I genuinely wish you and Nate nothing but the best.

Steve Rogers

P.S. Don’t worry about the twins. They’ve been independent since they were young and have the Carters to guide them. They’ll be okay."

Tears fell onto the letter as Hazel finished reading it.

“Mom?” Nate's small voice broke through her moment of grief.

Hazel looked down at her son, the last legacy of Steve, and quickly wiped her tears away. “Do you want to visit Uncle Steve?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Nate nodded enthusiastically, his bright eyes shining with admiration. “Yes! He’s a hero for saving Uncle Bucky!”

Hazel flinched at the mention of Bucky, but she forced a smile, wanting to be strong for her son. She knelt down to his level and took his small hands in hers, feeling the warmth of his tiny fingers. With her other hand, she clutched the letter written by Steve, a reminder of his love and hopes for her.

Together, they held hands as they walked, Hazel’s heart swelling with determination. Just as Steve had wished, she would live life to the fullest and be a great mother to Nate.

After Hazel and Nate left, Natasha approached Bucky with a serious expression. “Both of them have left,” she informed him.

Bucky turned to her, his demeanor cool and composed, devoid of any trace of warmth. “She read the letter?” he asked, his voice steady and flat.

“Yes,” Natasha replied, nodding her head.

“Did she believe it?” Bucky pressed, his gaze sharp and focused.

“I hired a professional to copy Steve's signature, and I added a bit of his perfume to the paper,” Natasha explained, her tone measured and confident.

“Good.” Bucky’s expression remained impassive, his eyes betraying no emotion. He had written the letter himself, crafting it to sound like it came from Steve. His intention was clear: he wanted Hazel to move on from Steve, to find a new path without the shadows of the past weighing her down. This was necessary for her future, and he understood the sacrifices it took to ensure that.

“Good job.” Bucky looked at Natasha again, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

It was a curious alliance—how could a loyal supporter of Steve choose to work with Bucky? The answer lay in humanity. Natasha had pledged her loyalty to Steve because he saved her from the chaos of war when she had no one to turn to. In her eyes, he was a hero, and she had turned a blind eye and deaf ear to his misdeeds, including the affair with Hazel.

But everything changed when she witnessed the heartlessness Steve displayed toward Peggy. The righteous man she once admired had morphed into a monster, and her faith in him shattered. With Steve’s death, Natasha reevaluated her principles and decided to align herself with Bucky.

Bucky brought her on board because he recognized her skills and capabilities. He needed people like Natasha—sharp, resourceful, and fiercely dedicated. But he also understood the value of loyalty and did not intend to take it for granted. Their partnership was strategic, grounded in the shared goal of reshaping the political landscape, and Bucky was determined to build a team that could challenge the corruption that had long plagued their world.

“Have you got everything you need?” your voice pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Yes,” he replied, a smile breaking through his usual stoicism as he took your hand in his.

As you both walked through the grand halls of the White House, the sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. Bucky’s grip on your hand was firm, steady, a reassuring anchor in the midst of the political storm surrounding him.

Bucky had his share of greed, but he loathed those who didn’t know their limits. Among those were his so-called friends, Edgar and Brock. Together with Steve, they formed a trio of self-serving opportunists, always proclaiming their actions were “for the people” while their true motivations were purely selfish—“for me, me, and me.”

What set Bucky apart from Steve, Edgar, and Brock was his ambition to dismantle the very system they thrived in. He wanted to rid politics of corrupt individuals like them, who masqueraded their greed as altruism. Bucky had seen too much of the damage they had inflicted on the community, and he was determined to be the catalyst for change. He refused to become like them.

To clean up the government, he knew he had to start with this corrupt trio. It was a slow and grueling process, requiring patience and strategy, but Bucky was committed to the fight. He would work behind the scenes, gathering evidence, building alliances, and slowly dismantling their influence. It was exhausting, but he was relentless.

His ultimate goal extended beyond simply removing them from power. He envisioned a government rebuilt on integrity, one that truly served the interests of the people rather than the egos of a few. The road ahead was fraught with challenges, but he was willing to face them head-on. Every step he took toward exposing the trio brought him closer to realizing his vision of a more just and equitable political landscape.

As Bucky navigated the murky waters of politics, he felt the weight of his mission pressing down on him. He was no longer just a pawn in the game; he was a player with a purpose. This time, he wouldn’t be silenced. He was determined to take the fight to them, fueled by a deep resolve to expose their hypocrisy and restore honor to a system long tainted by greed.

But alongside you, he realized something important: for an imperfect couple, you both made a perfect team. As you walked together, side by side, it felt like you were crossing a finish line, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Each step was a testament to your shared commitment—a bond forged in trust and understanding, built on the ashes of past mistakes.

You glanced up at him, and in that moment, you could see the determination in his eyes, the fire that ignited whenever he believed in something. Together, you were more than just individuals; you were partners united in a common cause, ready to fight for a better future. In the complicated world of power and betrayal, your partnership was a beacon of hope, lighting the way toward justice and change.

-The End-

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who followed this series until the end. This story has its flaws, but I truly appreciate your support and dedication. It was incredibly difficult for me to wrap up this journey and say goodbye to Bucky and his fierce ex-wife. Writing a tale that intertwines politics with romance has been both a challenging and rewarding experience. I've learned so much about character development and the complexities of relationships, and I'm grateful to have shared this journey with all of you. Your feedback and encouragement have meant the world to me.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

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slu7formen · 10 months ago

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Girl first of all I want to say that I'm OBSESSED with your writing I love it.

Second of all I would like to make a request about Luke so hear me out.

Luke and reader were in a relationship before he betrayed camp and they were head over heals for each other and then he stole the bolt and when Percy discovers he's the thief the reader is there feeling betrayed and specially heartbroken even though Luke ask her to go with him but she doesn't accept it because she's so loyal to camp and her friends.

Time passed and even if she wants to hate Luke she loves him more than anything. And Luke loves her too so instead of asking Annabeth to escape with him he asks reader and she accepts.

I want to see everything in here fluff, angst, everything you think about.

I hope you like this request and make it real for me because I've been having this idea for over a week.

Okay but I feel so bad ‘cause I totally forgot I had this story FULLY WRITTEN and READY to be published (‘cause I LOVED it), I’m so sorry angel, made you wait a lot more than just a week 🥺, but thanks for reading my stories <3

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: luke´s a traitor, betrayal, use of yn, swearing, kinda angst (?, KISSING, lil book spoiler

₊˚⊹♡

The crackle and pop of the bonfire filled the air, a comforting contrast to the vibrant bursts of color exploding overhead. The annual fireworks display was in full swing, casting shadows on the faces of your friends huddled around the warm flames. It was a picture of peace, a moment of respite amidst the constant threat of monsters demigod drama.

You stole a glance at the empty space beside you. Luke, your boyfriend, had told you he'd just be back in a minute. A few minutes had turned into an eternity, but you chalked it up to his usual impulsiveness. He'd be back any minute, with his signature smile and an arm wrapped around you.

You knew it.

From the moment you met, you and Luke had been inseparable. You were his confidante, his anchor in the chaos of being a demigod and his messy life. He was your rock, always there to make you laugh, to understand the weight of your heritage in a way no one else could.

The warmth of the fire danced on your skin, but a shiver snaked down your spine. Something felt off. The chatter of your friends seemed muted, replaced by a dull ache in your chest. You couldn’t deny the way you noticed how Luke has been acting lately. So weird and distant towards you the last couple days. You loved him, fiercely and unconditionally. You'd been there for him through thick and thin, especially after his quest left a jagged scar across his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes.

But then he suddenly just, snapped.

A memory surfaced in you , sharp and unwelcome. It had been months ago, a conversation in the darkness of his cabin in a particular cold night. Luke, his eyes filled with a desperate fervor, had confessed his anger towards the gods, his belief that they were cruel and neglectful parents. He'd spoken of tricking the Olympians, joining forces with the Titans to fight for a better life for all demigods.

The anger in his voice, the glint of rebellion in his eyes, had scared you. The scar on his face, a reminder of his failed quest, seemed to burn brighter that night.

You understood his anger. The gods were far from perfect, their neglect and cruelty evident in countless demigod lives. He'd begged you to join him, his voice filled with a desperate hope. But you'd refused, your loyalty to Camp Half-Blood and your friends unwavering. You had spent hours talking him through it as you held his hand, reminding him of all the good the gods had done, no matter how flawed they might be. He'd looked lost at the time, seeking comfort in your touch. You'd thought you'd reached him, extinguished that spark of rebellion.

You really believed that conversation was long forgotten. But there was a reason why you remembered it.

Some movement at the edge of the woods caught your eye. But it wasn't the boy you were expecting. Percy, his face pale and etched with worry, practically stumbled into the fireplace, his chest heaving and his grip tight on Riptide.

A pang of concern shot through you. "Percy?" you called out, concern lacing your voice. You pushed yourself off the ground, walking towards him. "What happened? Where's Luke?"

Percy hesitated, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. Shit, should he tell you? His silence was a hammer blow to your gut. You knew, with a chilling certainty, that something was terribly wrong.

"What?" you choked out, the question barely a whisper, expecting some kind of answer from the blonde boy, but nothing came from his trembling lips. The air felt dense, with a truth you desperately wanted to deny. You saw Luke getting into the woods with Percy, you saw it. And now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Then, it clicked. A cold, horrifying truth began to dawn on you.

He lied.

Without a word, you pushed Percy aside and started running, towards the woods. Your heart hammered against your ribs, like a trapped bird desperate to escape. You plunged into the darkness of the forest, the path you'd walked countless times with Luke now leading you into the unknown.

"Luke!" you screamed, your voice raw with anger and despair. You wove through the trees, the undergrowth tearing at your camp shirt, but you didn't care. You had to find him, to confront him, to understand why he'd chosen this path, if he chose it, why he'd lied to you.

But with each passing minute, hope crashed over you. The forest grew denser, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the frantic beat of your own heart. There was no sign of Luke, no echo of his footsteps, no smell, no sense of his presence, only the chilling truth hanging heavy in the air.

He was gone.

He had left.

You sank to your knees, the weight of betrayal crushing you as the first tears you ever cried for Luke Castellan, started to fall. The man you loved, the person you'd trusted with your life, had chosen darkness over everything you held dear. He had chosen Kronos over you.

Grief, a cold and relentless serpent, coiled around your heart. And that feeling never seemed to leave.

The year that followed was a blur of sadness and a desperate attempt at normalcy. The silence from Luke was deafening. Not a single Iris-message, not a single sign of the one who once, was your boyfriend.

You knew you wouldn´t be able to return to Camp, at least not for now. Every corner held a ghost of Luke's smile, every sword clang a reminder of his battles and his betrayal. Your friends, the true ones, bless their hearts, tried everything to cheer you up from a distance, but their efforts felt like trying to pick up the pieces of a broken glass in the sea.

You opted to stay home that summer. But even there, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers, escape from Luke's betrayal seemed impossible. Messages and news found you no matter where you hid. News of Luke leading a rogue army aboard a stolen cruise ship, rumors of him serving as Kronos's right hand while the Titan slumbered – it all reached your ears.

The nights were the worst. The darkness mirrored the hollowness within you. Tears would stain your pillow as you relived the events leading up to his betrayal. You once seemed to dream about seeing him again, and now you only screamed when you saw his face in your nightmares.

The memory of his touch, the warmth of his smile, the nights you spent loving each other with the sheets tangling in your legs, all felt like cruel illusions now. Yet, a part of you, a stubborn, illogical part, still clung to the love you once shared.

And Gods, did you try to keep yourself as busy as possible. You threw yourself into your studies and little courses here and there, seeking solace in facts and logic. You even began working, a boring but well payed summer job. Yet, the pain lingered, a dull ache that refused to subside.

The more you tried to banish these visions, the more vivid they became. You missed him like a starving man craved a feast, a yearning that gnawed at your insides and threatened to consume you. Frustration gnawed at you. How could you still love someone who'd betrayed you so utterly? How could your heart still ache for a man who chose war over you? The questions echoed endlessly within you, a relentless chorus fueling your self-conscious.

How could you be so weak?

These consuming questions were your companions for a whole year. But as the second summer after Luke's betrayal rolled around, a shift occurred within you. The raw, agonizing pain began to dull, replaced by a quiet resolve.

Finally, you decided it was time to take back control again. Camp Half-Blood called, a familiar haven among the storm. You returned a changed person. The vibrant smile that once adorned your face was a ghost, replaced by a guarded expression that spoke about the pain you harbored in silence. The camp's familiar energy felt hollow, a constant reminder of the happiness you'd lost.

Training became your sole solace. You'd disappear into the arena for hours, your celestial bronze sword a blur as you cleaved through training dummies, each swing fueled by a potent cocktail of grief and anger.

Exhaustion became your closest companion too. You pushed yourself to the limits of your endurance, hoping to find oblivion at the bottom of an empty fuel tank. But sleep, when it finally came, offered no escape. You'd dream of him, leading his army of rogue demigods, his eyes filled with a fanatical zeal that chilled you to the bone. And in those dreams, you'd see yourself, standing beside him, not out of loyalty to his cause, but out of a desperate yearning for the boy you once loved, still love.

In the quiet moments, when your friends weren't around, the dam would break. You'd collapse onto your cool and empty bed, tears streaming down your face, a raw, primal sob escaping your lips. The memory of Luke was no joy anymore, it haunted you like a specter.

You hated yourself for the traitorous flicker in your heart, the desperate, illogical yearning for him. It wasn't the war that tempted you; it was him.

You hated how much you missed him.

The scent of rain clung to the humid night air and to you like a second skin as you zipped up your duffel bag. Another summer at Camp Half-Blood loomed, promising a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and pain, but more training. The worst was yet to come, so you needed to be ready.

New York City, with its cacophony of car horns and the anonymity of millions, had become your refuge these past few months. In Manhattan, the memories of Luke seemed to hold less power for some weird reason, their edges dulling with the passage of time. You'd spent the past months in this tiny apartment, the silence deafening compared to the constant hum of life at camp.

Just then, a sharp rap on the door shattered the silence of your apartment. It was past midnight, an unusual time for visitors.

Adrenaline surged through you. Months of living fully alone had honed your senses. You'd become acutely aware of the city's underbelly – the flickering shadows that could hide monsters thanks to the ever-present mist. You'd seen them stalking the streets, stalking you, their true forms hidden to them mortals, an unsettling feeling crawling up your spine whenever their paths crossed yours. They never attacked, but their chilling presence followed you like a phantom.

Grabbing your necklace, you asked, "Yes?"

Silence. You weren't taking any chances. Pulling down at the pendant once, the necklace morphed into your celestial bronze dagger.

You took a step, two. Could it really be a monster? Could it really be some creature trying to get to you, by knocking on the door? With a shaky breath, you cracked the door open just enough to peek through the gap, hiding the dagger behind your back.

The sight that greeted you stole the air from your lungs.

Standing on your doorstep, bathed in the harsh glow of the hallway light, was Luke. His dark hair was windswept, his face etched with a gauntness that hadn't been there before, but his eyes – those were the same eyes that had haunted your dreams for months. They held a desperate plea, a flicker of the boy you once loved struggling to break through the hardened shell of the man he'd become.

“Luke?”

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and a tangled web of emotions. Time seemed to warp in that hallway, a single moment stretched into an eternity. Luke looked different, yes. The carefree boy you knew had been replaced by a man hardened by experience, his features etched with lines that spoke of battles fought and burdens carried. But his eyes, those brown eyes that had once held a mischievous twinkle, now held a deeper sadness that mirrored your own.

"Hi" Luke finally said, his voice raspy.

You stood speechless, the dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Years of longing warred with the fresh wounds of betrayal. You wanted to scream at him, to unleash the torrent of hurt and anger that suddenly washed over you. But something held you back, a flicker of curiosity, maybe.

"Um, can I come in?" he continued, his posture pleading despite his attempt at nonchalance.

Jesus. Was that all he had to say? After everything, after what he did, all he could muster was a request to enter your apartment? A tide of anger threatened to drown you. Did he not understand the gravity of what he'd done? Did he not realize the pain he'd caused? But you forced your thoughts down. You weren't a child anymore, throwing tantrums wouldn't solve anything.

"Are you armed?" you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

Luke flinched at your question, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "You think I wanna hurt you?" he countered, his tone defensive.

"Last time I saw you," you spat back, your voice laced with bitterness, "was three years ago, and I know your little monsters are keeping an eye on me. The first thing I'm supposed to think about is whether you want to hurt me or not."

He sighed, a long, weary exhale. Unzipping his jacket, he turned slowly, patting down his pockets before turning back to you. His eyes, once alive with mischief and love, were now filled with a desperate sincerity. "See? No weapons. Just me."

You studied him, a battle raging within you. One part of you wanted to slam the door, to let him know that he wasn't welcome. Yet, another part, a smaller, more vulnerable part, couldn't help but cling to the flicker of hope that flickered amongst the ashes of your love.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you stepped aside, allowing a sliver of space for him to enter. "Fine" you said, your voice devoid of warmth. "But you better have a good reason to come here"

Luke hesitated for a beat before stepping inside. He closed the door softly behind him, the sound echoing through the tense silence. He stood there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the room, landing finally on the packed bags besides the tv.

"You're heading back to camp?" he asked.

You flipped the dagger in your hand, and the celestial bronze morphed back into the golden necklace. "What do you want?" you repeated, your voice still sharp, a shield against the emotions swirling within you.

Luke stood awkwardly in the doorway, the once carefree boy replaced by a man burdened by the weight of his choices. His leather jacket seemed to hang heavy on his broad shoulders.

"I…" he started, then stopped, seemingly unsure how to proceed. He cleared his throat, the sound scratchy and unfamiliar. "You look different" he finally managed, the words tumbling out awkwardly.

You scoffed, a humorless sound that surprised even you.

"Look, yn" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper, "I wanna talk, okay? I know what I did was wrong. I know I hurt you."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "You could say that again."

His fingers twitched at your bitterness, but pressed on. "I came here because..." He hesitated again, seemingly wrestling with an inner turmoil. "Because I-"

Frustration bubbled up within you. This cryptic approach, this lack of honesty, it was infuriating. "Because you what, Luke?" you demanded, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Because you decided to grace me with your presence after leading a rebellion against the gods? Or maybe because you just wanted to see if I'm still waiting for you?"

You watched his face harden, the vulnerability replaced by a familiar defiance.

"Don't twist this" he snapped, his voice firm. "I came here because..." He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "Because I miss you, yn. I miss us."

The air crackled with a tension so thick you could almost taste it.

You took a slow step towards him, then another. He took notes of yourself as you did. The way you had grown internally was so intense that he could sense it everywhere. He might have betrayed you, but that only helped you get on your feet stronger, grow stronger. Become the warrior he always knew you were.

Then, in a move as instinctive as it was fierce, your hand lashed out. The slap connected with a stinging crack, the sound echoing through the apartment like a thunderclap. Luke's head snapped to the side, a crimson handprint blooming on his cheek. Shame flickered in his eyes as he scoffed, quickly replaced by a dull acceptance.

He deserved it, that much was clear.

"How dare you?” you spat, your voice shaking with barely controlled fury, "How fucking dare you come back here after what you've done? After leading a rebellion against the gods, after putting everyone we care about at risk? After betraying me?"

Luke took a shaky breath, running a hand over the burning mark on his face. "I'm sorry” he said, his voice low and ragged. "I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you, and I know a simple apology won't erase the pain or fix things. But you have to believe me, I never meant for things to get this bad"

He stepped towards you, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture, but you flinched back, the space between you a tangible barrier. "Don't touch me" you warned, your voice laced with ice.

He lowered his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I know you hate me for what I´ve done. For joining Kronos, I-“

"You think this is all about Kronos?" you cut him off, your voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You think the reason my heart has been broken these past years is because you joined a fucking Titan?"

Luke remained silent, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a collapsing mountain. He knew better.

"This is about what you did to me, Luke" you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "I was with you, all the time. I was your girlfriend! And you betrayed me. You left me alone” your voice broke so hard that you had to take a second to swallow the big gulp that was forming in your throat. “Everyone at camp looked at me after what you did," you choked out. "They either felt sorry for me, or they insulted me, saying that I was still loyal to you, that I was a traitor."

You closed your eyes for a moment, the pain etched on your face a stark reminder of the devastation he'd wrought. "You were the most important person in my life" you cried, your voice raw and vulnerable. "But you? You let Kronos fill your head with empty promises, and just like that, you forgot about us."

The truth felt like a bitter pill to swallow. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I asked you to come with me" he finally whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I gave you the chance to leave with me."

"And even after I said no," you countered, your voice trembling like the finger that was now pointing at his chest, "you still left. You threw me away like shit. And do you know what the worst part is?" Tears streamed down your face, tracing a path through the dust of old heartache. "That as much as I try, I can't seem to hate you."

A sob escaped your lips, shattering the fragile dam you'd built around your emotions. "I still love you, Luke" you confessed. "Even though it's a love that fills me with pain, it's still there. I hate myself because I dream about you, about the way things used to be. But when I don't, I feel like a piece of me is missing."

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears and a raw vulnerability that left Luke speechless.

What had he done?

"I hate myself because I can't help but pray for your safety, even though you never seemed to care about mine. I hate myself because even after everything, I still love you, Luke."

Your heart felt like a shattered kaleidoscope, a million shards of love, anger, and pain reflecting back at you in a distorted reality. You walked and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs racked your body.

Luke, his heart heavy with a remorse sharper than any weapon, watched you crumble. The carefree girl he fell in love with was gone, replaced by a woman etched with the scars of his own actions. Hesitantly, he reached out, placing a hand on your back as he sat down next to you, a gesture of comfort that felt more like a branding iron on his guilt.

"yn” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I still love you too."

You didn't respond, the sobs coming in ragged gasps as your body struggled to contain the storm within.

"I know I left you" he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And you didn't deserve it. But… I was so lost, so angry. Kronos promised me power, a solution to all the problems I saw. He convinced me that Olympus was corrupt, that the gods didn't care about half-bloods like us. And when you said no, he-, he told me to leave you behind, said that it would be easier for everyone…"

His voice trailed off. Easier for who? Easier for him, perhaps, to sever the ties that bound him, to plunge headfirst into a rebellion fueled by manipulated ideals.

"But it wasn't" he choked out, a tear escaping his eye, carving a glistening path down his cheek. "Every day, every step I took… it was a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The guilt was eating me alive, yn, you have to believe me”. His hands desperately reached for yours, trying to get your fingers to intertwine by placing his over yours.

Tears welled up in his own eyes. "I regret everything. I mean it. I don't want to do this anymore."

You finally lifted your head, your eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. Luke looked different to you now, the bravado and arrogance gone, replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

"Don't want to do what?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

"This” he gestured vaguely to himself, but you didn’t quite catch it. "Following Kronos. Helping him rise to power. It's wrong. I can see that now."

“Little late to that, isn’t it?” you blurted out.

He took a deep breath, his expression resolute. "yn, there's a reason I came to you. A reason I risked Kronos' trust in me." He paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kronos wants me to become his host."

And the world seemed to suddenly stop. You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Your mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. Luke, your Luke, becoming a vessel for the monstrous Titan?

"What?" you croaked, fear coating your voice like frost. Your eyes darted around, searching for a way out, a solution, anything. But Luke wouldn't meet your gaze, his jaw clenched tight, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. "No. No, he can't. It's not possible."

The thought of him, Luke, being consumed by Kronos, twisted your insides into knots.

Luke, however, seemed to gather his resolve. "Yes, it is" he said, his voice low and strained. "There are things you don't know, yn. Things I've done."

A cold dread gripped your stomach, a physical manifestation of the terror that clawed at your insides. Your mind raced, desperate for answers. "Then tell me" you only managed to say. "Luke, what have you done?"

He hesitated, looking around as if afraid someone might be listening. "There's no time now" he finally said, his voice tight with urgency. "But I promise I will explain everything. That's not why I'm here."

Taking a deep breath, he dared to reach out, his hand gently grasping yours, finally. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that gripped you.

He called your name, his voice softening. "Come with me" he said.

You only feel capable of frowning your brows in confusion. "Go where?" you asked, your voice wary.

"Anywhere" he said, like a plea. "Let's run away, together. It can be just you and me again"

He leaned closer, the air around him crackling with a tension that mirrored the storm within you. As his forehead rested against yours, a jolt of electricity shot through you. It was a familiar warmth, a spark that had ignited countless stolen kisses and whispered secrets back when your world wasn't teetering on the brink of war. His other hand cupped your cheek, the touch a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. His hand, usually warm and comforting, felt cool against your burning skin, a physical reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Yet, despite the chill, a wave of longing washed over you, a yearning for the simple comfort of his touch.

But reason tugged at you, a voice of caution in the midst of the storm. "But Luke," you stammered, pulling away slightly, "If you escape, Kronos will come for you. He'll come for us, and-,"

"I don't care" he interrupted, his voice resolute, yet laced with a tremor that betrayed his bravado. It was as if he was on the precipice, teetering between defiance and the vulnerability of a man on the verge of breaking. "I'll fight everything that comes for us. And if the war happens... I'll fight. I'll fight for everyone, I’ll fight for you. I'm not losing you again, yn."

His words resonated deep within you, a desperate echo of the love you still harbored for him, a love you thought you'd buried beneath layers of anger and sadness. You saw the fear in his eyes, a fear that you sadly shared, but beneath it, a flicker of something else – a raw, desperate hope. And as you looked at him, a wave of relief washed over you.

The relief of knowing he wasn't entirely lost, that a part of the Luke you loved still existed.

"I love you" he confessed again, his voice trembling.

Looking into his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling within them, the truth resonated with you. "I love you too" you whispered, the words tumbling from your lips like a long-awaited confession.

The world did indeed, stop. The rain, a relentless symphony against the window pane, faded into a distant murmur. The thunders became a muffled echo. In that moment, the only reality was the space between you and Luke, charged with the unspoken electricity of your confessions.

He leaned in further, a hesitant question in his eyes. A flicker of fear danced in their depths, a scared boy seeking forgiveness beneath the warrior's facade. You watched him, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest.

With a sigh that trembled on your lips, you closed the distance. Your lips met in a hesitant touch, a tentative exploration of a forgotten familiarity. Three years of longing, of unspoken words and simmering emotions, poured into that kiss. It was sweeter than you'd dared to imagine, a warmth that spread from your lips and drizzled down your chest.

Unlike the passionate encounters of your past, this felt different; like kissing him for the first time. Luke's lips moved against yours with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He held back, his desperate desire tempered with a respect that surprised you. You knew him.

But then, you yielded. Your lips parted, a silent invitation, and his tongue met yours in a dance as old as time. A full, heavy and angry thunderclap erupted outside, a jarring contrast to the intimacy unfolding on the couch. But you paid it no mind, lost in the whirlpool of rediscovered affection.

Your arms encircled his neck, a desperate hold. He, in turn, cupped your waist, his touch lingering on the curve of your hip as he gently lowered you onto the soft cushion. His body hovered above yours. His lips, however, remained glued to yours, a relentless exploration that spoke of a love both fierce and fragile.

The kiss deepened, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. You felt the familiar rhythm of his heart against yours, a counterpoint to the frantic beat of your own. It was a melody of second chances, of unspoken apologies and nascent hope.

His hand trailed down your back, teasingly brushing under your shirt, sending shivers dancing across your skin. You arched into his touch, a wordless plea for more. But just then, he pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions.

His voice, a husky murmur against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. "I missed this so much," he whispered, his lips trailing down the delicate column of your neck and the dip of your collarbone. His warm breath mingled with your own, a heady mix of emotions swirling around you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, the familiar texture a stark reminder of the past you both desperately clung to. He reached for your pulse, slowly sucking in before letting it pop.

"I wanted to feel you every night" he confessed. "Every night, I dreamt of you." His words were a stark contrast to the cold, distant Luke you saw in your dreams, the only vivid memory you’ve had of him the past years.

"Luke" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to speak.

He didn't stop. His hand drifted down your torso, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your lower tummy. Every touch felt like a brand, a searing reminder of what you had lost and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"It was a mistake" he said, his voice thick with regret. "A big, fucking mistake. Leaving you, betraying you-, it was the biggest mistake of my life. My life doesn't make any sense without you."

With a strangled sound, Luke deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own. You clung to him, a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline. The scent of leather that clung to him was intoxicating, a familiar anchor in this storm of emotions.

"Luke" you managed to gasp between kisses, a flicker of reason breaking through the haze of desire. You needed more than just words, needed a binding promise, something concrete to hold onto if you were to take this leap of faith.

He stared at you, his eyes a storm of emotions – desire, confusion, and a flicker of something that might have been annoyance. But before he could respond, you pressed on.

"Swear on it, Luke" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Swear on the River Styx” you repeat. Luke’s eyes dart back and forth, from your lips, to your eyes, to filling up with confusion. “I’m not-,” you cut yourself off as you feel your eyes filling with tears again. You bit your tongue before speaking, “I’m not letting you hurt me like this again"

You knew it was selfish, a desperate attempt to safeguard your heart. But Luke was here, finally, after all this time. You craved the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. The thought of letting him go again, of enduring another betrayal, was unbearable. Yet, a part of you, still scarred from the past, craved a guarantee, an oath sworn on the most powerful river in the Underworld. It was dangerous, yes, but did you care?

Did he care?

Luke's expression hardened. The River Styx, held a weight that couldn't be ignored. The river he already bathed himself in. It was a binding vow, a promise etched in the very fabric of existence.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of doubt, a hint of manipulation. But all he saw was the vulnerability, the fear – a vulnerability born from the scars he himself had inflicted.

"I swear on the River Styx" he said, his voice low and solemn, each word heavy with the weight of the oath. "I swear I won’t ever leave you. I swear I love you. I swear I'll fight for you, for us, with every breath in my lungs."

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ltwilliammowett · 3 months ago

Text

Cathead

The end of the stout timber projecting out from her bow is decorated with a carved and gilded crown. The cathead was often carved with a cat or lion’s head, which presumably frightened away wharf rats. As the massive iron anchor is brought up from the bottom and gets closer to the hull, there is the danger that the flukes could damage the hull, especially in rough waters. The cathead allows this operation to be carried out a short distance away from the hull.

Cathead of HMS Surprise (x)

A special tackle is fastened to the ring of the anchor and it is fished and catted (brought up and secured) in its riding position on the bow.

The black loop of rope that holds the anchor to the cathead is the “stopper”. This could simply be cut through to drop the anchor. The main anchor cable is bent onto the ring. The ring itself has been wrapped in cord as an anti- chafing measure called “puddening”.

A second ‘cat head’ was connected to a ship's anchor cable and windlass. This was a square pin that was inserted into one of the hand spike holes of a ship's windlass. When the ship was at anchor, the anchor rope (also known as a cable or catfall) was attached to it with a smaller rope, known as a seizing. The English name for this bolt was ‘Norman’. In German, however, it was called a ‘Kattenkopf’, and in this case this is a reference to the traditional way in which the tip was notched and bevelled so that it resembled the ears of a cat in cross-section.

According to ‘The Sea-mans Dictionary : or, an exposition and demonstration of all the parts and things belonging to a shippe’ compiled by Sir Henry Mainwaring, 1623 , the term was already in use at the time the book was published.

Sailing Ships, by Edward K. Chatterton, 2013

Sailing Ships of War, 1400-1860, by Frank Howard 1979

Ashore and Afloat: The British Navy and the Halifax Naval Yard Before 1820, by Julian Gwyn, 2004

Marine Encyclopaedic Dictionary, by Eric Sullivan, 2020

Young Sailor's Assistant in Practical Seamanship, by Emory H. Taunt, 1883

#naval history #naval artifacts #cathead #17th century #age of sail #parts of a ship

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hard--headed--woman · 10 months ago

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Hello and happy Pride Month everyone ! 🏳️‍🌈

As promised, I am going to talk about an important lesbian in history everyday. And this first post is about one of my favourite :

Renée Vivien !

I have seen some people talk about her here but she clearly isn’t as famous as she should be, and she deserves way more recognition!

Renée Vivien, whose birth name is Pauline Mary Tam, was a British writer poetess, who wrote her poetry (and most of her works) in french ; born in 1877, she died in 1909, at only 32 years old.

Renée was openly a lesbian, and she never tried to hide it despite the society she lived in being extremely homophobic and considering homosexuality as an illness. In her poetry, she mentions her love for women a lot, and wrote a lot of love poems for several of her lovers. This even earned her the nickname “Sappho 1900”. ("Sappho 1900, Sappho cent pour cent").

Of Sappho, she was by the way a huge fan : in 1903, she published the work "Sappho", in which the poet's Greek texts are followed by a French translation, as well as verses by Renée Vivien, which thus "completes" the remaining fragments of Sappho's writings. This collection greatly helped to anchor Sappho's work and her identity as a lesbian woman in our culture.

Her work consists of :

Twelve collections of poems, totalling more than 500 poems

Several translations of Greek poetesses (including Sappho)

Seven books of prose

Around ten novels (written under various pseudonyms)

A posthumously published collection of short Gothic tales (written in English this time)

A book about Anne Boleyn's life

It is also possible to read her diary and the letters she exchanged with her lovers, friends and other personalities of her time, including Natalie Clifford Barney, Colette, Kérimé Turkhan Pacha and others.

Pauline studied both in Paris and in London, then decided, once she came of age, to come and settle in Paris. She published her first collection,"Études et Préludes" in 1901, under the pseudonym R.Vivien. This pseudonym later became René Vivien (the male version of Renée) then Renée Vivien, the name under which she will be remembered. We can easily guess that she first chose these neutral then masculine pseudonyms to be able to write and be published despite the misogyny and homophobia of her time, especially given the themes exploited in her writings.

Sadness, death, ancient Greece, love, despair, solitude and love are the most recurrent themes in Renée's poems. There is actually a poetry prize in her name, the Prix Renée Vivien, which rewards poets whose themes and style are close to those of Renée Vivien.

Among Renée's best-known lovers is Natalie Clifford Barney, a famous writer and poet, with whom she had a relationship for several years before leaving her, tired of her infidelities. It is said that Natalie never accepted this breakup and tried until the end to get her back by all means, sending her love letters even years after.

Renée then had a relationship of more than six years with the rich Baroness Hélène de Zuylen, married and mother of two children, with whom she traveled extensively around the world and collaborated on the writing of several works (under the collective pseudonym Paule Riversdale). In a letter to her friend Jean Charles-Brun, Renée admitted that she considered herself married to Hélène.

While still living with the Baroness, she received a letter from a mysterious admirer, Kérimé Turkhan Pacha. What followed was an intense four-year epistolary relationship, interspersed with brief clandestine meetings. In 1908, however, Kérimé, the wife of a Turkish diplomat, put an end to their relationship when she had to follow her husband to St. Petersburg. This break-up probably contributed to Renée's tragic end.

The writer was in deep psychological distress, which only worsened from 1908 onwards. Alcoholic and suicidal, she began refusing to eat properly, and attempted suicide with laudanum. After this failed suicide attempt, she contracted pleurisy, which left her very weak, and then chronic gastritis due to her alcohol abuse. She gradually fell into anorexia, and, with her limbs paralyzed by multiple neuritis, she died on November 18, 1909, aged just 32. Her death was attributed to "pulmonary congestion", probably due to pneumonia complicated by alcohol and anorexia.

After her death, intellectuals, artists and newspapers, out of lesbophobia, tried to make her forgotten by the literary world, describing her as a woman of evil and damnation, perverse and cruel, going so far as to invent for her a life of crime, debauchery, orgies with married women, violence and cocaine consumption.

Today, Renée Vivien's name is no longer known to the general public, and is never mentioned alongside those of great ans famous poets such as Arthur Rimbaud or Charles Baudelaire, despite her gorgeous poetry, her immense talent and fascinating work.

She's personally my favourite, and not only because she was a lesbian. Her poetry is the most beautiful, interesting and deep poetry I have ever seen. She deserves to be as famous as Victor Hugo or Paul Eluard (and even more famous, in my opinion lol).

Here is one of her poems, with its english translation :

A link to some of her poems (in french but you can use a translator) ;

And two links with some of her poems translated into english : 1 and 2.

You should totally buy and read her books and poems, I have them and they're amazing!!! I'll post more translations of her poems in the future for those interested.

Anyway, thanks for reading and see you tomorrow for the second post!

#lesbian #renée vivien #renee vivien #pride #pride month #poetry #french poetry #poésie française #poésie #female homosexuality #female homosexual #lesbian history #lesbian artist

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germanpostwarmodern · 3 months ago

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Although it had its origins in the 1920s and 1930s, the large-scale production of prefabricated housing really took flight after the Second World War. Especially in the Socialist parts of the postwar world the „Plattenbau“ helped remedy the housing shortage but also resulted in often monotonous development areas. Behind the Plattenbau often stood a utopian vision of progress and a new communal life that was diametrically opposed to what the areas turned out to be.

Drawn to the Plattenbau by the contrast between vision and reality photographer Christoph Montebelli set out to document four Plattenbau housing estates on four continents, namely in Berlin, Hong Kong, Havana and Zanzibar. On site Montebelli not only focused on the architecture but also on the inhabitants and the surroundings of each of the estates. What emerges are very lively portraits of architectural visions that despite many similarities significantly differ as Montebelli explains in the brief texts prefacing each photo series: to Zanzibar the Plattenbau came as a diplomatic trade-off between the GDR and President Karume who in exchange for the diplomatic recognition of the East German state received technical assistance in the construction of modern apartment blocks. Although they weren’t made from prefabricated concrete elements but from brick they are referred to in the imported German term and furnished with GDR imports. And as Montebelli’s photographs show they over time have been absorbed by the locals and represent anchor points in their bustling surroundings.

The Berlin Plattenbau estate on the other hand has fared quite differently: while the GDR still existed the housing blocks were occupied by a multifaceted mix of people ranging from workers to teachers, engineers and professors. All of them valued the modern accommodations of the Plattenbau that provided so much more comfort than old buildings and consequently were in high demand. After the fall of the Berlin Wall the situation changed drastically, the social mix dissolved, the „Platte“ fell into disrepair and was partially dismantled. Today the dismantled apartments are badly needed.

In his book „Plattenbau Promenades“, recently published by Kerber, Christoph Montebelli underscores the perseverance of the Plattenbau who easily outlive(d) the visions of their commissioning governments but remain lively cues of the past, emphatically documented in powerful photographs.

#plattenbau #architecture photography #architecture book #book

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yan-lorkai · 5 months ago

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A/n: I got this request that was inspired by this one, but tumblr ate. It was a request for Azul, Deuce, Epel and Ruggie.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: yandere content, they're all possessive and bad, gn!reader

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Azul is completely enraptured by your intense passion for writing, but he can’t help but feel that your devotion to it leaves too little space for him. He often worries about the toll your overthinking takes on you, watching you get consumed by your own thoughts like a moth drawn to a flame. To keep you from slipping too deep, Azul offers "helpful" ways to take control of your schedule, subtly limiting your writing time and encouraging you to rest with him instead.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Whenever you’re struggling with your work, he positions himself as the only one who can truly understand and support you, cultivating a sense of reliance on his guidance, of course he undertands your jokes, your characters and plot but others may not. In his mind, it’s only fair to keep you close — he wants to be the only one who truly understands the depths of your soul. Possessive, he knows, but he doesn't care at all. You're his, his, his.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Deuce is fiercely protective, though he barely understands the complexity of your thoughts and your connection to your work, he tries. He tries hard to understand you and your book. Yet he sees your writing as both a blessing and a curse — your devotion is beautiful to him, but the way it pulls you away from reality and from him stirs a quiet frustration inside him.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He worries that the darkness within your thoughts will swallow you whole, so he steps in, claiming he’ll make sure you “don’t get lost in your head.” Deuce becomes increasingly insistent on spending time with you, sometimes pulling you away from writing entirely under the guise of needing a break, all while making himself indispensable, bringingy you some snacks and drinks, and wanting to cuddle with you. He’s convinced that if he just stays close enough, he can guide you out of the labyrinth of your mind. Nothing good will come out of a messy mind.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Epel admires your dedication to your craft, as he is also quite dedicated to his carving apple, but he is also deeply concerned, feeling that your introspective tendencies are almost self-destructive. He finds himself drawn to your depth, yet he hates how much you’re willing to sacrifice for your work, how lost you get inside your head, how you talk about your characters nonstop. Desperate to be your anchor to the real world, Epel begins to insist on pulling you away from writing, coaxing you with tales of adventure and distraction about the things he did in his childhood, dragging you to a skincare routine if he has to. And Vil is more than delighted to treat you too.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He swears he’s doing it for your own good, refusing to let you disappear into the void of your thoughts. Epel wants to be your escape, the person who gives you a reason to stay grounded, convinced he’s the only one who can keep you from falling too deep. And if he can't be that, then he can always erase your progress.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Ruggie respects your talent, but he finds your intensity both impressive and worrying. Watching you pour everything into your writing makes him uneasy — what if your dedication takes you somewhere he can’t follow? What if you publish it and become so famous and so rich that you'll forget about him? Determined to be essential to you, Ruggie starts to orchestrate small distractions, urging you to take breaks with him, sharing stories to spark your inspiration but also to keep you connected to him.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He becomes almost possessive over your free time, encouraging you to rely on him for breaks and meals, ensuring you’ll always be drawn back to him. Ruggie knows how to work his way into your life, subtly positioning himself as the balance to your darker musings, determined to keep your feet on the ground. And if you refuse or are too fussy to abandon your work half finished, he'll use his unique magic to make you follow him.

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submissiveebrat · 4 months ago

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When you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything." He adds seconds later: "Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything." — Trump in a previously unreleased recording made by "Access Hollywood" in 2005, published Friday by The Washington Post and NBC News

"If Hillary Clinton can't satisfy her husband what makes her think she can satisfy America #MakeAmericaGreatAgain." — Trump tweeted in April 2015. He later deleted the post.

"It must be a pretty picture, you dropping to your knees." — Trump to a female contestant in 2013 on an episode of "Celebrity Apprentice."

"Did Crooked Hillary help disgusting (check out sex tape and past) Alicia M become a U.S. citizen so she could use her in the debate?" — Trump tweeted in September 2016. He was referring to former Miss Universe winner Alicia Machado, whom he publicly shamed for gaining weight when he owned the contest

"It's certainly not groundbreaking news that the early victories by the women on 'The Apprentice' were, to a very large extent, dependent on their sex appeal." — Trump wrote in his 2004 book, "How To Get Rich."

"All of the women on 'The Apprentice' flirted with me — consciously or unconsciously. That's to be expected. A sexual dynamic is always present between people, unless you are asexual." — Trump, also from "How To Get Rich."

"You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes. Blood coming out of her wherever." — Trump in an interview with CNN in August 2015, referring to Fox News Channel anchor Megyn Kelly.

"Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that? Can you imagine that, the face of our next president? I mean, she's a woman, and I'm not s'posedta say bad things, but really, folks, come on. Are we serious?" — Trump in a September 2015 interview with Rolling Stone, speaking about then-primary rival Carly Fiorina.

"It doesn't really matter what (the media) write as long as you've got a young and beautiful piece of ass." — Trump in an interview with Esquire Magazine in 1991.

"A person who's flat-chested is very hard to be a 10, OK?" — Trump in an interview with shock jock Howard Stern in September 2005.

"I saw a woman who was totally beautiful. She was angry that so many men were calling her. 'How dare they call me! It's terrible! They're all looking at my breasts.' So she had a major breast reduction. The good news: Nobody calls her anymore — nobody even looks — and not only that, it was a terrible job." — Trump to Stern in 2008.

Congratulations America, this is who is now president AGAIN. A misogynist, sexist, vile pig. Good Job. 👏👏

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hunxi-after-hours · 14 days ago

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10 books for 2025

tagged by @impossibletruths — a direct hit! right where I'm weak! books!!!!!

had a bizarrely difficult time coming up with this list because I'm a huge proponent of reading whatever the mood moves me to, so I actively avoid particularly rigid "to read" lists. also because the spreadsheet where I track titles that have piqued my interest has, um. well over 170 titles that I've been "meaning to get to, you know, at some point, really, I swear"

but since the year is still young and my hubris still fresh, here are 10 books that I'd like to get to, you know, at some point, really, I swear—

Waste Tide by Chen Qiufan, trans. Ken Liu — I genuinely have been meaning to read this one for ages; I'm not particularly well-read in the Chinese SF space, but even I've heard of Chen Qiufan. I've honestly been intrigued by his brain ever since I read that WIRED interview of his, and though I've read some of his short fiction, I want to see what a full-length novel of his looks like.

《桥头楼上》 At the Head of the Bridge, On Top of the Building by priest — I've also been meaning to read this one for ages, to the point where my mom is on my case about it. I keep putting it off because I want to be able to devote the time and brainspace to the layers of nested narratives + social commentary + the satellite material around the text, but at some point I think I just gotta give myself a kick in the pants and dive in

《膜》 Membranes by 纪大伟 Chi Tai-wei — queer Taiwanese SF first published in 1996; I know an English translation of this title came out recently, but I'm still trying to track down a copy of the original to read.

《漫长的余生》 The Lengthy Rest of Your Life by 罗新 Luo Xin — this book came as a recommendation from a friend in archaeology; a historical novel based on the epitaph of a Northern Wei Dynasty imperial palace maid. From what I've heard, it's not particularly epic or exciting, but it's very archaeologically rigorous. I do have a physical copy of this one on my shelf, so I actually have no excuse for not getting to it soon.

Unquiet Spirits: Essays by Asian Women in Horror edited by Lee Murray and Angela Yuriko Smith — I don't usually pick up books for the cover but LOOK at that. I've been slowly but steadily getting into horror over the past few years, and this collection combines both research-nonfiction and memoir-nonfiction, which I'm absolutely stoked about.

I'll Love You Forever: Notes from a K-Pop Fan by Giaae Kwon — I never quite got into K-Pop but I love reading about people obsessed with K-Pop. I find something particularly heartwarming and familiar and validating in reading authors who reflect deeply and emotionally on their personal experiences with fandom and obsession.

Romancing the Internet: Producing and Consuming Chinese Web Romance by Jin Feng — I learned last week that Jin Feng (author of "Addicted to Beauty," the OG academic overview of danmei) wrote an entire book about Chinese romance webnovels, and I need to have read it yesterday.

Dreadful Desires: The Uses of Love in Neoliberal China by Charlie Yi Zhang — I picked up a copy earlier this year, and I am intrigued by the premise of its wide-ranging investigations, anchored around the uses of "love" by the Chinese state in all of its obsessive and exploitative forms.

The Library at Hellebore by Cassandra Khaw — I am usually pretty unimpressed by the genre of dark academia fantasy, but I trust Cassandra Khaw to put the dark (and the viscera, and the gore) in dark academia. Also every time I read one of their books I learn something new and horrifying about biology.

The Red Scholar's Wake by Aliette de Bodard — every year I resolve to read more Aliette de Bodard and every year I fail to. May this be the kick in the pants that I both need and deserve. Also to be honest I've been thinking about this book ever since that Reactor review last year

tagging @presumenothing @pavoling @aboxthecolourofheartache @qilingxiong @blackelement7 @shijiujun @neuxue @baoshan-sanren and anyone who's feeling particularly bookish! I want to hear what everyone's reading, or having aspirations about reading

#ty for the tag!! this was a lot of fun!!#hunxi book tag #sorry for the lazy translations of the titles; I feel like I can't do them justice without having read the books themselves

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thegettingbyp2 · 2 years ago

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Jess Mariano request: Reader works with Jess at the publishing house in Philly and has feelings for him (she hasn’t told him though). She sees him and Rory at the open house and seeing the way Rory treats him reader lets Jess know how she feels about him (and wherever it goes from there) basically I need a Jess fix it because Rory fucks him over that night haha

I'd Never Do That to You

A/N: This is my first Jess fic and I loved writing it! If you have any other Jess requests, don't hesitate to send them in!

Buy me a coffee :) Gilmore Girls Rewatch Patreon Exclusive

You were watching Jess out the corner of your eye as you began tidying up after the open house. You’d developed a crush on him not long after he moved to Philly and started working at the publishing house with you. The two of you had quickly become friends and he told you everything about the time he spent living in a little town called Stars Hollow.

You tried to busy yourself when you saw him sitting to the side with a girl that he’d been with during the open house and you couldn’t help but notice how close they were sitting. You looked away fully when you saw him lean in to kiss her but quickly grew concerned when you heard his voice rising and the girl quickly leaving.

‘That Rory?’ you asked, lightly when he moved to help you tidy up. From the stories that he’d told you, you were 99% percent sure that the girl was Rory Gilmore and it bothered you how hung up he was over her because, from what you heard, she was quick to get rid of him the second he did something that she didn’t approve of.

‘Yup,’ he replied bluntly, the set of his jaw making it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it.

‘You okay?’

‘Yup.’

‘I hate this!’ you blurted out, causing Jess’s head to snap up to look at you, surprise written across his face.

‘Hate what?’

‘This!’ you replied, putting the book down in your hand a little more forcefully than necessary. ‘The way that Rory girl was treating you all night! She was flirting with you and then the second you try to get closer to her, she runs away because she’s still with this other guy but she knows that you’re always going to be there waiting for her! You don’t deserve to be treated like that, I’d never do that to you!’

You realised what you said and stopped talking immediately, looking down at your feet before you nervously glanced back up at Jess to see him looking at you with a mix of shock and something you couldn’t describe playing on his face. ‘What did you just say?’ he asked quietly before clearing his throat.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,’ you started talking quickly, trying to backtrack until Jess gripped your wrist, anchoring you as he spun you around to face him.

‘(Y/N), stop, calm down. What did you just say to me?’

‘I’d never do that to you,’ you whispered as you looked at him.

‘Never do what?’

‘I’d never lead you on like that. Never let you think that we have a chance and then run off because of some other guy right at the last minute. And I don’t want you to think that I’d do that to you because I do like you, I have since you started working here, I just never said anything because you seemed so hung up on Rory. And I know that you’re not over her and that - ’

Your voice was cut off by the soft press of Jess’s lips against your own. As soon as you realised what was happening, you let yourself relax into the kiss which only made Jess wrap his arms around you and pull you into him, the slight stubble growing on his face tickling your cheeks as his tongue slipped between your lips, drawing a soft whine from your throat that had Jess smirking against your lips.

Breaking the kiss, it was your turn to look at him in shock. ‘What just happened?’

Jess let out a laugh that you didn’t hear too often and you found that the sound warmed your heart. He reached down and twisted his fingers in yours, pulling up to press a kiss to the back of your hand. ‘You know you ramble when you get nervous? I like you too,’ he said, shaking your hands slightly and bending down to look into your eyes to make sure that you were believing what he was saying. ‘I just didn’t say anything because we work together and I didn’t want to make it weird between us.’

‘But what about everything with Rory?’

‘I tried to convince myself that I was still in love with Rory to distract myself from going after you. I can’t lie, I was relieved that she ran off because the thought of kissing her in front of you almost broke my heart.’

‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’ you exclaimed, slapping his arm.

‘Ow! I just told you I didn’t want to make things weird!’

‘Well, you wouldn’t have!’

‘I know that now!’

The two of you stopped talking for a moment, just looking at each other before you both started laughing simultaneously. Once you both calmed down a little, Jess pulled you closer by his grip on your hands, pressing his forehead to yours.

‘So what do you say? You gonna let me take you on a date?’

You nodded quickly, leaning up to peck his lips. ‘I have been waiting for the past two years after all.’

#jess mariano #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano imagine #gilmore girls

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that-butch-archivist · 11 months ago

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Photograph by Vita C. Shapiro

source: The Wild Good: Lesbian Photographs & Writings on Love, edited by Beatrix Gates

#lesbian literature #lesbian #dyke #archived #thatbutcharchivist #lesbian photography #lesbian history #lesbian books #author: beatrix gates #photographer: vita c. shapiro #the wild good #year: 1996 #publisher: doubleday dell publishing group inc.#publisher: anchor books

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unfamiliaris · 4 months ago

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THE TERROR ASK GAME

⚓️ (Anchor) - How long do you think you would have survived the expedition? How would you have died? (for the sake of keeping answers interesting, “I would have survived”/“none of that would have happened to me” are NOT viable answers)

🚢 (Flagship) - Would you have eaten the human meat, knowing what (or who) it was?

🪢 (Knots) - Favorite Terror fic(s)?

🧊 (Pack ice) - Favorite Terror ship(s)?

❄️ (Snowfall) - Backseat drive one of the conflicts in this show. (e.g. whether or not to tell the men about the spoiled rations immediately, whether to abandon Erebus, etc.) What would you have done? Do you think it would have worked? (Assume you have the same amount of information about the situation as the characters did at the time.)

🌊 (Pacific) - You are the one and only survivor of the expedition. You’ve been rescued, but everyone else has succumbed to their fates. Would you be able to go back to your normal life at any point? Would you be able to live with yourself? Would you tell your story, or take your and your companions’ sins to the grave?

🐻‍❄️ (Great white bear) - The men at sea were only allowed to bring limited possessions to save space. (Assume you are a lower ranking seaman without your own private quarters.) Aside from clothing, what would be of importance for you to bring along? Remember what era you’re in, but the question is flexible. For example, your phone is not a viable answer, but a book, even if it hadn’t been published yet at the time, is okay.

🌅 (Sunrise) - Do you have ambitions or plans on going on an arctic expedition in real life? If so, was it directly inspired by the show, or was your interest in the show because you already had these goals? If not, what things do you dislike about the prospect? (The temperature is a given!)

🍽️ (Empty plate) - List some characters you think you’d have an interesting dynamic with, if you were on the expedition with them. They don’t all have to be from the same ship, the relationships do not have to be romantic or sexual (but could be!), and for the sake of clarity we’re going off the interpretation of these characters as they exist in the AMC show. Would you fall for anyone? Would they reciprocate? Would you butt heads with anyone? Why?

🌫️ (Dense fog) - If you could have saved just one of the men from going on the expedition, who would it have been? Why them above anyone else?

🦭 (Seal) - Blatant promo bait question. If you have an AO3, an art tag, or anywhere else you post art related to the Terror, link them! If you don’t do either of those things, link and/or tag some of your favorite artists in the fandom.

#feel free to send me any of these as well!!!!#have fun with this!!!!#never made an ask game before #hope y’all enjoy …#the terror #amc the terror #the terror amc #ask game

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zahri-melitor · 7 months ago

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Ric Grayson, or Tim 'Nightwing' Drake: a story of how Tom King's Nightwing pitch would have functioned.

You can often see the remains of discarded or overruled pitches in comics, if you look at structural decisions and compare them to pitches that you know were made.

One obvious one people might be familiar with is that Helena Bertinelli, back in 2003, was being set up to be removed from the Bat books and transferred over to what eventually became Greg Rucka's Checkmate 2006. There's a whole establishing storyline done in Gotham Knights by Scott Beatty. However, Gail Simone's pitch for Birds of Prey, which was published a mere two months after the Beatty story wrapped up, took Helena and used her to expand the Birds of Prey roster. It's a move that likely redirected Helena's character arc permanently (though the ghosts can still be seen in the choice to use Helena B as Matron in Grayson).

Equally: I hypothesise the reason we got Ric Grayson is because we got Young Justice 2019.

If you look at the storytelling, in terms of cover dates:

Dick was shot in Batman #55, in November 2018

Tynion's 'Tec run finished July 2018

Young Justice 2019 started March 2019

City of Bane started September 2019

King's pitch for Tim to take over the Nightwing mantle would probably have been a 12 issue run, to my eye; with the schedule that Nightwing had at the time, it would have been 6 issues (twice monthly) and then 6 issues (once monthly), ending the run and placing Dick back as a restored Nightwing...in issue #61, August 2019.

City of Bane kicked off the next month, being King's big 'all family-in' storytelling climax arc. It would have been the perfect place to put Nightwing, once again himself, reuniting with people. (I cannot tell how this placement would have gone should King have got his full 100 issue run; but I don't think City of Bane was significantly shifted forwards?)

Now I can't tell if the twice monthly issues dropped to monthly because Ric Grayson went down like a lead balloon with the fandom, but that would have been a very fast turn around in solicits for DC to withdraw support on a new direction (about a month). If it was expected to remain twice monthly, then I still think it would have been a 12 issue story, but might have stretched to 18 to meet plot needs over in Batman (King doesn't seem to have an issue about padding stories to get timing to line up in ways he wants them to)

King's pitch was also made at the time when Tim was still Red Robin, but clearly there was internal interest in transitioning him away from the name and into some other identity as part of the shift away from n52. Putting Tim into the Nightwing suit for 6 months to a year would have been a nice intervening step to use as the prompt to give Tim a new identity.

It's a pitch from King that just...fits in really really well. I can see how he'd have had it interact with things. Especially as King really hadn't had an opportunity to use Tim in his run yet due to the Mr Oz storyline, and he'd been pulling so many other faces through his story.

(I will also note that the 'Drake' identity and costume for Tim appears in January 2010 in Young Justice; Bendis' initial concept was clearly taking Tim back to Robin before he also tried a 'new costume' growth arc).

But instead Bendis wanted to use Young Justice to anchor the whole Wonder Comics initiative, and he wanted Tim as Robin for it because the concept was to pull in all the nostalgia for everyone for Young Justice 1998, thus having everyone in their original identities. And that whole decision probably had more lead time than your average comic, so it took priority over suggestions of moving Tim to Nightwing (because they already had plans brewing).

(And then Young Justice got fucked over with SO MUCH editorial meddling, to the point that I cannot wait until enough people have left DC that we actually get stories about exactly how bad it was, rather than just inferring it from what can be seen in the text itself)

Come back next time for when I instead explain what I think happened with the accepted pitch for Ric Grayson (and how I cannot BELIEVE this was actually an accepted pitch, given the way it was treated as a hot potato; it feels more like an editorial dictate of a concept that was passed off until Dan Jurgens came up with an idea of how to make it into an actual plot)

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creature-wizard · 6 months ago

Text

I just read Unwelcome Ozian's "Rules of Programming," and Oh Boy.

For those who don't know, Unwelcome Ozian is a conspiracy theorist on Tumblr who purports himself as a kind of guide for people who believe themselves to be programmed multiples - that is, people with deliberately-induced dissociative identity disorder, with alters carefully programmed for specific purposes by means of brutal torture methods. His claims are largely based on the work of Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler, two far-right conspiracy theorists who spun this whole mythology about an ancient satanic cult that uses torture to put people under what they referred to as "trauma-based mind control," or TBMC. (They also claimed that the fight for gay rights was part of the plan to enthrone the Antichrist in the year 2000, and that Al Gore carried around a briefcase full of blood to drink. That's the level of credibility they're on.)

There have also been a number of abuse allegations (including allegations of sexual abuse) against Unwelcome Ozian from those who came to him for help, so yeah. Also, he really hates Svali (another conspiracy theorist working from Springmeier and Wheeler's mythos) for some reason.

Rules of Programming effectively distills a lot of the stuff you find in the works of Springmeier and Wheeler, with the addition of some actual scholarly concepts/research plus some pop-psychology/pop-self help style lists of things programmers supposedly do to their victims. (A lot of the things it talks about are just regular forms of authoritarian abuse, gaslighting, scapegoating, etc. In fact, some of them even appear to be copied from Internet articles.)

Essentially, this book is yet another modern witch finder's manual, giving anyone who wants to find diabolical witches a set of unfalsifiable criteria that will always appear to confirm their presence. Like the work of Springmeier and Wheeler, its descriptions of torture are just evocative enough to play on the imaginations of people who may not be in the best mental shape and fuel the creation of confabulated memories. (Some of which may very well be mingling with memories of real abuse.)

Oh, and just to be clear, we do have very clear cases of confabulated memories - you can see them for yourself here and here. If you don't want to click the links, the tl;dr is that the New Age movement is chock full of people who very vividly "remember" past lives in pseudohistorical settings and locations that never existed, and some of these "memories" are quite vivid and disturbing.

So, here's some notable stuff from this book:

Marijuana is supposedly contraindicated for programming purposes. (This claim was made by Springmeier and Wheeler in How The Illuminati Creates A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave, but it goes back to Cathy O'Brien and Mark Philips.)

Victims are allegedly given types of programming such as heart of stone programming and color, gem, and flower programming. (These were first described by Springmeier and Wheeler in They Know Not What They Do: Illustrated Guide To Illuminati Mind Control, which was published in 1995.)

Handlers must allegedly present themselves as omnipotent and god-like to victims. But they may also manipulate their victims by threatening suicide. (These two things really don't go together, especially if the cult as hardass as it's claimed to be.)

Alleged behavior of programmers - "Teach children self-betrayal, i.e. show gratitude and humility for punishments and insults." This is literally just how authoritarian Christian parents expect you to behave when punished. (Again, most of the things programmers supposedly do are just things that regular abusers do, period.)

He talks about practices such as anchoring and future pacing, which are described by Springmeier and Wheeler in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave (published 1996).

Direct quote, "For example if a programmer builds a system using the planets of the solar system there will be alters with planet names, and space terminology used." Compare with "In recent years, these have been solar systems, galaxies, and planets, because they have gone to Star Trek, Star Wars, Alien types of programming" from How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. Again, it's the same mythology.

He claims epsilon programming is used to create animal alters and describes how they're allegedly created. The stuff he describes can be found in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave.

He lists off a bunch of stuff that's supposedly trauma-based mind control spiritual abuse. In reality, it's just regular spiritual abuse - for example, "the programmer/handler is in a ‘divine’ position," "misuse of scripture to control behaviour," and "appeal to the work of evil spirits as explanations for the child’s behaviour."

About that last one? A very similar line appears in the article Part 2: The characteristics of spiritual abuse: "Appeal to the work of evil spirits as explanations for the victim’s accusations or behaviour." The earliest archived version of this page is from 2017. The Rules of Programming was published in May of 2023.

The book's text on cultivating a trauma bond includes several items that appear to be slightly reworded text from Dr. Joseph M Carver's article Love and Stockholm Syndrome: The Mystery of Loving an Abuser (first archived on the Wayback Machine in 2015). For example, "The presence of a perceived small kindness from the handler to the child" (RoP)/"The presence of a perceived small kindness from the abuser to the victim" (Carver).

The book's text "Seeking/finding pleasure in the presence of extreme danger, violence, risk or shame" is also found in the article Impact on Abused Persons, which cites a 1997 book, The Betrayal Bond: Breaking Free of Exploitive Relationships.

A bunch of stuff associated with toxic relationships are rephrased as stuff associated with being a victim of TBMC.

The book claims that some "programmed responses" might be "They are only like that because they love me," "You wouldn’t understand," "They will make it up to me later," and "It’s my fault, I make them angry." This text can be found in the 2021 article, The Misconception of Trauma Bonding.

The book lists some benefits of playing chess (for example, "Playing chess can improve cognitive skills like memory, planning, and problem-solving") that appear verbatim in the Healthline article The 9 Best Benefits of Playing Chess.

Some text (for example, "Trauma can shut down episodic memory and fragment the sequence of events") appears to have been copied from the 2017 infographic, How Trauma Impacts Four Different Types of Memory.

Material from changingminds.org appears to have been copied into this book. For example, the text "Agreement over rules typically starts with generalised rules with which it is hard to disagree" can also be found on the page titled Confession, with the slight difference that "generalised" is spelled with a Z. (Its earliest archived version dates to 2004.)

The book claims, "Torture involving states of extreme pain and terror, to the point of near-death, is required to install programming." This inadvertently reveals the absurdity of the alter programming conspiracy theory, because in the real world millions of abusers and cult leaders manipulate and control people with far less dramatic methods every day. Even if alter programming was a real thing, it would be so pointlessly overcomplicated that you'd have to ask yourself why so many people would bother with it.

The book describes a number of abuses and tortures that pretty obviously stem back to European witch panic, including "desecration of Judeo-Christian beliefs and forms of worship," taboo sex, ritual cannibalism, and dedication to Satan.

The book includes the "Steps on Obedience," which are found in Svali's older writings. Additionally, some of the text seems to be copied from Svali's old writing with minor modification. For example, The Rules of Programming says, "The part/alter is placed in a room without any sensory stimulus. The room will have grey, white, or beige walls. The programmer leaves the part/alter alone for specified lengths of time: these times may vary from hours (2-3) (3-5), to days as the child grows older." Compare with Svali: "The small toddler/child is placed in a room without any sensory stimulus, usually a training room with gray, white, or beige walls. The adult leaves and the child is left alone, for periods of time: these may vary from hours, to an entire day as the child grows older."

The book gives a list of supposed secret meanings to perfectly normal hand gestures, which is very obviously sourced from How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. (RoP: "Hands locked folded interwoven backward - - you can’t break “the circle”". HTICATUMS: "Hands locked folded interwoven backward--you can’t break "the circle"")

The book claims that programmers will write down detailed documentation after each programming session, describing exactly how the session went and what should be done at the next session. Additionally, block reports are supposedly written every four weeks, which summarize the whole thing. This is noteworthy because if this conspiracy theory was actually true, this type of documentation would have come to light at some point by now. The fact that is has never turned up in all of the years alter programming has allegedly been practiced (since the mid-20th century or since ancient times, depending on who you ask) is incredibly damning.

(Break here because this list is reaching Tumblr's text block limit.)

Some text (for example, "A Place in the World. One never need 'find' his or her place because in fact that type of autonomy is not allowed! There is often a false egalitarianism which disguises competition" and "Mystical Manipulation. False origin stories or very selective accounts are given about the leader to demonstrate divine authority, spiritual advancement") seems to have been copied from the article Communal Abuse and Cults (earliest archived version: 2017).

Some text (for example, "Change Of Diet: Creating disorientation and increased susceptibility to emotional arousal by depriving the nervous system of necessary nutrients through the use of special diets and/or fasting" and "Hypnosis: Inducing a high state of suggestibility, often thinly disguised as relaxation or meditation") seems to have been copied from Brainwashing & Mind Control Techniques (earliest archived version: 2004).

Some text (for example, "Sins, as defined by the leader, are confessed either to a personal monitor or publicly to the group" and "Sacred Science: The group's doctrine or ideology is considered to be the ultimate truth, beyond all questioning or dispute") appear to be sourced from Robert Jay Lifton's eight criteria of thought reform. (Originally written in 1989.)

The text "Crafty redefinition of existing words (and the definition of new ones) to powerful euphemisms, secret codes, renamings, buzzwords, chants and mantras, ‘speaking in tongues,’ forced silence, even hashtags" may have been sourced from Cultish’s Exploration of Manipulative Language (originally posted in 2021), or from Amanda Montell's book, Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism.

Some text (for example, "The group devoutly believes it will be the ultimate winner of the final battle" and "Lack Of Restraint: Leaders believe themselves to be free from religious and social laws") appears to have been sourced from Doomsday Religious Movements - Canadian Security Intelligence Report (dated December 18, 1999).

The text "Glittering Generalities: These are intense, emotionally appealing words so closely associated with highly valued concepts and beliefs that the appeals are convincing without being supported by fact or reason. The appeals are directed toward such emotions as love of country and home, and desire for peace, freedom, glory, and honour" appears to come from Wikipedia.

"Name-calling: Name-calling seeks to arouse prejudices in an audience" also seems to be derived from Wikipedia.

The book mentions "Being locked in a small confined spot, a pit or cage with spiders and snakes" as a form of torture. This one can be traced back to Michelle Remembers.

The text describing bladder torture in RoP is identical to the text describing it in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. I'm not going to post it because it's kinda graphic, but feel free to compare the texts yourself. Just search for the text "urinary bladder."

Basically, most of the alleged tortures and programming methods are very obviously sourced from Springmeier and Wheeler's books, even if they aren't always described with identical text.

A list of tortures in the book include the hell confinement, the Tucker telepohone, the strappado, the Cold Cell, the German Chair, the box, white torture, and the Tiger Bench. Most of these can be found on this Listverse article from 2013, and RoP's descriptions match up with Listverse's.

So basically, we have someone claiming to be a trauma-based mind control survivor, but a lot of his information very obviously comes from other sources. (Now just to be clear - it's not possible to tell whether any of the copied text comes from the actual webpages I linked, or if they were sourced from other pages or books with the same text. But either way, it's obvious he didn't come up with all this stuff on his own.)

I also think the fact that this book includes so many descriptions of actual abusive behaviors and practices makes it all the more insidious. The author effectively links a lot of stuff that actually does happen with the conspiracy theory in such a way that it can all look like it's the exact same thing, making it seem like if you suffered from these real types of abuses, then you may have likely been a victim of alter programming.

But here's the thing - abusers are often just insecure, lazy, and taking their issues out on someone weaker. Sometimes they're just doing what their family did and haven't realized this behavior is toxic. There's no deep or complicated reason behind it, much less some carefully orchestrated design on this level conspiracy theorists propose.

#conspiracy theorists #conspiracy theorist #conspiracy theories #conspiracism #rules of programming #unwelcome ozian #ramcoa #ritual abuse #satanic abuse #sra #trauma based mind control #tbmc #alter programming #project monarch #the rules of programming

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