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jovialmoonprincess · 2 years ago

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AU: Journey to Redemption (Part 4)

First Part. / The Winter Ball / Champagne Problems / Frost and Thorns

Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Summary: Y/N, a young idealist in Panem, dreams of making a difference in a post-war society. As the winner of the prestigious Plinth Prize is about to be announced, a mysterious woman unveils a grim fate for Coriolanus Snow, Y/N's nemesis. Offered a chance to alter destiny, Y/N must navigate her conflicting emotions and intervene in pivotal moments to prevent Snow's descent into darkness. The story unfolds against the backdrop of complex relationships, past connections, and the challenges of a changing world, as Y/N grapples with the responsibility of shaping an unexpected destiny and challenging the very fabric of fate.

Warning(s): None, enemy to lovers, back in time, destiny, Snow being in love, Snow being Snow, THIS ONE IS SO SHORT SORRY

A/N: I'm on Wattpad now too, click here to read and vote there: WATTPAD

Frost and Thorns

Y/N observed the white rose with meticulous attention. The thorns, now trimmed, led her to contemplate how long it would take for that flower to wither completely. She had just returned to her apartment after the ball, immersed in palpable fear. Everything she had experienced that night seemed like an illusion, a theatrical representation of something she could barely comprehend. Unraveling the mysteries of Snow became a complex and increasingly frightening task.

The fear that enveloped her was not just personal; it was the apprehension of falling into the enchanting webs of young Snow and, thereby, living a life of misfortune in a country on the brink of ruin. Y/N felt the urgent need to document her feelings, a kind of emotional testament. The notebook, once forgotten on the shelf, became her confidant, a repository for her most intimate thoughts.

With the pen touching the paper, Y/N sought not only to understand the complexity of her emotions but also to leave a trail in case something unimaginable happened. Her younger siblings, Orion and Aria, would be the recipients of her words, and she wanted them to know, even in her absence, the events that surrounded her.

The responsibility of teaching her siblings about the treacherous nature of the Hunger Games and the cunning of the Capitol rested on Y/N. Despite their creative souls, Orion and Aria needed to understand the dangerous game society forced them to play. The analogy of the Capitol as a snake, to be handled with caution, was part of the legacy Y/N tried to impart.

Her thoughts turned to her mother, a figure who, after the death of her father, seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She performed her maternal duties with excellence, cooking, caring, and ensuring the well-being of her children. However, Y/N perceived a spirit once free, now contained, as if her mother were constantly immersed in dark thoughts. The vision of the Capitol seemed obscured by veiled conformity, a resignation to an inescapable reality.

The Academy, with its weekday study routine, represented a necessary escape for Y/N. Weekends were sacred, a time to return home and witness the rapid growth of Orion and Aria, an experience that, for her, was simultaneously beautiful and distressing.

Y/N had never feared her own death, but perhaps this absence of fear destined her for a mission that others would avoid. However, she hoped this mission would not be in vain. Her persistent determination was driven by the need to reunite with the mysterious woman, to understand the dark details that eluded her comprehension. The devastating vision of Snow haunted her, but without the context and order of events, the truth remained elusive.

Who was the girl confined in the visions? Why did Sejanus not emerge in her premonitions, and why did Coryo's gaze seem devoid of life? The need to unravel these key moments became an incessant quest, an infinite puzzle challenging her mind. Was it possible to find the answers before it was too late? Uncertainty hung in the air, and Y/N, immersed in these mysteries, was determined to uncover the hidden truths before time caught up with her.

Several days had passed since the reaping. Y/N, sitting on the couch, absorbed in a book for a few hours, decided to take a break and turn on the television. She soon realized that the first act of the Hunger Games was about to begin. Still reeling from recent events, she felt unfocused, as if she were out of tune with reality. The luxurious apartment, all the comforts provided by the Capitol, now seemed like a tangible reminder of her submission to the system. However, she knew she shouldn't complain, as, in a way, she believed that the State and the Academy had an obligation to provide uniforms, food, and accommodations.

As she watched the screen, she witnessed many people being confined in a cage, with a girl in a colorful dress and a boy in red standing out. As the camera zoomed in, she identified Coriolanus and the girl, the same one seen in her vision, being kissed by Coryo through a cell. The scene clicked, and a wave of understanding hit her, bringing tears to her eyes. If the vision was real, the information about Coriolanus becoming a dictator would also be real. Absorbed in her thoughts, she decided to call Tigris, certain that her friend would share her shock.

"Hello? Tigris?"

"Y/N!! I was about to call you."

"Are you watching the Games?"

"Absolutely. Did you see the reaping? Everyone is talking about it."

"I don't like watching the reaping," Y/N admitted, having given up on following this event years ago. It was not something pleasant to witness.

"Y/N," Tigris seemed a bit cautious, "Coryo's tribute is the girl from District 12, Lucy Gray. She's from a circus family. She put a snake in the mayor's daughter's dress, and after that, he attacked her, but she put on a show. LITERALLY, she started singing and dancing, and now the Capitol can't take their eyes off her."

It was a lot of information to process. Y/N wanted to know more.

"Wow. And how did Coriolanus end up in a cage?"

"I don't know, but yesterday, I encouraged him to get close to her. She must be confused, scared, and angry. It seems like her name was deliberately placed there."

Y/N approached the TV slowly. She noticed the rose behind her ear, the same rose resting on her nightstand. Coryo and Lucy Gray seemed like an odd couple. It would be a funny scene if they weren't in a monkey cage.

"For sure," replied Y/N, ending the conversation. She said goodbye to Tigris and returned to her thoughtful book. Her stomach was churning; fear for Panem's future haunted her, and the sight of Coryo so close to another girl stirred a strange feeling. Holding hands, smiling, it was a strange scene for her, even though she was used to seeing the boy being friendly with everyone. Something about Lucy Gray made her feel a flutter in her stomach. Her disposition, beauty, irreverence, friendliness, courage, and the ability to capture young Snow's attention.

A week later, Y/N found Sejanus in the academy corridor and sat beside him.

"How's the mentoring going?" she asked, her interest genuine, knowing that mentoring for the Hunger Games was not something Sejanus embraced with enthusiasm.

"Not very well."

"Why?" she inquired, aware that there was more behind Sejanus's downcast expression.

"Marcus... he was my classmate before I came here. We weren't exactly friends, but we weren't enemies either. One day, I caught my finger in the door, and he grabbed snow from the window sill to try to reduce the swelling. He didn't even ask the teacher; he just went and did it. And now I'm his mentor. And he's going to win. Anyone would be happy with him."

Y/N was speechless in the face of the emotional burden Sejanus shared. Acting on instinct, she hugged him, seeking to offer some comfort in the face of the distress they shared. Two minutes passed, and the hug seemed to alleviate some of the tension in Sejanus.

"Sejanus, we need to end the Games. We need to free Panem," Y/N whispered, paranoid that someone might overhear. "All of this is madness."

"I know. What are we doing? Putting children in an arena to kill each other? It's wrong in so many ways. Animals protect the young of their species, don't they? We do too. We try to protect the children! It's part of us as human beings. Who really wants to do this? It's not natural!" Sejanus vented, and for the first time in a month, Y/N felt the urge to just listen. Normally, it was she who freaked out about this. She felt lighter. "It's cruelty. It goes against everything I believe is right in the world. I can't be part of this."

"Don't do anything you might regret later, Sejanus. We're few against many. We need a plan, something smart. We have to think calmly. Don't be impulsive. Don't put yourself in danger. The Capitol is treacherous." Y/N spoke as if she were uttering a small prayer for Sejanus to absorb every word. It was advice she repeated to herself as a motto.

"Y/N..." Sejanus began. There was no time to finish the sentence because Coriolanus interrupted the conversation.

"Satyria is waiting for us for the seminar, Sejanus," said a stern Snow, noticing the proximity between Sejanus and Y/N. "Hurry up." Coryo didn't even look into Y/N's eyes. He seemed resentful.

The tension in the air revealed the complicated dynamic between the three. The unspoken words echoed through the academy corridors, and Y/N knew that, in the face of uncertainties and imminent dangers, her decisions would shape the fate of Panem.

"JERK." Y/N was furious about how the boy had treated her earlier. "Snow always falls on top of everything. Maybe it's time for him to fall, stumble, and hit his face on the ground to learn not to be so arrogant." Y/N murmured to herself, lying on her bed, replaying the morning scene.

_____________________________

Hi guys, I'm finally on vacation from college. I will be able to update here more frequently. I will post the next chapter when we reach 60 likes on the fic. And also thanks for the votes <3 I KNOW THIS ONE IS SHORT SORRY I will compensate in the next with a lot of FLUFF.

Taglist: @shari-berri@h-l-vlovesvintage@tea-bobba@daenerysqueenofhearts @commanderfreethatdust @glxzillx

TAGLIST AND REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!!

#the hunger games #tbosas #angst #angst with a happy ending #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #enemy to lovers #fem reader #president snow #tom blyth #coryo snow #lucy gray baird #tbosbas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #josh andres rivera #snow #tigris snow

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 7 months ago

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By: Colin Wright

Published: Nov 16, 2024

In August 2021, I sat in my bed reflecting on the shifting political landscape in America. I had always considered myself part of the Left but found myself increasingly alienated and baffled by the positions many self-proclaimed progressives were adopting. Instead of championing free speech, they disparaged it as a threat to democracy and minorities. Rather than valuing character and merit over skin color, they promoted racist “equity” initiatives that prioritize race over the individual. And instead of upholding science and truth, they embraced absurd pseudoscience about the biology of sex for political purposes.

Ronald Reagan’s famous quote, “I didn’t leave the Democratic Party, the Democratic Party left me,” resonated deeply with me. This sentiment seemed pervasive among those criticizing what was being called the “regressive left,” now often termed “wokeness.” I thought there must be a way to visually represent this feeling of political estrangement from the Left. I opened PowerPoint and started experimenting.

As I doodled, my thoughts and feelings begin to take visual shape. The illustration depicted the political ground shifting beneath my feet, with the Left becoming increasingly extreme and pulling the political “center” to the left. This made my views appear to shift rightward, even though my views had not changed at all. It was an illusion of sorts, and it perfectly captured my feelings. On August 6, 2021, I tweeted it with the caption, “My political journey in a nutshell.”

It went “viral” by normal Twitter standards, amassing a couple thousand retweets. I posted it several more times over the next few months. Then, on April 28, 2022, while I was out for a walk, I checked my Twitter notifications and was shocked by what I saw:

Elon Musk, the most-followed account on Twitter, had shared my meme. It exploded in popularity, amassing hundreds of thousands of retweets and over a million likes. The comments were overwhelmingly positive, with the majority conveying how perfectly it summed up their own feelings and experiences. And the commentary didn’t stay on Twitter. That day at the gym, I saw my meme featured on the news. The Daily Wire’s Ben Shapiro discussed it on his show. CNN’s Michael Smerconish ran a lengthy segment about it and encouraged viewers to create their own stick figure political political spectrum drawings. It was everywhere.

I even appeared on Tucker Carlson Tonight to discuss the meme. Conversely, left-wing pundits expressed their disapproval through angry tweets and op-eds attempting to debunk it. The Washington Post’s Greg Sargent called it a “silly chart” that has been “brutally debunked.” His colleague Philip Bump described it as “simply wrong” and an “obvious exaggeration.” NBC News published an article calling it a “very bad meme” that “shows how out of touch he is with political reality.”

This confusion, whether genuine or performative, from the left prompted me to write an explanation of what I believe the meme depicts and my reasons for creating it. I sent it to the Wall Street Journal, and they published it. The heart of my essay is as follows:

I created the cartoon to help sort out my feelings of increasing political alienation from the left. I’m a lifelong Democrat. I turned 18 in 2003 and have never voted for a Republican. But over the past decade, and especially the past five years, I’ve watched my party distance itself from the values and principles I hold dear. People on the left once viewed free speech as sacrosanct and championed speaking truth to power. Now they disparage open expression as a danger to democracy and minorities. The aspiration of judging individuals by the content of their character rather than by the color of their skin has given way to identity politics and “equity” initiatives that prioritize group interests over individual rights. Women’s rights, previously understood as relating to their oppression on the basis of sex, is now viewed by the left through the lens of gender identity, which gives priority to men who declare themselves to be women. Today’s progressive can’t even tell you what a woman is. The right may be inconsistent in its support of free speech, individual rights and women’s rights, but the left is consistent in its opposition to all three.

I concluded my essay with a warning—one that the Democrats should have taken seriously but evidently did not.

I hope many on the left will resist the urge to debunk or dismiss my cartoon and instead use it as an opportunity to understand why so many people feel it describes their experience. Something has happened over the past decade to make many liberals feel politically homeless, and a lack of curiosity about why is a recipe for not only political failure but social strife.

Needless to say, Democrats did not heed my warning, and their incuriousness about the reasons behind the meme’s virality led to the “political failure” I predicted, with Donald Trump securing a landslide victory for the Republicans, running on the exact issues I outlined in my article.

Yesterday, Financial Times columnist John Burn-Murdoch reported on data from the US General Social Survey, which indicated that although my “graphic was mocked at the time…recent events”—i.e., the election—“suggest it may have a grain of truth to it.” Far from containing just a “grain of truth,” the data seem to fully corroborate my meme in granular detail.

Burn-Murdoch notes, “The data shows Democrats taking a sharp turn leftward on social issues over the past decade. This has distanced them from the median voter, just as Wright’s cartoon depicted...This suggests that Trump’s election radicalised the left, not the right."

[ Source: John Burn-Murdoch ]

If the similarities between the above graphs and my political meme are not immediately obvious, below is the figure reoriented and superimposed on my meme to match the years. In fact, it appears that the only inaccuracy in my meme stems from my underestimating the left’s ideological extremism!

Burn-Murdoch concludes: “Whether or not progressives are ready to accept it, the evidence all points in one direction. America’s moderate voters have not deserted the Democrats; the party has pushed them away.”

Democrats: I told you so; but you refused to listen. And instead of facing reality, many of you are now fleeing to Bluesky to ratchet the seals on your echo chamber a few notches tighter. Do you truly believe that will assist you in understanding the average American voter?

It won’t.

Here’s a final warning: If you do not fully reject woke ideology and return to common sense, you will continue to lose—and you will deserve to lose.

2024 Update:

This is how you end up with far-left intersectional nutjobs cheering on far-right Islamist nutjobs.

#Colin Wright #woke ideology #woke #wokeness #cult of woke #wokeism #wokeness as religion #Democratic Party #Republican Party #religion is a mental illness

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0leemoon0 · 3 days ago

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Velvet Chains-pt.6

Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: Han Jisung x reader

Word count:~4k

Genre:dark romance, angst, drama, forbidden romance, enemies to lovers, slow burn to passionate, fantasy politics

Warnings:emotional abuse, physical abuse, non-consensual violence (parental), trauma aftermath, obsession, possessiveness, sexual content (consensual), body image sensitivity (bruises), emotional manipulation, power imbalance, high-stakes tension, cliffhanger ending

Summary: You and Han Jisung were raised to hate each other—rival heirs of kingdoms scarred by war and betrayal. You’ve never officially met, but the tension has always simmered beneath the surface. The summit will change that. Do you really hate him? Does he really hate you? Or are those just the lies your parents taught you to wear—chains, hidden in velvet?

Masters list

The carriage ride home was silent.

You hadn’t spoken since the gates of Serene disappeared behind the hills. Every mile between you and Jisung felt like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter around your chest—until breathing became a conscious effort. The warmth of his goodbye still lingered on your lips, on your fingertips. His words echoed like a mantra in your mind.

“This will not be the end of us.”

But Serene was gone now, and Virellia loomed ahead—cold, merciless, and waiting.

When the palace gates appeared, you tried to steel yourself. Tried to conjure up his arms around you, the feel of his breath in your ear, the way his voice cracked when he whispered that he loved you. But even those memories couldn’t prepare you for what came next.

You stepped down from the carriage, your body aching from the journey but still humming faintly with the ghosts of him. The second your feet touched the marble, two guards flanked you. One on either side.

Your stomach dropped.

The grand doors opened with a shudder. The halls you once tiptoed through as a child felt suffocating now. The light didn’t reach them the same way it did in Serene. Everything here was colder, sharper.

Your mother stood at the end of the corridor, her arms crossed like a blade. Her lips were painted the color of wine and shaped like violence.

Your father stood beside her—stoic, unreadable. Except for his eyes. His eyes burned.

“Enjoyed yourself, did you?” your mother asked. Her voice was calm. Too calm.

You didn’t answer.

Your father stepped forward. “Answer your mother.”

You lifted your chin. “I represented Virellia well. The Council praised my speeches. The heirs voted me the most diplomatic voice of the summit. You should be proud.”

Your mother’s smile was razor-sharp. “Oh, we heard. But that’s not what we asked.”

She stepped toward you now, heels clicking against the marble like a death march.

“Tell me, little dove,” she whispered, brushing your hair behind your ear as if she were tucking in a child for bed. “Did you enjoy getting drunk and parading around like a whore in a Serene bar while the council watched? Did you enjoy dragging this kingdom’s name through the filth?”

You stiffened. “I made one mistake.”

“Did you?” Your mother’s nails scraped your jaw, turning your face to meet hers. “And the bruises the council reported when they examined you—were those mistakes too? You really think they would assume it was us?”

Your heart slammed into your ribs. So they knew. Not about Jisung. But the bruises you left exposed, the bar, those men.

You tried to take a step back, but your father was already behind you.

“I’m not a child anymore,” you said. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep hurting me and pretending it’s love.”

The second the words left your mouth, your father’s fist collided with your temple.

You crumpled to the floor like a marionette with cut strings.

The world blurred. Pain split your skull open like a cracked egg. You tasted copper on your tongue.

You heard your mother say something like “Teach her what shame tastes like.” And then the boots started.

You don’t know how long it lasted.

You don’t remember how many times your head hit the marble.

Only the cold.

And the blood pooling at the corner of your mouth.

And the echo of your own scream, hoarse and useless.

They didn’t even drag you to your room. They just left you there—your body twisted on the floor, limbs shaking, the world spinning like it wanted to spit you out.

Then came her voice again. Calm. Crisp. Unforgiving.

“We’ll tell the staff you’re sick. That you came back with a fever. No one sees you until your face heals. If you speak a word of this to anyone, you won’t be sick—you’ll be dead.”

And they left.

It was a maid who found you. Not your parents. Not your guards. A girl barely older than you who gasped and fell to her knees when she saw the mess they’d made of you.

She didn’t speak. Just wept silently as she helped you stand, her hands shaking as she guided you to the washroom. You tried to bat her away—you didn’t want anyone to see you like this—but your legs wouldn’t move on their own.

Your face was a palette of pain: your eye already swollen, your cheek split, your ribs screaming with every breath. Bruises bloomed down your arms like vines. Your lip trembled as the girl dabbed at your mouth with a cloth, and when she tried to clean the blood from your temple, you flinched so hard she dropped the bowl.

You were wrapped in blankets and placed in your bed, your window shuttered, your door locked.

For the next several days, you didn’t speak. Didn’t eat. Barely moved.

You weren’t sure if you were awake or just trapped in a dream stitched from agony and shadows.

But in the quiet—when the candlelight flickered just so—you let yourself think of him.

Of Jisung.

Of the way his hands had trembled when he kissed your scars.

Of the way his voice broke when he said your name like it was sacred.

And for the first time since returning to Virellia…

You began to count the days until the next diplomatic summit.

Not because of politics.

But because of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bruises on your face had mostly faded by the time the second round of diplomatic meetings was announced.

They hadn’t vanished entirely—one still lingered faintly beneath your right eye like a shadow that refused to die—but it was just enough to convince the court that your “illness” had run its course.

Your mother examined you that morning like you were a doll she was considering selling off. She powdered the places that still looked too human and painted your lips a color that matched your silence.

You said nothing, of course. You never did anymore.

But your eyes… they were waiting.

Waiting for the carriage that would take you back to Serene.

Waiting for the eyes that saw you.

Waiting for him.

You’d received the first letter from Jisung exactly five days after your return. It had been smuggled inside a hollow book, tucked between pages of poetry. You didn’t know how it got past the guards. You didn’t care. You’d torn it open with shaking fingers.

“I don’t care how many walls your kingdom builds. I will write through all of them. I don’t know what happened after you left. I can guess, and the thought of it makes my throat close. You don’t have to tell me. But I need you to know that I haven’t breathed right since you walked away.

—J”

The second letter came a week later, hidden in a bouquet of pressed white lilies.

“I’ve written this letter fifteen times. I thought I wanted to be angry. I wanted to scream, Y/n. I wanted to rip through Virellias walls with my bare hands. But when I think of you I can’t be angry, I can only ache. I saw the bruises you’ve tried to hide. I see you, even now. I miss you.

—J”

You kept the letters beneath your mattress, pressing your fingers to the ink like it was his skin. You’d never written back. Not because you didn’t want to—gods, you’d tried—but fear was a louder voice than love in Virellia.

Still, you counted down the days.

And when the carriage finally arrived for the second council session, your heart thudded like something alive for the first time in weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The palace of Serene hadn’t changed. But something in you had.

This time, you weren’t here as a daughter performing a role. You were here as a girl with secrets written on her skin. And when your eyes scanned the room and found him—

He looked ruined.

Han Jisung stood near the far end of the ballroom when you arrived, speaking quietly with the Prince of Aeryn. But when he saw you enter, his voice died mid-sentence.

His eyes locked with yours and didn’t look away once. He was thinner. His cheeks a little hollower. But the fire in his gaze hadn’t dimmed.

If anything—it burned brighter.

He didn’t approach you that first day. He knew better. But he didn’t stop watching, either. Not during the introductions. Not during the council meals. And especially not when you danced with the heir to Darsienne in front of everyone, your smile stiff and empty.

That night, after the feast, there was a knock at your chamber door.

Three soft raps.

You opened it without hesitation.

He stepped inside like he couldn’t help it. Like his soul would rot if he didn’t.

His eyes searched your face, your arms, your body—gently, like a man cataloguing damage.

“You didn’t write back,” he said softly.

“I couldn’t.”

“I know,” he replied. “But I had to try anyway.”

You nodded, throat tight.

“Come here,” he whispered.

You did.

He didn’t kiss you right away. He wrapped his arms around you and just held you, his hand stroking the back of your head while your face pressed into his chest. He didn’t ask what they did to you. He already knew. His silence was reverent, not afraid.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt his shirt dampen beneath your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You met again two nights later—after curfew.

He snuck you into his room like you were made of crystal, shielding your body from every passing eye, wrapping you in his cloak so no one would see your face.

When the door shut behind you, you leaned into him like you couldn’t hold your own weight anymore.

He kissed you then.

Not hungrily. Not urgently.

But like a man finally returning home after being lost in a forest of silence.

His mouth told you everything. The I missed yous. The I dreamed of yous. The I saw your bruises in my sleep and woke up screaming.

You let your hands slide up his chest. Let your body rest against his. Let him cup your face as if you might vanish if he let go.

Then came his whisper:

“Will you let me see you again?”

You knew what he meant. His eyes were already tracing the line of your neckline. Not with lust—but with the aching tenderness of someone who had once seen every scar and memorized them like poetry.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the hem of your nightdress.

But you froze.

Because you knew what still lived beneath the silk.

Because you weren’t sure if you could bear the way he might look at you when he saw what had been done to you—again.

“I…” You swallowed. “I can’t.”

He stilled. “Why not?”

You turned your face away.

Then, with the softest voice you’d ever used, you said:

“My back still hasn’t healed.”

Silence.

Then his breath—sharp. Shaking.

He stepped away for a second. His fists clenched. His chest heaving.

“Was it them?” he asked, voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “Your mother and father?”

You nodded. “It always is.”

He was at the door within seconds, fully prepared to leave, to march back to their rooms if needed.

But you stopped him.

You grabbed his wrist. Pulled him back.

“Please, don’t,” you said. “You promised me.”

His jaw clenched. But he listened. He always listened to you.

He let you pull him close again.

And this time—when you took off your nightdress and showed him your body—he didn’t speak.

He dropped to his knees.

And he worshipped you like you were holy.

At first, it was soft.

Slow, reverent. Every inch of your skin was treated like something sacred, touched with a kind of aching gentleness that made your breath catch in your throat. His lips found each of your bruises like he was memorizing them—like he wanted to rewrite them with something kinder. He paused between each kiss to whisper how beautiful you were. How perfect. How he’d never forgive himself for not seeing it sooner.

When he kissed you this time, it wasn’t urgent.

It was deep.

Full of everything he hadn’t been able to say aloud.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer until there was no space left to fill, and he let you guide him. Let you move at your pace—until your pace changed. Until the softness made way for something hotter. Needier. Raw.

He didn’t hold back once you whispered that you didn’t want gentleness anymore.

You told him what you wanted with your mouth right against his ear, and the sound he made in response wasn’t words—it was a sound like surrender. Like devotion tipping into ruin.

And when he finally gave you what you asked for, you forgot how to breathe.

You’d never felt so thoroughly undone. He held you like he meant to keep you—gripping your hips, your jaw, your wrists—not out of cruelty, but desperation. His movements grew rougher only because you begged him to let go, and once he did, you felt it in your bones.

Every shudder. Every cry you tried to stifle.

And when he reached the point of no return, he didn’t stop—he buried himself in you like he was afraid of the world outside your body. His forehead rested against yours, his hand over your mouth when you got too loud, his other arm tight around your waist like a tether.

And even through the dizzying pleasure, even through the sting and burn of old bruises and new aches—you never felt safer.

You both shattered at once.

Not just physically—but completely.

It took everything from you. And gave everything back.

And in the quiet that followed, there was no shame. No fear. Just your bodies tangled together, breath returning slowly, and his lips pressed to the top of your shoulder, your temple, your cheek—over and over again like he still hadn’t had enough.

You could barely lift your arm, but you reached for him anyway.

And he came willingly, curling around you with all the softness he’d held back until now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next hour was spent in silence.

Not empty, but full. Full of the things neither of you had been able to say before. Things that couldn’t be spoken in public or letters or glances across long tables. Only here, in the dark. In the warmth of each other’s arms.

His fingers played with your hair while your head rested on his chest. He whispered little things between kisses to your forehead.

“I hated you,” he said once, like a confession. “You terrified me.”

You hummed, eyes closed. “Good.”

“I didn’t know how else to look at you without falling apart.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his.

“You fell anyway.”

He smiled, slow and tired. “Yeah. I did.”

There were other things too. Small things. You told him about the first time you saw snow. He told you about sneaking pastries from the kitchens and blaming the stable boy. You both shared things you hadn’t said out loud in years. Even laughed once or twice.

And when the silence came again, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

He kissed your hand. Pressed it against his chest.

“I want more of this,” he said. “Not just tonight. Always.”

Your throat tightened.

“Do you mean that?”

“I do.” His voice was steady, but low. “Whatever it takes. Letters. Carriages. Fake meetings. I’ll find a way to come to you. Just—don’t shut me out again.”

You hesitated, then nodded.

He smiled like he hadn’t breathed until that moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time dawn started to creep into the sky, you both knew the moment couldn’t last.

Your skin still ached from the closeness. Your heart even more so.

He helped you dress, gentle as ever. Careful around your ribs and shoulders, brushing his fingers down your arms with something like longing. He buttoned the back of your dress with shaking hands, his lips lingering at the base of your neck one last time.

He walked you to your room in silence, the corridors cold and dim in the early light. The whole palace was still asleep.

At your door, you turned to him, and his eyes burned into yours like he was committing your face to memory.

“This isn’t the end,” he said.

You touched his face.

“Promise?”

He kissed you slowly.

“Swear it.”

Then he kissed your forehead—lingering, soft—and turned away before you could fall apart all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That morning, you were sent away.

A carriage waited before you could even unpack your breath. Your mother’s voice snapped orders, your father watched in cold silence.

They said nothing about bruises. Nothing about your absence the night before. But their silence was sharper than any blade.

You sat in that carriage alone, staring at the palace disappearing behind you. You didn’t cry. You didn’t speak.

But under your sleeve, in the pocket you’d sewn into your cloak, was a small folded note. The first of many.

“I meant every word this isn’t the end.

-J”

The next few weeks were… quiet.

Not peaceful—never that—but still. You obeyed. You smiled at the right people. You spoke when spoken to and bit your tongue until it bled when your mother looked at you with suspicion. You were careful. Perfect.

But every night, beneath your pillow, tucked behind pages of books you pretended to read, were his letters.

You read each one so many times the ink began to blur with the oils of your fingertips. He wrote to you almost daily. Sometimes long, poetic confessions that made your chest ache. Other times short, messy scrawl like he’d written them in a rush between meetings: “I saw a girl today wearing green. Thought of you. It looked better on you.”

And though you couldn’t say it aloud, you wrote him back. Every letter tucked away in secret compartments. Letters full of longing. Want. Desperation.

When the next royal summit arrived, it had been a full month since you’d last seen him. One full month of aching silence between paper and ink.

As soon as your carriage arrived, your heart wouldn’t calm. You tried not to look for him, but your eyes betrayed you. They always did.

And then, you caught him. Just for a second. Across the ballroom.

His mouth didn’t move. But the look in his eyes was loud enough: Find me.

When the dancing began and all the attention was turned toward wine and lace and diplomacy, you slipped out of the room unnoticed. Past the stone archway, through the corridor, to that quiet little parlor by the kitchens—forgotten by most, always warm.

He was already there.

The second the door closed, you were in his arms. He lifted you clear off the ground, spinning you once, twice, his face buried in your neck. You clung to him like breath itself.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured against your skin. “I missed you so much it made me sick.”

You didn’t answer—you didn’t need to. The way your mouth found his, hungry and certain, said everything. You kissed him like the world might end tomorrow.

And the strangest thing was that it didn’t feel strange at all. It felt like home.

You never would’ve imagined that the boy you once wished dead would be the only one who ever made you feel alive. But here he was—shaking under your touch. Needing you like air.

His hands cupped your face like you might slip through his fingers. Your fingers twisted into his coat. You could’ve stayed like that forever.

Eventually, reluctantly, you pulled apart.

You left first. Then he followed a few minutes later.

Back in the ballroom, your mother watched you like a hawk. But when Jisung came to offer you a dance, she didn’t protest. Not even a glare.

Because to her, it was still just politics. A performance.

She thought your act of getting along was for the sake of diplomacy. She didn’t know the truth.

You laughed and spoke softly as you danced—but if anyone could hear the things he was whispering against your cheek, they’d be scandalized.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Keep your hands on my waist, Jisung.”

“You’re the one who kissed me like you wanted to devour me in that room.”

“I still do.”

Your laugh was so light and lovely that no one suspected the burn in your voice.

And later, when the music swelled again and attention drifted elsewhere, you disappeared once more. And so did he.

You met in the same room.

This time, he didn’t waste a second. He grabbed your waist and lifted you onto the table, his mouth already finding yours.

“You drive me mad,” he murmured against your lips. “You taste like sin.”

You kissed him like you were starving, his body slotted between your knees, his hands curled tight in your hair. It was just lips and mouths and breathless desire—nothing more.

Until the door slammed open.

Your heart dropped.

Standing in the doorway—livid and silent—were your parents.

Your mother’s face was contorted in fury. Your father’s jaw locked tight.

They’d seen you walk in. Together.

Your mother’s hand reached for you, nails like talons, but Jisung moved before she could.

He stepped between you and them.

“I wouldn’t,” he said coldly. His voice, for once, was not kind. Not soft.

It was lethal.

“If either of you touches her again—” his hand curled into a fist, trembling, “—I will drag your names through the mud of every kingdom. I will tell every king, every royal house, every diplomat what you’ve done. The bruises. The threats. The punishments. Everything.”

They froze.

Your father narrowed his eyes. “You dare—”

Jisung didn’t flinch.

“Touch even a hair on her head,” he growled, “and I will burn your castle to ash. With the two of you still inside.”

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then your mother sneered, turned on her heel, and snapped, “Come.”

They didn’t touch you.

But they took you anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were scolded for hours. Called reckless, shameful, disgraceful. But they didn’t lay a hand on you.

Not with his threat still fresh.

You locked yourself in your room that night and read through every letter he’d ever sent. Over and over.

And then, with shaking fingers, you wrote him one more.

“You have to get me out of here Ji. I’ll leave it all behind. I’ll abdicate if I have to. If it means I can be with you—- I’ll go anywhere. Just say the word.

—Y/N”

You folded it. Sealed it. Sent it by secret courier.

And waited.

A/n: I’m just gonna go ahead and post the last 2 parts!

#han jisung #han skz #han stray kids #skz angst #skz au #skz series #skz x reader #stray kids #skz han #skz fanfic #skz smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz #skz stay #0leemoon0

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redjayy · 27 days ago

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please feel free to inbox me anything. Jason Todd, born on August 16 (in most continuities), had a troubled childhood shaped by crime, neglect, and survival. In the most well-known version of his backstory, Jason was the son of Willis Todd, a petty criminal who frequently abused him, and Catherine Todd, who was addicted to drugs. Jason grew up in the poverty-stricken streets of Gotham City, often left to fend for himself. After the disappearance of his father and the death of his mother, Jason lived alone on the streets, relying on his wits and grit to survive. His tough upbringing forged him into a scrappy, resourceful teenager who learned how to steal, fight, and take care of himself long before most children ever face such realities.

Jason’s life changed forever when he crossed paths with Bruce Wayne, aka Batman. In a memorable scene, Jason was caught trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile in Crime Alley. Rather than punishing him, Bruce saw potential in the boy—an echo of his own pain—and took him in as his ward. After rigorous physical and mental training, Jason became the second Robin, the Boy Wonder, following Dick Grayson’s departure. However, Jason’s fiery temper, impulsive behavior, and willingness to challenge Batman set him apart from his predecessor. While he fought valiantly beside Batman, his darker tendencies and emotional instability foreshadowed the tragedy that would later define him.

In the landmark A Death in the Family storyline, Jason learns of his mother’s identity and sets off on a journey to find her, leading him straight into a trap set by the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime brutally beat Jason with a crowbar and left him in a warehouse rigged with explosives. In a controversial fan-voted decision, Jason was killed off, sending shockwaves through the DC Universe. His death haunted Batman deeply, cementing Jason’s role in Bat-lore as the Robin who died and became a symbol of Bruce’s greatest failure. Years later, due to the Lazarus Pit and altered timelines, Jason was resurrected—though the experience left him psychologically scarred and filled with anger toward Batman for failing to avenge him.

Upon his return, Jason adopted the identity of the Red Hood, a persona once used by the Joker himself. As the Red Hood, Jason became an anti-hero, enforcing a lethal brand of justice that directly contradicted Batman’s moral code. He operated outside the Bat-Family, often clashing with its members, yet never fully severing his connection to them. Over time, Jason evolved into a more complex figure—still deadly and brooding, but also deeply principled in his own way. His lore is one of pain, resurrection, and redemption, making him one of the most compelling and morally layered characters in the DC Universe.

#dc roleplay #red hood

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donmiguelsells · 2 months ago

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After much soul searching, I I have a workable plan for the next 10 years. It’s just me and I’m okay if I don’t quite hit the mark. What’s the old saying, aim for the moon and if you miss, at least you’ll be amongst the stars? So here goes. I was offered a job as a service writer today for a large international auto sales outfit with a great starting salary and commission sales on top. They have benefits and perks, and I’d be around a great old friend. To be honest, I might’ve not considered it except for him. When we worked together before, they were some of my most fun years after being in the Navy. I was successful and made an okay amount of money. I felt useful. I felt like I was providing for my family and I felt productive. My plan prior to this included starting a cybersecurity bootcamp which is 4 months long and self paced. My ex is no longer my responsibility and my kids are grown. I’m already working in IT which I’ll use as a stepping stone toward my latest goal for cysec. I’m trying this as a new and final career, using my intellect instead of my personality as my talent for earning a living. It’s going against my gut, but this choice is mine to make with no one else’s input to have to consider. This is the point of all of this to begin with, right? If my failed marriage isn’t the motivation needed for this bold move, won’t success be my greatest revenge? That’s obviously not the goal here but on the other hand, wasn’t this the plan all along? Didn’t I say, “Let’s be patient and hold on?” She said she didn’t trust “us.” She meant she didn’t trust me! She bailed! And while I couldn’t fix our screwed up situation as quickly as I would’ve liked (she didn’t/wasn’t/hadn’t worked), patience, persistence, and self-preservation are going to win out in the long run. Tying that knot and holding on for dear life is ultimately going to pay off, and I didn’t have to destroy an almost 41- year marriage to do it. In the meantime, I’ll buy a little 2/2 house on the south side, then another, then another, and I’ll have something to pass to the grandkids and maybe go camping and finally go back to Europe like I always wanted. It won’t be with her like I had hoped, but it wasn’t with her the first time either, was it? I’m still sad, but I’m starting to see that silver lining. Well, that’s bullshit. I’m still very sad. But it’s fading very slowly. I expect my folks to pass. I’ll miss them. My heart will ache painfully, but I thought I’d have someone to lean on through that. Yes, of course George. Yes, of course the kids. I guess I won’t have her. My future was set before. It was comfortable like lamb skin work glove. Now my hands are exposed and sore from the cuts and blisters. That rope has been tearing and burning for 4 years now. I’m almost to the point where I’m at the top and I can stand on my own legs and rub the feeling back into my fingers. Taking the sales job would’ve been the safe and familiar thing to do. But choosing this path that I had set before is choosing me in a new, hopeful, and exciting way. A sort of vote of confidence in myself with only me to answer to, and only me to impress and congratulate for a job well done. Much like my current health improvement journey has been. I’m taking some new and healthier steps toward bettering my life and feeling and looking better. I even took time time to trim and shape my beard today. Once the weight starts coming off, I’m gonna have something really special to offer someone along with a greater sense of accomplishment. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe this is how it was meant to be. I’m having a tough time wrapping my mind around that. The gift I had to return to exchange it for what’s coming next, not knowing what that’s going to be or if anything is coming to replace the original item. I really was fine with the original. Or was I? Maybe I fucked this up so bad that I made her say fuck it and made her want to leave. Maybe. Maybe. I just couldn’t live like that anymore, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

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sepdet · 11 months ago

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To nobody's surprise (except followers of the Leopards Eating People’s Faces Party), this excerpt is chilling:

In May 2020, Fred attended a meeting with Trump at the White House alongside several health advocates, as well as Trump’s former Secretary of Health and Human Services Alex Azar and Brett Giroir, the former assistant secretary for health. At first, things were going well.

[CW: extreme ableism and gratuitous cat photos below the cut. The latter is in no way meant to make light of the former.]

“The meeting I had assumed would be a quick handshake hello with Donald had turned into a 45-minute discussion in the Oval Office,” Fred wrote. “Donald seemed engaged, especially when several people in our group spoke about the heart-wrenching and expensive efforts they’d made to care for their profoundly disabled family members, who were constantly in and out of the hospital and living with complex arrays of challenges.”

After the meeting concluded, however, Trump called his nephew back in to speak with him.

“I thought he had been touched by what the doctor and advocates in the meeting had just shared about their journey with their patients and their own family members,” Fred wrote. “But I was wrong.”

He recalled his uncle’s words to him: “‘Those people …’ Donald said, trailing off. ‘The shape they’re in, all the expenses, maybe those kinds of people should just die.’” Fred wrote that he hadn’t known how to respond to the former president’s comment, so he quickly left

But Trump’s callous, inhuman attitude toward Americans with disabilities did not end there. Fred recounted a later interaction with his uncle, where he had called the former president to ask for help buoying the fund that supported his son’s care.

Fred wrote that his uncle didn’t seem convinced. “‘I don’t know,’ he finally said, letting out a sigh. ‘He doesn’t recognize you. Maybe you should just let him die and move down to Florida.’

“Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear Donald say that. It wasn’t far off from what he’d said that day in the Oval Office after our meeting with the advocates. Only that time, it was other people’s children who should die. This time, it was my son,” Fred wrote.

This time, Fred hit back, he wrote. “‘No, Donald,’ I said. ‘He does recognize me.’”

Oop, there it is: Donald Trump, eugenicist.

Childless cat lady reaction:

You can't imagine what it was like going through the pandemic as a medically vulnerable person, watching the President encouraging people to drop precautions against spreading a deadly disease. He forced me to self-isolate even more, because I couldn't enter any building without encountering unmasked people before there was a vaccine. "Childless cat lady?!" Fuck you, Vance, that cat was my life support when Trump threw us under the bus.

Which reminds me, I need to order the next $6000 injection I've had to take since COViD plus arthritis turned my immune system into a hit squad against my own organs.

Trump would tell my father, who pays my medical bills, to let me die.

And I'm keenly aware how lucky I am to have family to support me, unlike all the people like me who did die.

@pumpkin-belly passed away peacefully in my lap in May. I spent more on an elderly cat’s medical bills than a billionaire was willing to spend on his own great-nephew. That bighearted orange fluffball was worth infinitely more than the orange carbuncle running for president.

Whom I don't trust not to follow through with his notions of eugenics if he is reelected.

Avenge Pumpkin. Defend disabled people. Vote blue. (Please)

#us politics #trump #eugenics

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cavernstudio · 7 months ago

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Hello! It’s cavernstudio after two weeks of hiatus! So for our most recent chapter, me and faberown wanted to try experimenting with the premise of a voting element in our collaborated fanfic called

“Choose your own tune”

Throughout the chapters, our protagonist Kaede Akamatsu will face important choices where you (the reader) get to vote on which path Kaede chooses to take in the story!

Here is how it works. At certain points of the story, Kaede will be presented with multiple options (tunes) that will determine her next move. Each tune represents a unique direction Kaede will fix up.

Your votes will not only influence the story, but also shape Kaede’s relationships with other characters and affect the overall outcome of the plot.

Look out for voting prompts throughout the chapters and cast your vote to help guide Kaede on her journey! We’d really appreciate your participation!

#helluvaverse #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa #fanfic #crossover #tumblr polls #danganposting #kaede akamatsu

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coronetcast · 2 days ago

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Chapter 2: The Child

Hunted by the Empire’s remnants and bound to a past she can’t reveal, Chloe Kenobi—adoptive daughter of Obi-Wan—finds herself in uneasy alliance with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. As they journey across the stars with a mysterious Child caught in the crosshairs, secrets simmer, trust is fragile, and something unexpected sparks between two souls shaped by war.

Masterlist

She would laugh if she weren’t in a world of pain already. She watched as the Mandalorian attempted (and succeeded) in vapourising Jawas who were actively dismantling his ship. She was no stranger to the scavengers nor their travelling fortresses and in any other situation she would be pissed to be stuck on this god forsaken planet.

But in this situation, she relished Mando’s frustration.

“Stay here.” He commanded, rushing after the Jawas fortress. Chloe exchanged a glance with the Child, shrugging to him.

Where else is there to go?

Slowly -and painfully- she and the Child made their way to the flat ground next to the gutted ship. All the while, she watched half amused and half impressed as this Mandalorian scaled the travelling Jawa palace.

All her amusement faded when the Mandalorian came hurling down it.

“Shit, shit…” She hobbled over to his still body, cursing the Maker for killing her one ride off this stupid planet. She was about to reach for her saber on his belt, when Mando gasped awake.

“Thank the maker!” Chloe sighed, genuinely meaning it. “I was beginning to think I’d have to steal a ship.”

The Mandalorian groaned, lifting a gloved hand to his helmet as if rubbing his forehead beneath it. “You’d never make it past orbit.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” she said dryly, “but given your current track record with sand crawlers, I like my odds.”

She noted the stiffness in his shoulders and back as he rose to his feet. He was badly bruised at best, concussed at worst. Beside her the Child stared on in concern, it unnerved her how attentive he was to this bounty hunter.

She figured he was just young and naive.

“Looks like we’re grounded for a while.” She muttered, shooting a half hearted smile the Child’s way.

“Only until I get my parts back,” Mando rasped, dragging his feet.

“Ambitious. I admire that in a man with a probable concussion.” He ignored her, assessing the damage on his ship.

“What were you even trying to do?” She questioned.

“Get my parts back.”

“By climbing a moving fortress of thieving, aggressive Jawas?”

A beat passed. “It’s worked before.”

Chloe blinked. “You do this often?”

She watched as Mando disappeared into his ship, reluctantly she followed.

She hadn’t encountered a gunship like it during the Rebellion, definitely Old Republic era. Still, if she had to hazard a guess from the portable carbonite freezer, she would say it was a bounty hunter’s wet dream.

A sudden bang echoed in the shredded ship’s walls. On instinct, Chloe stood on defence and immediately winced as the pain flared in her side.

Dank farrik!

She desperately tried to steady her breathing as she watched the Mandalorian storm away from what she assumed was a now empty weapons locker. Faintly, she recalled Obi Wan saying how the Mandalorian culture centred around their armor, weapons and war. Basically, the antithesis of Jedi.

Hells, who was she to judge? She’d seen enough and participated in enough battles and bloodshed to fill two lifetimes. Chloe knew she could argue all day that it was in the name of democracy and putting an end to tyranny -she would do it again- but war is war. There is never truly a winner.

“Come on, we’re going after my parts.” Mando said, pulling the crib along. Her hand flew out and grabbed the crib, halting him in his path.

“Taking a baby for a wander in the desert after Jawas is a phenomenally stupid idea.” She hissed out of gritted teeth. She wasn’t met with anything, other than a cold visor assessing her.

“Is it a better idea to leave him with you? Here?” He asked coldly. “There are worse things than Jawas in this desert, especially to someone injured and unarmed.”

“Perhaps not, but you’ve proven you can’t take on their crawler alone either.” Chloe rebutted. The Mandalorian turned and began to walk away.

“That’s why we’re getting help.”

She had met plenty of Ugnaughts before, intelligent and stand-offish. Not Kuiil, no she noticed he carried himself with wisdom and patience. He didn’t disregard her simply as the Mandalorians bounty, instead regarding her curiously. He was even kind enough to part with a bacta injection for her rib.

Chloe was even more surprised that Kuiil agreed to help Mando get his parts back.

“Remember, the Jawas strip, they do not destroy. We will be able to negotiate.” Kuill stated as they approached the crawler.

She couldn’t help but pass a sideways glance to the Mandolarian, vaporiser set staunchly in his grip.

“With Jawas? Are you out of your mind?” He questioned.

“I speak Jawa.” She revealed hesitantly, still looking at Mando. “I can try my hand at a negotiation.” Kuiil nodded, Mando simply tilted his helmet quizzically at her. “I’m from Tattoine.”

The sand crawlers often passed through the Judlands, bringing spare parts they couldn’t find at the trading port. Her father had always emphasised the advantage of diplomacy, she thought it was just because he was so naturally good at it.

She had to work on it.

They stopped in front of the anxious Jawas, blasters drawn straight at them. She raised her bound hands slowly, clicking her tongue to get their attention. The nasally words sounded clunky in her mouth. She was met with a chittering reply and laughter.

“Did that one just call me a moisture sponge?” Chloe huffed. Another chittering reply.

“Hey, watch who you call a blaster jam you womp rat!” Mando growled lowly beside her.

“Do they understand this?” Flames erupted from wrist, startling Chloe so much she fell on her ass. The Jawas began to scatter and yelp.

Thankfully Kuiil was there to diffuse the situation. The Jawas chittered again.

“What do they mean they want an egg?” Chloe asked.

“An egg?” Mando said flatly. Kuill regarded them both for a moment before nodding.

“I know the one they speak of.”

The wait was brutal, especially since she had been left behind. She sat cross-legged on the metal floor of the crawler’s ramp, willing herself to sit within the cradle of the Force.

Fear clouds your judgement, trust in the Force.

The bounty hunter refused to take her due to her injury, despite her protests that she was healed. Worse yet he took the Child, and her kriffing saber. Chloe drew in a large breath.

The Force will guide you.

Following the will of the Force wasn’t something that the Jedi Order particularly advised, but Chloe Kenobi didn’t have an order to turn to. She had her father and Luke once, now she only had herself.

When the Rebellion ended, she could have helped Luke rebuild the Order or gone on to serve the New Republic. But she felt the Force tug her elsewhere, to suffering in the Galaxy where the Empire still lurked.

Luke couldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand why she didn’t think rebuilding the Order in a new version would be a good idea. Couldn’t understand why she believed Jedi should listen to the Force and centre the light-side more than following doctrine - no matter how modified and well intentioned.

Luke refused to understand.

She felt the Force around her bleed with her hurt, snapping at her skin. Another large breath dispelled the discomfort.

“They should be back by now.” She could sense Kuiil’s unease before he spoke. Her eyes remained closed, searching the ether for the Child’s force signature. It was there, faint. Drawing… closer?

Her eyes flew open, spotting a figure approaching in the distance. As the Mandalorian drew closer, she let out a breath as she saw the Child’s crib gliding next to him.

She could sense something had changed. The Mandalorian was clearly injured, but he seemed… he seemed like he was contemplating. She opened the crib to find the Child sound asleep; Chloe swallowed hard.

She had an inkling of what might have happened.

Mando set to work with practiced precision, pulling out the parts the Jawas had returned — a jumble of scraped metal and circuitry that looked like a puzzle made by a child with a blaster.

“Help me with the conduits,” he said without looking up.

Chloe rose slowly, still sore but determined. “Which ones?”

He pointed. “The main power feed runs here… this one’s scorched. We’ll need to splice it.”

As they worked side by side, Chloe’s fingers brushed against his gloved ones as they passed a tool back and forth. A brief spark of warmth flared in her chest, quickly masked by the grit and grime of their task.

“He’s quiet.” Mando remarked, subtly nodding towards the Child asleep in his crib.

“Well observed.” She said dryly, continuing her work. She could sense he wanted to say more, to ask more.

Instead he simply turned back to his work.

Even if she had the answers, the Mandalorian would have to torture her to reveal them. She had tried. To gently ask permission to pry into the Child’s mind, but he was riddled with fear and she wasn’t about to push him. He was like her, that’s all she needed to know right now.

Survive first, plan later.

#din djarin #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian #obi wan kenobi #star wars #jedi oc #post order 66 #grogu djarin

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obanicrypto · 6 months ago

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Understanding Arkenston and Gemston: Your Guide to STON.fi’s Key Tokens

In the world of decentralized finance (DeFi), tokens aren’t just digital assets; they are tools that empower users to engage, earn, and shape the platforms they interact with. On STON.fi—a decentralized exchange (DEX) built on The Open Network (TON) blockchain—two tokens, Arkenston and Gemston, stand out as pillars of its ecosystem. Let’s dive into what makes them special and why they matter to you.

What is STON.fi

Before we talk about the tokens, let’s get clear on what STON.fi is all about.

STON.fi is a DEX that allows users to trade without intermediaries. It’s like having a peer-to-peer marketplace for your crypto assets—efficient, transparent, and completely decentralized. The platform thrives on its commitment to giving users control, and that’s where Arkenston and Gemston come into play.

Arkenston: Your Voice, Your Power

Think of Arkenston as your membership card in an exclusive club, but with more perks than you’d expect.

Arkenston is a governance token, which means it gives holders a say in how STON.fi evolves. Imagine being able to vote on critical platform decisions, such as fee adjustments or new features. That’s the power of Arkenston—it makes you more than a user; it makes you a contributor to the platform’s future.

But that’s not all. Arkenston also unlocks exclusive features and benefits, like early access to new tools and premium services. If you’re someone who loves being part of a project’s core evolution, this token is your golden ticket.

Finally, staking Arkenston doesn’t just help secure the network—it also rewards you. Think of it as earning interest on your savings but in a decentralized and transparent way.

Gemston: Rewarding Your Contributions

While Arkenston focuses on governance, Gemston is all about incentives.

Imagine running a marathon and getting rewarded every step of the way—that’s what Gemston does for users who contribute to STON.fi. Whether you’re providing liquidity or staking your assets, Gemston ensures your efforts don’t go unnoticed.

Here’s how it works:

Liquidity Mining: By adding liquidity to the exchange, you help the platform operate smoothly, and in return, you earn Gemston tokens.

Staking Rewards: Stake your assets on the platform, and watch your Gemston balance grow. It’s a way to earn passive income while contributing to the network’s health.

Fee Discounts: Holding Gemston could also mean paying lower fees on the platform—a win-win for active users.

Why These Tokens Matter

Arkenston and Gemston aren’t just digital assets; they represent a shift in how platforms engage with their communities.

Arkenston empowers users by giving them a voice and a role in shaping the platform.

Gemston ensures users are rewarded for their contributions, creating a balanced, participatory ecosystem.

Together, these tokens foster a sense of ownership and belonging, something traditional financial systems rarely offer.

The Bigger Picture

In traditional finance, the system often feels like a closed-door meeting where only a select few have control. DeFi platforms like STON.fi flip that script, putting power back into the hands of users.

Arkenston and Gemston are perfect examples of this shift. They make the STON.fi ecosystem more than just a trading platform—it becomes a community-driven space where every user has a role and every effort is rewarded.

Final Thoughts

If you’re exploring DeFi, understanding the role of tokens like Arkenston and Gemston can help you unlock the full potential of platforms like STON.fi.

Arkenston lets you shape the platform’s future, and Gemston ensures your contributions are acknowledged and rewarded. Together, they make STON.fi a place where participation isn’t just encouraged—it’s essential.

The world of DeFi is complex, but with tools like these, it becomes a lot more engaging and rewarding. So, why not take the plunge? Explore, contribute, and grow with STON.fi.

Your journey in DeFi doesn’t have to be daunting—start with understanding and engaging. The rest will follow.

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rubberizer92 · 2 years ago

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🇵🇱✨ In the dazzling Rubbery Christmas Club, Łukasz from Poland takes center stage! 🎉🌟 Draped in festive allure, Łukasz's attire is a celebration of Poland's Christmas charm and the rubberized revolution. Witness the magic unfold and cast your votes to support Łukasz's journey towards triumph! 🚀💖🗳️

How to Vote: 🔵 Instagram: Like, comment, and share Łukasz's festive post. Boost Yes votes in our Instagram stories, and subtract No votes to elevate Poland's Christmas charm in the competition!

🔵 Tumblr & X: Like, reblog, and share the festive enchantment! Your engagement shapes the destiny of OBEY Season 19!

Vote, embrace the magic, and let Poland shine in the Rubbery Christmas Club! 🌈🎄 #OBEYseason19 #PolishMagic

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ace-angelicpagan · 11 months ago

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The Gods in Hades II - Returning Help

Need a hand Zagreus? No wait Melinoë?

Doesn’t matter which of Hades’s kids need a hand! These gods have appeared in both Hades and Hades II to provide boons to add you on your journey…whichever journey that may be. Let’s learn about some of the returning gods in Hades II!

Seeing as most of these deities have a lot of myths under their belt, I have opted to remove the “Myths” section as it would take too long to list every single myth they’re referenced in.

Contents

‷⇢Zeus ‷⇢Poseidon ‷⇢Artemis ‷⇢Aphrodite ‷⇢Hermes ‷⇢Demeter ‷⇢Chaos

King Zeus

➤King of the Gods ➤Olympian god of the sky, weather, lightening, thunder, law & order, justice, moral conduct, destiny & fate, kingship

Zeus is the king of the gods. Youngest child of Chronos and Rhea. He was the only god to escape his father Chronos and returned to save his siblings. He was depicted as a regal, mature man with a sturdy figure and dark beard. He is usually depicted with his attributes which were a lightning bolt, a royal sceptre and an eagle.

Attributes

Lightening Bolt

Clouds

Scepter

Throne

Wreath of Olive Leaves

Aegis

Offerings

rainwater

Photos or art of storms

eagle & bull figurines

scales of Justice

Listening to the sound of rain

Vote in elections(!!!)

Be in a leadership position

Poseidon

➤King of the Sea ➤Olympian god of the sea, earthquakes, floods, droughts, storms, sources of fresh water, horses

King of the sea, Poseidon rules over earthquakes, floods, droughts, stroms, sources of fresh water, and horses as well. One of Zeus’s siblings as a child of Chronos and Rhea. He was depicted as a mature man with a sturdy build and dark beard holding a trident (a three-pronged fisherman's spear).

Attributes

Trident

Wreath of celery leaves

billowing cloak

boulder with sea creatures

Offerings

seawater

sand

toy horses/toy fish

seashells

go on a trip to your nearest body of water

go swimming

learn how to ride a horse

Artemis

➤Olympian god of wild animals & hunting, wilderness, child delivery & nursing infants, girls, chastity, maiden dance & song, disease, plague & sudden death, archery

Artemis, goddess of huning, wild animals, and wilderness. She is the twin to Apollon, born as the children of Zeus and Leto. Artemis and Apollon act as the gods of sudden death with Artmeis targeting girls and women, and Apollon targeting boys and men. The twins were also both the protectors of girls and boys up until the age of marriage. Artemis was usually depicted as a girl or young maiden with a hunting bow and quiver of arrows.

Attributes

golden bow & arrows

Quiver

hunting spears

knee-length dress

animal pelts

hunting boots

deer

wild beast

lyre

torches

Offerings

moon shaped objects

deer antlers

wildflowers

feathers

physical activity

dancing

enjoying nature

Aphrodite

➤Olympian god of love, procreation, beauty, seduction, pleasure, happiness, war

Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty but! also a goddess of war. There are many different stories about her birth, but is mostly commonly known as a child of Ouranos. She was depicted as a beautiful woman typically dedicated nude, often accompanied by the winged godling Eros (Love).

Attributes

dove

apple

myrtle-wreath

flower

scallop shell

mirror

Offerings

perfume

scented lotions

seashells

self care // self love (!!)

spend some time at the sea

stand up for yourself and what you believe in

Hermes

➤Messenger of the Gods ➤Psychopomp ➤Olympian god of heraldry, omens, animal husbandry, rustic poetry & animal fables, trade, travel, boundaries, thievery & cunning, wit, language & education, the dead, athletic contests & gymnasiums, astrology & astronomy

Hermes is the god of a lot of things… astronomy, theft, language, athletics. He is the personal messenger to Zeus, King of the gods. Hermes was depicted as either a handsome and athletic, beardless youth or as an older, bearded man, with winged boots and a herald's wand.

Attributes

caduceus

Talaria

Petasos

lyre

Offerings

dice

travel tickets

currency

foreign foods

working out

learn a new language

engage in harmless pranks

Demeter

➤Olympian god of agriculture, harvest, grains, milling, bread, horticulture, pig farming, fertility, the blessed afterlife, motherhood

Daughter of Chronos and Rhea, sister to Zeus, Demeter is the goddess of agriculture and harvest. Known to be the provider of food generally. She rules over the Mystery Cults which promised all members the path to Elysium in the afterlife. Demeter was depicted as a mature woman, often wearing a crown and bearing sheafs of wheat or a cornucopia (horn of plenty), and a torch.

Attributes

wheat ears

torch

Cornucopia

lotus staff

radiate crown

winged drakon chariot

Offerings

flour

fresh fruit

flowers

farming // gardening

learn to take care of plants

buy from local farmers

learn to cook

Chaos

➤Primordial goddess of fate & the chasm of air, mother of birds

Chaos (Khaos) was the first primordial god to emerge during creations. The word khaos means "gap" or "chasm" being the space between heaven and earth. She is the lower atmosphere, creating the air in which we breathe. Chaos is the mother of all sky related (or misty elements) deities; Eerebos (mists of the Underworld), Nyx (night), Aither (mists of Heaven), & Hemera (day)

Offerings

feathers

divination

practice using the element of air

honor her children

spend some time outside

References

Most Gods

All gods

#paganblr #studyblr #hades 2 #greek mythology #greek gods #🏺🏛️

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