#But I find their similarities just as good

[fictionalsweethearts]

THE COMMISSION PT. 3 | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

You can find part one here. Part two here.

Synopsis: You've been her personal mechanic for two years, but your growing reputation in the field has earned you dozens of clients and commissions. Sevika was looking for something fresh, durable and of good quality, and when it came to her sexual appetite, she only accepted the best. So she turned to you for a special commission.

Contains: arcane!sevika, feminine reader, lesbians, lots of dialogues, arcane universe, cannon sevika, mechanic!reader, wlw, slow burn baby 💋, several parts btw

Word count: 4,345

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake in my writing. Enjoy!

After that episode, Sevika stopped your supply of Shimmer and threatened any dealers that she would rip out their tongues and eyes if they dared to sell you, so the following week you found yourself in enforced sobriety.

You were adding the finishing touches to the strap, Sevika wanted it to be comfortable and aesthetically pleasing, so that was what you did. The straps were made of fine leather, secured with adjustable snaps. However, it was the long, veiny phallus that was the star of the piece, provided with texture and a purple color, quite similar to Shimmer. On the back, there was a small compartment with the dose of Shimmer, interconnected with the rest of the piece and the wearer, making the strap a dynamic, vibrant piece and certainly better than any other made of plastic or silicone. This one was “alive” so to speak, and designed so that the thrusts would release small bursts of Shimmer into the wearer’s bloodstream, causing as much pleasure as the one receiving it. One of your best pieces, you put a lot of pride into it and it cost you two sleepless nights and delaying other orders to give this one your full attention.

You made your way through the crowd. For a couple of weeks now, The Last Drop has been more crowded, the good sales of shimmer and the economic bonanza it brought made people look for a place to dance, drink more and bet their money in games that Sevika usually won.

Sevika.

You saw her at the back of the club, just like a few weeks ago when you went to her to check her arm and receive the commission you now had ready and kept in a box. She was focused on her cards, a cigarette between her lips and a couple of opponents with pursed lips sitting before her.

"Am I bothering?" you asked once you approached.

"Silco isn't taking guests." she muttered, without taking her eyes off the cards.

"I'm not here to see Silco." you said with a smirk before Sevika realized it was you.

She looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You looked… good. Rested, healthy, and more beautiful than ever. It was a striking difference from the last time she had seen you, and it made her feel more confident than ever about her decision to take away your Shimmer supply.

"Well, hello yourself." she said, raising a brow. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Merry early Christmas." you teased, placing the box on the table. "Commission done."

She smiled, taking one last glance at her cards before folding and placing them face down. Her opponents grumbled as they laid down their own and counted up their chips, which Sevika quickly started sliding towards her. She picked up the box, feeling the weight of it in her hands. "Finally. Took you long enough."

"Quality takes time." you smirked, leaning to take a sip of Sevika's glass. The woman lifted the lid to peek inside, knowing she had to take a better look of the product in private.

"Continue without me, boys." Sevika said, quitting the game in order to stand up and head to her office with you.

The other players grumbled in annoyance as Sevika stood up, but their protests died out as Sevika glowered at them.

"If I come back and see you've touched my chips, I'll make sure you lose a few fingers." Sevika warned, her voice dripping with malice.

They entered a dimly lit office, the smell of wood and tobacco welcoming you as soon as you set foot inside. There was a coffee table in the center, on it a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses, in front of it a vermilion sofa darkened by age and the ashes of hundreds of cigarettes. The office was undeniably Sevika's, she was a sober woman and the room showed it, however you always liked the small jar painted in gold and blue paint, which used to keep mint candies for the breath. The truth is that you tended to eat them yourself and force Sevika to buy more.

"How is Silas?" you asked as you entered, following Sevika. "Did his dick fall off?"

"No, but it's probably the only thing still functional about him." She replied, shutting the door behind her.

She walked over to the coffee table, dropping the box on it before turning her attention to the bottle of whiskey. She poured two glasses before passing one to you.

"Here." She said. "You look like you could use a drink."

"Indeed." you agreed, taking the glass between your fingers. "Booze seems an alternative, since someone put me on forced sobriety."

“Yeah, I’m not sorry about that.” She muttered, taking a sip of her drink. “You were out of control.”

She walked over to the sofa, taking a seat and gesturing for you to do the same. “Now, though,” she said, her voice a hint softer, “you do look better, I have to admit.”

"I look tired." you grumbled. "You know how hard is to work sober? I can't barely make the half of orders I used to finish in a day."

"You look gorgeous when you're tired." She observed, her voice low and full of innuendo. She took another sip from her drink, leaning back into the sofa. "And as for your orders, I don't care if you have to hire a damn army to finish them. You're not touching Shimmer again until I say so."

Sevika changed the subject so quickly that you couldn't comment on her casual compliment. Her eyes didn't betray the way she looked at you, nor the thoughts that had been running through her mind since she asked you for such a commission. She was sweet on you but her demeanor masked it well. "The workshop's rent is getting higher by the month." you said then. "I cannot afford working any less."

"I'll cover the rent," she offered, her voice gruff. "You just focus on your work."

The speed with which she resolved the issue struck you as comical, Sevika seemed convinced enough of the quality of your work to become your financier. You huffed. "Are you into charity now?"

"Charity? Hardly." She replied, her voice dry. "I prefer to think of it as an investment. You're an investment."

She paused to look at you, the way you traced the rim of the glass with your finger, your exposed shoulders, the softness of your neck, your cheekbones visibly more flushed with sobriety. She let out a sigh. "Besides, you owe me."

"Owe you?" you asked.

She couldn't contain a smirk. "For one," she started. "You're sitting in my office, drinking my booze, and you've still yet to even show me the commission I asked for. That's one reason."

She leaned forward, her gaze steady on you. "Two, you've been sleeping and eating in my club for weeks now. You think those things come free?"

Funny. Nothing's free when it comes to Sevika. She believed in the power of trades, of taking advantage of people’s qualities in an honest and effective way. You couldn’t deny that you’d turned to Sevika more times than you’d care to admit, whether it was to get another dose of Shimmer, sleep somewhere other than the workshop, and even sneak into her office and eat her snacks while she was minding her business at the brothel. Not to mention that she was now offering to pay your rent. You owed Sevika, whether you liked it or not. Your silence was your answer.

She leaned back into the sofa again, her expression smug. "That's what I thought." She muttered, taking another sip from her drink. "You're in my debt, dollface. And sooner or later, I'm going to collect."

She put the glass down, her eyes flickering to the box. "Now, are you gonna show me my commission?"

You sat up on the couch and nodded, Sevika's words not to be ignored. "Sure." you said, leaning over to carefully open the cherry-colored box you had brought for her. You lifted the lid and carefully placed the product on the table, unwrapping it.

Sevika couldn't help the way her eyebrow rose, her eyes studying the piece intently before a grin played on her dark lips. What a piece. "Damn." She muttered, her voice low with appreciation. Her hand hovered over the item, the tips of her fingers carefully tracing the leather straps, the velvety texture of the phallus.

"Is the color alright?"

Sevika took the strap, running her fingers over the texture and feel of its components, her eyes taking in the small Shimmer compartment in the back, the neatness of the finishes, even the light, comfortable weight. "Yeah. This is... better than I imagined." She admitted, her eyes flickering to you.

"Just make sure to not overdo it." you warned her, watching the woman testing the weight, the lightness of the piece and the exceptional quality of the materials. She seemed pleased, even though her face was inaccessible when it came to expressions. "It releases small doses of Shimmer, make sure to not wear it for too long."

"Oh, I'll definitely be testing the limits of this thing." She replied, her voice thick with innuendo. "I know when to stop."

"Just don't overdose." you mumbled, leaning back on the couch as Sevika stored the strap back into the box.

"I'm a big girl. I know how to handle myself." she insisted, taking a sip of the glass as her mind began going to places. The potential was massive.

You let out a sigh, you were sober and tired, the smell of the workshop clinging to your overalls and your hands still stained with oil and ink, which seemed to acquire the status of tattoos since they didn't seem to come off with any washing. You finished the glass, Sevika got up to search through her desk for the second half of your pay. She came back, holding out the the pouch. "Here." She said. "All yours."

You accepted the money willingly, thinking you would spend it on something stupid right away. You weren't good with finances, it's an understatement to say that if Sevika didn't manage your expenses regarding materials, machinery and labor, your business would go to hell overnight. She was always behind, watching over you and your lack of common sense when you had a bag full of coins. "I'll make sure to use them wisely."

"Oh, that's what you always say." She teased in return, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And then what do you do instead? Gamble it all away at the fight pits, I suppose?" She knew better than to trust you with money. You'd always been as reliable as a leaky ship, especially when you were hopped up on Shimmer.

"I make good bets." you replied. "But the fighters are getting lame lately."

She crossed her arms across her chest, her expression mocking. "You always pick the ones who look good but have no chance of winning. You always bet on the long shots, and you always lose."

You laughed, because you did tend to bet on the best looking boxer rather than the most skilled. You were a simple girl, you liked to drink in the sweaty bodies of the fighters in the Pit, men or women, releasing adrenaline charges with every punch, spitting and gasping. You found pleasure in premeditated violence, in the cheers and the boos, in the heat of a crowd committed to the spectacle. And perhaps it was because of that bad habit of yours that you bet on Vi last week, and Sevika didn’t take it well.

She huffed, her voice terse. "You picked Vi because she was hot, didn't you?"

"I picked her cause you despise her."

"Damn right, I do." She muttered through gritted teeth. "And you should too. Do you have any idea how many of my thugs she's beat up? Or the crap she caused Silco when she was in Piltover? That woman's always been a pain in my ass."

"You have a thing for problematic women." you shrugged, leaning to pour yourself more whiskey. "The difference is that some you hate, others you keep close."

Sevika rolled her eyes, craving a cigarette to deal with your tongue and insolent smile. "Causes involve problems." she said.

"And you seem to love both." you said.

"Oh, great." She muttered. "Another smartass back talker in my life... Just what I needed."

"Who's the other?"

"Jinx."

Her sigh said it all, Sevika was tired and her patience threatened to falter. Silco was her leader, she championed the cause, Zaun, yet Jinx figured as the constant component ruining her formula. You can't be a good soldier with a leader who is unable to see the flaws of his daughter, or at least, how he sees Jinx. "Sounds like you need to get something off your chest." you said.

She huffed. "I could write an encyclopaedia about everything wrong with that girl." She paused for a moment, her expression hardening once again. "She's Silco's blind spot. He can't see her for what she really is because he's too damn soft on her. And it's getting to the point where we can't cover for her anymore."

"He loves her." you said. "We all act like fools when it comes to love."

"What a joke. He's blinded by his affection for her. He's been babying her for years, giving her everything she wants and then some. And look where it's gotten us? The entire damn city is on the brink of a war because of her, because Silco can't bring himself to step away from his goddamn daughter and see her for what she really is."

Hell, she was mad. You put the glass on the coffee table, watching Sevika retrieve a cigarette from the pack in her pocket. Before she noticed, you were before her, lighting up with your zippo. "Jinx is a part of the game, want it or not. And it's up to you if you wanna keep up with Silco's whims or give up."

Her grey eyes locked on yours, releasing the smoke to the side.

"I'm loyal to Silco. I always have been, and I always will be. I believe in his cause, in his vision for Zaun." She stated. There was not a single hint of doubt on her words; when Sevika commits with a cause, she carries it to the end, no matter what.

That's what you admired of her.

"Then..." you said, grinning. "You need to let off some steam." your eyes flickering to the box on the coffee table.

Sevika thought you were joking. "You suggest I should take a stroll to the brothel while you stay here alone, a room away from the Shimmer reserves Silco keeps here?"

"I'll behave." you insisted.

"You better." She warned. "I don't know how Silco would feel if he came back to his supplies all gone because you had a goddamn party in his absence."

You smiled. "If I wanted to get high, I'd do it with my own money and merit, trust me." you stepped back, walking over to the couch. "It's up to you, Sev. But if I were you, I would go and try my new toy right away."

Sevika rolled her eyes.

"Dammit," she growled. "I can't believe I'm seriously considering this..."

Seeing you settle down on the couch, half drunk from the whiskey, Sevika actually considered taking a stroll around the brothel. She needed to release a pressure that only increased every time you were in front of her, with your stupid jokes and your arms and chest exposed, with your playful eyes and your insolent smile. You were a limit she forced herself to not cross. The woman grunted, picking up the red cape from the coat rack and putting it on.

"Take a bath while I'm gone, you smell like a workshop." she muttered, taking the box from the table

"Excuse me?" you protested, your expression one of mock-offence. "I smell just fine."

Sevika huffed a laugh at your protest, her eyes flickering over your figure. She had to admit she kind of enjoyed the way you smelt. A subtle yet intense medley of oil, grease and sweat - it was almost seductive.

"Don't pretend like I don't know the last time you took a bath was three days ago." She shot back, her voice full of sarcasm. "You smell like you live at a damn workshop."

Now you were offended. "I do live in a damn workshop."

"Don't make it obvious, then." she said, walking over the door. "I ain't paying your rent for you to smell like that. Bath." she added, leaving the room as she didn't just called you dirty.

At the slam of the door, you couldn't help but bury your nose in your armpit, letting out a groan. "Bath, yeah right," you muttered, getting up to grab one of Sevika's treats. "Next time I'll put less oil on that arm of hers…"

Sevika left the office with heavy steps, riled up by your entire presence. She was playing a dangerous game but she didn't intend to lose, not when you had become her most precious jewel but also the hardest to obtain. She wanted to possess you, in more ways than one, but she knew your limits and your whims, getting involved with you would not only be risky but directly novice to her plans. Letting you slip into her her will would only destroy the mettle she took years to build. She had to control herself.

Several glances fell upon Sevika as she entered The House of Pleasure, she hadn't been seen around these parts for weeks, and more than one of the ladies-in-waiting approached her doors hoping to be chosen by her. She was a client who paid well and made love well, there were no cons on her visits. "With Robin." the woman murmured to the owner, before being led to the largest room in the brothel.

Robin was waiting for her on the couch, wrapped in an olive-colored robe, playing with her black locks and looking as willing as ever. Sevika liked her, she had freckles and fleshy curves, she knew how to combat her bad mood.

"Sevika," the woman purred, standing up. "Long time no see. I missed you around here"

"Missing my attention or my money?" she huffed.

"Money lost importance a long time ago." she smiled, standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on her client’s cheek before carefully removing her cape, revealing her mechanic arm. Sevika liked to be welcomed with a cigarette and Robin’s sweet perfume, to sit on the couch, manspreading, inhaling the smoke with her on her lap, giving her kisses on her neck and jaw.

However, Sevika saw you standing by the curtain, like an insistent ghost, reminding her that the woman on top her was not you. "What's in the box?" asked Robin then, leaving a kiss on the corner of Sevika's lips, her eyes flckering to the box sitting on the coffee table.

"A new toy." She muttered, her voice gruff.

Robin smiled. "You'd like us to try it?" she asked.

Sevika stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray that rested to her right, cupping the back of Robin's neck to begin a kiss that she hoped would erase you from her mind for a while. "Yeah." she said, against her lips, her hand gripping firmly the hooker's butt.

Sevika knew she was being foolish, that she was using Robin as a replacement for you, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The woman's moans, the feel of her body in her lap, it was all so familiar yet so different. She broke the kiss, her breathing ragged as she looked up at Robin with darkened eyes. "Get the toy.

Robin was helpful and elegant, she knew how to deliver an erotic show on each visit and please Sevika. She had already become accustomed to the rhythm and endurance of her client, her firm hands, her obscene kisses and subtle and not so subtle bites. The hooker opened the box, her smile was not faked when she saw the quality of the piece.

"Robe off, doll." said Sevika, her legs spreading with a latent confidence. Robin approached, an arm around her waist as Sevika pulled her closer. "You'll keep up with me, don't you?"

"Always..." whispered Robin, as Sevika watched the woman undress before her, trying to ignore the picture of your smile on the back of her mind.

Third round, Sevika seemed to hate you more and more as she discovered that the piece you had made for her was sensational.

Each thrust released a small charge of Shimmer, taking Sevika on a roller coaster of sensations, a constant upward slope that did nothing but shake her nerve fibers from head to toe. She had Robin on her stomach on the bed, hips and ass up, one hand firmly in her hair, another on her hip, as she thrusted into her relentlesslty, growling against the back of her neck in an obscene and not at all concealable symphony; the entire brothel knew that Sevika was back.

She had you to thank for this, you and your damn ingenuity. She would never admit it aloud, but gods how she hated you for this. For making her feel something, for making her lose control.

She knew she wouldn't survive another round as she leaned down, her breath ragged and hot in Robin's ear. "I might have... to take you home sometime."

"I'll go anywhere, as long as you fuck me this good." Robin purred, her body melting as Sevika leaned down to place kisses and bites on her shoulder. Sevika refused to open her eyes, she wanted to imagine you beneath her, your smell, your moans, your legs shaking with pleasure and begging for more. She held the woman's neck between her fingers, pressing her hips hard as a tickling sensation settled in her lower belly. Fuck, this was so good.

She felt herself melting, her veins burning, her heart pounding. Robin could see the purple glow in her client's eyes, they had grown deeper throughout rounds, and certainly her strength too. "I want you... so bad." She breathed, her voice gruff and breathless as she began speaking out her thoughts. "But I can't... fucking have."

"Shit... I-'m... cumming." whined Robin, which Sevika straightened up and pulled Robin's back against her chest, choking her harder with every deep, nerve-shaking thrust.

"Shut up," Sevika snapped, her voice guttural and her eyes still tightly shut. She didn't want to hear anyone's name but yours, any voice but yours. She wanted you beneath her, begging and pleading for more.

Sevika growled, her forehead suddenly resting against Robin's back, a firm hand between her legs, rubbing her clit as her brain corrected her moans and made them yours.

Gosh, she almost could smell the goddamn oil and ink.

The Shimmer was beginning to take over her wits, her veins heating up, her breath coming out in loud gasps as a second orgasm began to take over her. And Robin wouldn't shut her mouth, goddamn it!

"Shut. The fuck. Up." Sevika growled, covering Robin's mouth with her flesh hand. The woman whined against her palm, panting at the same time Sevika moaned into her neck, enjoying an unprecedented orgasm. "Fuck...! Take it well and nicely." she whispered against Robin's ear.

Robin fell back onto the mattress, her body marked by dozens of bites, a hand on her buttock, a hickey on her neck. Sevika was the only client who could afford to mark her girls, and Robin accepted it willingly. But today she had gone too far.

Sevika let out a pant, sitting up in bed, dizzy and shaky, as if she had run across all of Zaun. Her flesh hand trembled, she was a round away from overdose, she knew it. She took the strap off and tossed it somewhere in the room before searching for a cigarette on the nightstand. Just the bitter taste of the smoke managed to calm her down and return her from that portal she refused to cross.

"Something's up with you." mumbled Robin, barely catching her breath as she reached out to wet her throat with a glass of water.

Sevika sat on the couch, her cinnamon skin lightly beaded with sweat. Her entire body was still alert, sensitive and active, from her erect nipples to the thickened veins on her arm. The Shimmer was not quick to digest. "Nothing's up." she mumbled.

Robin propped on her elbow, reading Sevika's expression. She knew that one, has seen it on other clients, but it was the first time she saw it on Sevika's face; the expression of frustrated passion. "There is someone, isn't there?"

Sevika dragged on the cigarette, her eyes darting around the room before landing on the strap. Damn you. "Yeah, there's someone."

Robin's eyes softened. "Who...?" she asked softly.

"It doesn't matter," she muttered quietly, avoiding eye contact. "She's...off-limits."

As Robin was about to ask for details, there was a knock at the door. The hooker put on her robe, taking heavy steps towards the door after having dealt with Sevika's stamina for two hours. Sevika let out a cloud of smoke, pulling her head back as she thought about you, and a bitter sensation pooled on her stomach.

I'm wasting my damn time.

When Sevika had already put on her boxers, Robin turned to look at her, her expression suggesting urgency. She frowned. "What is it?"

"It's a message from the Last Drop," Robin said. "A girl overdosed in your office."

Suddenly the Shimmer effect seemed to be heightened, but it was actually raw, pure adrenaline.

No.

Sevika jumped off the couch, looking for her clothes as Robin stood there. "Sev?" she asked worried.

"Get me my damn cape," she said. "I gotta go."

To be continued...

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[theshampyon]

I teach IT. I've had students fail their first attempt at assessments because they relied on AI summaries and translations or used it to generate answers instead of using the research resources we provide. Even when it doesn't generate "hallucinations" AI can lead you down the wrong path or give you incorrect information because it doesn't understand what you're asking, why it is being asked, what the assessments require...

Generative AI does not understand anything.

Generative AI places statistically likely patterns of output tokens based on prompt tokens. It doesn't know the meaning of those tokens. It has no comprehension. Put simply, when Prompt Token A is followed by Prompt Token B and Prompt Token C, it's dataset determines that it is statistically likely to find Response Token X followed by Response Token Y followed by Response Token Z.

e.g. User prompt: "How are you?" Token 1: How Token 2: are Token 3: you Token 4: ? Statistical model built with lots of happy people in the data set: Likely response token 1: I Likely response token 2: am Likely response token 3: good Likely response token 4: ! Collate into response: "I am good!" Statistical model built with lots of sad people in the data set: Likely response token 1: I Likely response token 2: am Likely response token 3: unhappy Likely response token 4: :( Collate into response "I am unhappy :(" (At the risk of being overly simple, image generators work in a similar fashion, only their tokens may be arrangements of pixels). The machine doesn't comprehend the question like a person does. It just sees building blocks, like a bunch of different coloured and sized Lego, and uses statistical likelihoods from it's training data to determine what Lego blocks it should piece together in response.

I've said "it doesn't comprehend" multiple times because it is extremely important for people to understand. Gen AI cannot know what it's data means. It cannot know what the questions you ask mean. it cannot know why you are asking. It cannot know what your teacher needs from you. It only "knows" patterns based on prior data.

Find articles from reputable sources - ask your teachers or school library for recommendations! Find forums of people in your field of study and talk to them. (If you're in IT that might be sites like Spiceworks or TechNet, or even some subreddits). Do not trust the unthinking, uncomprehending, statistical pattern token machine.

what is HAPPENING

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | S.R.

feat. Steve Rogers x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You and Steve broke up, but life as an assassin for SHIELD goes on, no matter how grueling. little did you know, Steve was suffering too, and reality is far from how it appears.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, breakups, protective!Steve, assassin work, mentions of blood and death, Steve is a bit of a munch (but he still tops you), happy ending

AN: inspired by "I Can Do It With A Broken Heart" by Taylor Swift from her album The Tortured Poets Department.

divider by @saradika-graphics

Steve left you on a random Tuesday afternoon. No fanfare, no warning, no discussion. He barely even looked at you when he shattered your heart.

In the two years you'd known him, and the six months you loved him, you'd never seen him so callous. He'd looked at motorcycles with more affection than he looked at you in that moment.

You didn't understand, couldn't understand, but it didn't matter. Your relationship was over, and your life felt like a held breath ever since.

He said he'd love you all his life, but for a man that's been alive for a century, six months was barely a blip. You were barely a blip.

But you couldn't dwell, couldn't break down like you wanted to, because you were one of the top assassin's at SHIELD, and missions didn't care about your feelings.

So you were sent out into the field, day after day, week after week, with a smile on your face and your shoulders thrown back, never ever missing your mark. And still, SHIELD demanded more of you.

Fortunately, you could do it with a broken heart.

“Agent L/N, report to Fury’s office for assignment,” the earpiece in your ear crackled to life, jarring you from the workout you were pretending to do.

“Another one? Seriously?” Nat said, looking up from the squat rack, sweat glistening along her hairline.

You shrugged. “The fun never stops,” you said with a half-hearted smile, and she rolled her eyes, returning to her reps.

As quick as you could, you pulled an oversized hoodie over your sports bra and retied your ponytail, which has fallen into sweaty disarray during your workout.

Normally, you'd change into your suit, but when Fury called, he didn't like to be kept waiting.

You take the elevator direct to his office, and when the doors roll open, you're greeted by Nick Fury, Sergeant Barnes, and, of course, the back of Steves head.

His hair has grown a little longer since you were together, and your fingers itched to run through it, to scratch his scalp in the way that makes his dark lashes flutter, to tug on his roots in the way that makes him groan low in his throat…

You shook yourself and slapped on a smile. “Good morning, Nick,” you chirped, sauntering into the room.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, offering as close to a smile as he could manage. “Have a seat.”

You perched on the edge of Bucky’s table, and he gave you a stiff nod in greeting . Steve didn't look up from the open file in front of him, but you could tell by the angle of his shoulders that he wasn't happy.

Nausea twisted in your stomach, your heart splintering a bit further, but you kept your expression pleasant.

“Would it kill you two to be a little more cheerful?” Fury quipped, and Bucky snorted. “Could all use a little more sunshine around here.” Fury winked at you, and you winked back.

Steve’s fingers tightened on the file, but you chalked it up to its contents.

“Little Miss Stabs-a-lot seems to be managing just fine for all of us,” Bucky said, his voice dry even though his eyes were smiling.

That's you, managing just fine.

Fury chuckled and passed you a similar file to Steves. “Your target is Lugoff Isaacson, HYDRA weapons director.”

You flipped through the file, finding a laundry-list of diabolical misdeeds, as well as a number of altercations with the two men beside you.

“Dinosaur’s couldn't hack it?” You teased, but only Nick laughed.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Isaacson lives like a hermit, and the only people allowed in his company are fellow HYDRA agents—” Nick paused, bracing his hands on the desk. “And pretty women.”

You heard Steve's teeth grind together, and Bucky glanced over at him, but you kept your eyes on your boss. “When do I leave?” You asked, already rising.

“Nick, she can't go in there with Isaacson alone,” Steve snapped, pushing the file away from him. His voice was rough and low, menacing, and it sent a chill up your spine.

“She certainly can,” Nick rebuffed. “Unless you want to go with her?”

Steve glared at Nick, so sharp it was practically lethal, but didn't say another word.

You felt like he stomped your heart beneath his boot, and were seized by the urge to fall at his feet and beg for a reason why he would do this to you. But instead, you flipped through the file, finding your orders in the back. “Flights at 2:30. I need to pack and get a blowout. I'll update when I land.” You tucked the file under your arm, blew Nick a kiss, and flitted back to the elevator, not sparing Steve a second glance.

He certainly wouldn't look back at you.

“How many is that this month?” You heard Bucky ask as the doors started to roll closed.

“15,” Fury answered, pride clear in his voice. “She's our most productive assassin to date.”

Steve's POV

“Don't give me that look, Rogers,” Fury droned, avoiding Steve's eye.

“She's not some goddamn chess piece you can just play however you want,” he bit, barely contained anger simmering underneath the surface. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep his mouth shut during that meeting, to not grab you around the middle and run for the fucking hills.

The thought of Isaacson, that slimy rat laying a hand on you—it made Steve's mind bleed red with rage. He knew you could handle him, knew you'd make quick, clean work of the kill, but the things you'd have to endure to get that perfect opportunity…

He couldn't bear it.

“Thats exactly what she is,” Fury said, snatching the file from in front of Steve. “It's what you all are.”

Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, and Steve rose from his chair, bracing his hands on the table to lean into Fury’s smug face.

“I'm done playing your fucking games. And if you think I won't take her and leave, then you don't know me very well,” he growled.

Bucky got to his feet, metallic arm flexing as tensions mounted.

“Oh, I know you, Cap. I know you'll do whatever you need to do, move wherever the fuck I want you to move, so she stays on the damn board. Right?”

Steve grit his teeth. “And when we leave, whose going to come after us? Him?” He gestured to Bucky. “Nat? Thor? Quill? Whose it gonna be?”

Fury narrowed his eye.

“Because here's the thing you've never understood. Without us, there is no fucking SHIELD. You broke us up so she'd be free to your dirty work right? Without my interference?”

Fury scoffed and went to back away, but Bucky was standing directly behind him, blocking any escape route.

“She likes it—”

“It's killing her.” Steve cut him off. “When's the last time she had a day off? A vacation? A job that wasn't too hard for another agent, but too low profile to send us? Hm? Call her fucking sunshine while your burying her alive.”

“Steve,” Bucky warned, and the table cracked beneath Steve's hands.

“It ends now. Either SHIELD takes care of her, or I do.” Steve pushed off the desk and stormed out of the room, taking the stairs to get to the control room faster.

Nat was already there. “She just got to her apartment. Steve, she's—”

“I want eyes on her 24/7, and a team waiting to deploy within twenty miles of Isaacson bunker,” he ordered.

A chorus of ‘yessir’s’ answered him, and he sunk down in the vacant swivel chair, steepling his fingers as he watched the entrance to your apartment building, a SHIELD van idling just outside.

“Cap, listen.” Nat leaned against the control panel beside him. “This has to end, before she fucks up.”

“I know—”

“No, you don't. At this level of burnout, one misstep and that's it.”

“I know!” He barked, and the surveillance workers all jumped. “I'm fixing this. I just need a little more time.”

“She might not have time.” Nat pushed off the panel. “It might not be this mission, but it could be the next one, or the next. Stop being a fucking coward and fix it before it's too late.” She stormed off, leaving Steve staring at the monitors, his heart in his throat.

He was going to fix this. He had to fix this, before he lost you for good.

You hurried out of your apartment, dressed in slacks and blouse, wrapped up in a leather trenchcoat. The driver jumped out to greet you and took your bag, and you slipped into the backseat.

He flipped the camera to the car feed, a wonky fisheye from the dashboard, and saw you check your mascara in the mirror, faint smudges of black under your eyes, your nose kissed pink.

You'd been crying.

“I'm gonna fix it, baby,” he muttered to himself, wishing you could hear him somehow. “I promise.”

Reader's POV

You took out Isaacson without any issues, just smiled and tried to ignore the way he groped your thighs, ogled your tits. He made it too easy to slit his throat.

And as soon as you returned, there was another assignment, and another, and another, until you didn't even bother going home anymore. Which was well enough for you. You didn't care to sleep in the bed Steve held you in, or the couch you'd watched his favorite black and white movies on. Didn't care to eat in the kitchen where you taught him to make your mother's signature recipe, or shower in the stall he'd washed your hair in when you were sick. It was better to stay away from all the little reminders that you didn't imagine the whole thing.

You pretended to love being busy, treated every mission like a birthday gift, and pushed forward. Until, you were assigned to work at the Winter Gala.

SHIELD hosted the annual event as an excuse for the team to rub elbows with politicians, diplomats, and executives. You'd be masquerading as a guest, of course, but in reality you were on intel duty, eavesdropping on conversations and flirting trade secrets out of the most powerful people in the world.

One of the few perks of still being anonymous to the world.

You were dreading it. A night filled with romantic music, dancing, and drinks, watching Steve schmooze with women twice as wealthy and twice as powerful as you? You'd rather choke on your own dagger. But you were determined to look fabulous, a young woman in her glittering prime, and maybe you'd feel something besides emptiness.

Tony had a gorgeous ball gown sent to your apartment that probably cost more than your annual salary, and you spent three hours on your hair and makeup for the occasion, mainly because you kept crying it off. But at the last minute you steeled yourself and carpooled with Nat to Stark Tower.

She wolf whistled as you climbed into the car, looking downright stunning herself. “I know I'm not supposed to comment, but that fossil is going to lose his fucking mind.” She chuckled, tearing off down the street.

“Lose his mind?” You snorted inelegantly. “I can barely get a ‘hello’ out of him.”

Nat looked at you sidelong, the expression sharpened by her eyeliner. “And why do you think that is, babe?”

You didn't dare comment, didn't dare think about it. You'd never get through the night if you clung to a razor thin thread of hope.

The party was in full swing when you arrived, and you came in separately from Nat to forgo any suspicion. With a glass of champagne in hand, you circled the party, trying to tune out your own thoughts so you could absorb all the conversations going on around you.

But the noise completely stopped when your eyes met Steve's across the room.

He was dressed in an immaculately tailored Navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and brown leather loafers. His hair was styled back from his face, his beard freshly trimmed, and he was staring at you like hunter through a scope.

“Y/n, sweetheart, come with me for a moment,” Tony appeared to your left, startling you out of your reverie. “There's someone I want you to meet.” He winked, and you flashed a toothy smile, even though you felt like screaming.

“Lead the way, Mr. Stark,” you cooed, for the benefit of anyone in earshot.

Tony led you away, but you could feel Steve's eyes burning a hole in your back, tracking you through the crowd.

“Alex, this is Lydia, the daughter of a colleague of mine. You both attended Stanford!” Tony lied through his teeth to a handsome, dark haired gentleman, and you picked it up without delay.

“Oh, of course! It's such a pleasure to finally meet you!” You gushed, sliding onto the stool beside the stranger. “Tell me, what was your favorite time of year on campus?” You brushed your fingers along his forearm, noting the model of the Rolex on his wrist, the designer of his suit.

“Fall, of course. Can't beat those colors,” Alex grinned, and you fawned like it was the most ground breaking thing you'd ever heard.

Tony left you to it, and twenty minutes later you were tucked into a booth with Alex, his arm slung over your shoulders, and his phone face up and unlocked right in front of you. Oblivious to the way you scanned every message that came through.

Alex leaned closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear, and you had to swallow a shiver of revulsion. His hand came up to cup your cheek as you wracked you mind for a way out of this—

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Trevais, but I need to steal Lydia for a moment.” Nat appeared suddenly beside the table, looking smug, and Alex scowled.

“Right now? Really?” He argued.

“I'm afraid so.” Nat batted her lashes and Alex immediately caved.

“Fine, I'll see you later then?” He winked, alluding to the room key he slipped into your bag a few minutes prior.

“Perhaps.” You winked back, playing coy, and he grinned like a fool. “What's going on?” You hissed as Nat led you out of the party and down an dark, empty hall. "I was in the middle of something—"

“You'll see,” she whispered back, stopping at a door and doing a quick sweep before pulling it open and ushering you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you.

“Nat, what—”

The lights came on in the room, dim and golden to reveal the luxurious study you were standing in, all black leather and granite, shelves of books and expensive furniture.

But you barely registered any of that, because Steve Rogers was waiting for you by the window. Moonlight kissed his face, highlighting the flawless angles on his bone structure, and your mouth ran dry, your heart falling through the floor.

“Uh, is there a problem, Captain Rogers?” You asked, propping up the professional barrier despite the urge to launch yourself at him, the need to kiss him, or strangle him, pushing against the underside of your skin.

When he looked at up you, the air was sucked from the room. His eyes were stormy, fogged with sorrow, water collecting on his lower lashes.

“You really have turned espionage into an art form,” he chuckled, his voice thick with emotion. “Like you're having the time of your life.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“But that's not true, is it? You're as miserable as I am.”

You shook your head. “I—I’m fine.”

He huffed a laugh, pushing off the window sill. “You put on a good act, honey. But I can tell when you're performing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, indignation flaring in your gut. “What do you want, Steve? You haven't spoken to me in months.”

He grimaced, a look of genuine pain crossing his face. “Y/n, I—”

“You disappeared for two weeks after dumping me out of the blue. You refuse to take missions within a hundred miles of me. You won't even train at the same time." You were yelling, unable to stop once you started. You'd kept it all bottled up for so long, there was no forcing it back now. "You've barely looked at me, Steve! It's like we never happened, like I made it all up in my head!”

“Because it was killing me!” He shouted back, and you flinched, tears pricking behind your eyes. You could count on one hand the amount of times Steve Rogers raised his voice, and it was never at you.

“You left me!” You yelled, your voice cracking at the edges.

“Because I had no choice! They gave me no choice.”

Your stomach dropped. “W-what?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. “Fury, SHIELD, they threatened to send you overseas if I didn't. To some desolate base in Russia.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. This couldn't be real. “Steve, that doesn't make sense—”

“You really think I would leave you like that? That I would just throw away what we had? I was trying—” his voice caught in his throat. “I thought I was protecting you. But they lied to me.”

You were shaking your head, backing away. You couldn’t take any more empty words, any more bullshit—

Steve rushed toward you, catching your face in his large hands before you could turn away. “Baby, listen to me,” he said, softening. “They wanted me out of the way so you would be more likely to do whatever they wanted. When we were together, we were working less, we were happier, we cared about something that wasn't SHIELD, and they couldn't stand it.”

“But Fury—”

“Is a manipulative fuck that took advantage of your broken heart.” You gasped at his language, usually reserved for sex or intense fighting. Steve lowered himself to his knees, his hands gripping the curve of your waist and shaking you. “I need you to believe me, honey. I'm begging you. I would never have done this if I knew the truth. I'm so sorry for hurting you, and I wish I could take it back. But I can't, all I can do is tell you the truth.”

“You didn't want to leave me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course not.” He rested his forehead on your belly, drawing a shaky breath before looking up at you again, pleading with big, blue, watery eyes. “I-I love you. And I agreed because I was terrified to lose you completely but then I—I did anyways because I'm a fucking coward.”

You wiped a tear from his cheek with your thumb, the last of your trepidation falling away. “I love you too, Stevie,” you said, and he surged upwards, slamming his mouth to yours in a ruinous, bone-melting kiss.

He parted your lips with his tongue, possessing your mouth in a display of dominance you rarely saw from him. He licked along your teeth, groaning low in his throat as you dug your nails into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He tasted like black coffee and something sweet, like he'd hit the dessert table instead of the bar, and it made your heart flip.

God, you'd missed him.

Your lungs screamed for air, an affliction super soldiers didn't contend with, and you were forced to break the kiss to breathe.

“Cameras?” You panted, craning your head back as Steve planted wet, open-mouth kisses down your jugular.

“This is Fury's personal study. No cameras,” Steve mumbled against the peak of your shoulder, his hands all over you.

You scoffed. “Of course, because he can have priv—”

“Forget about him.” Steve captured your lips again, and you nipped at his lower lip for cutting you off. He backed you against the desk, breaking the kiss to toss you up onto it.

“Forgotten,” you replied, breathless as you looked into his eyes.

“I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet, have I?” He asked, leaning back a bit to take you in, your chest heaving against the deep plunge of your dress, lips kiss-stung and eyes bright.

You shook your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder with a smirk.

“I love this color on you,” he murmured, rubbing the hem of your dress between his thumb and index finger. And your makeup—”

“Steve.” You grabbed him by the lapel and tugged him closer, bringing his face down towards yours. A flare of arousal twinged between your legs, you loved when he let you manhandle him. “I know you're trying to be a gentleman and not fuck me without some proper flirting, but it's been months. I need you.”

Steve smiled, leaning forward to lay you back on the desk. “You don't need me, honey,” he hummed, kissing down your sternum while his hands moved your dress up your legs. He looked up at you when he settled between your thighs. “You've proven that you're a force all on your own. And that's okay, you don't have to need me, as long as you want me.”

You nibbled your lower lip, processing his words. He was right, you'd proven that you could live through heartbreak, that you didn't need him to carry on. And as much as it hurt, and as much as you missed him, there was something liberating in that knowledge.

“So, do you want me?” He asked, grazing his thumb over the gusset of your panties, maddeningly light.

“Yes, I want you,” you answered, threading your fingers through his blond hair and urging him forward.

He chuckled, smiling up at you, then pulled your panties to the side with his middle finger and flattened his tongue against your slit, licking a firm stripe up your pussy. Your head fell back onto the desk when he sucked your clit between his teeth, wasting no time in his pursuit of your pleasure.

Steve, for all his propriety and politeness, loved nothing more than feasting on your pussy. He was sloppy with it, rough and self-indulgent, as if making up for the decades he went without it. He often stayed until you were overstimulated and orgasmed-out, weakly trying to push his head from between your legs while he lapped up the mess you made for him.

“Missed you so damn much,” he mumbled against your pussy, eyes fluttering closed as he drove his tongue into your entrance.

“Missed you,” you whined, your hips bucking up into his mouth as he devoured you, lashing every one of your sweet spots with expert precision.

His hands tightened on your hips while he massaged your clit with his tongue, and even that fraction of his real strength was enough to leave a dull ache. The reminder of his true strength made your head spin, your mind empty. You may not need him, but there was something thrilling about being able let go while you were with him. Trusting that he would keep you safe and you could just be.

He licked one last stripe up your pussy before pulling back, kissing his way up your body. “Baby, I need you,” he mumbled, nosing into your neck. You could feel just how badly from the ridge beneath his trousers, his hips rocking slightly into yours. “Please, can I fuck you?” He asked, unlatching his belt with a flick of his wrist, and a shiver rolled up your spine at the desperation in his voice.

“You want to fuck me?” You repeated, toying with him. You reached between your bodies and pulled out his cock, thick and long and flushed, and pumped it once, twice, smearing precum down his shaft.

He moaned, hot and breathy against your skin. “I know I hurt you, and I still have to make up for that, but I just—fuck, I need to feel you. Please, please let me make you come on my cock.”

“Just start slow,” you cooed, petting his cheek when he lifted his head in excitement. “Been awhile since I took you.” You glided his cockhead through your folds, his breath hitching when you notched it at your drooling entrance.

Gently, he eased his hips forward, sliding in one inch, then another. "Shit, honey. Have a little mercy," he panted, his muscles bulging against the fabric of his shirt, tendons in his neck flexing.

You groaned, releasing his cock to grab hold of his shoulders, nails biting into his shirt at the stretch, bright and burning.

“Gotta relax, baby. Let me in.” He gently guided you thigh up and around his waist, squeezing the fat of your haunch in reassurance. He moved a little deeper, and you both gasped when your walls clenched around him. “So goddamn tight,” he rasped, drawing his hips back a bit, assuaging some of the discomfort before easing back inside, coaxing your muscles to loosen for him.

“Fuck, Steve,” you panted when he pushed a little deeper, your eyes rolling back in your head when he grazed your g-spot.

“Almost there, doll. You can do it,” he encouraged, reaching up to hold your face. He caught your gaze, smiling a little when your eyes struggled to stay focused, lashes fluttering. “Starting to feel good?”

You nodded, pleasure spilling through you as your body accepted him inch by inch, until finally, you felt his pelvis press against yours.

“There we go,” he purred, leaning down to kiss your forehead, your cheek, giving you a few more seconds to adjust. “Good girl, takin’ all that cock.”

He ground into you, stifling a fractured moan against your shoulder when your pussy made an obscene squelching sound, dripping wet for him. You were on another planet, tingling head to toe as waves of pleasure crested. Every beat of your heart had you clenching around him, full to splitting, and you wanted more.

“Please, baby, need more,” you whined, trying to rock your hips against his, but he was too heavy for you to do much.

He braced his hands on either side of your head, sweeping his eyes down your body as you squirmed beneath him. He chuckled, the sound low and almost malicious. “Need more?"

He drew his hips back and delivered a punishing thrust, two, three, five, until you were all but screaming, unable to do anything but lay there and take everything he gave you.

"How's that for more?" He asked, his cock brutalizing your cervix and stretching you beyond your limits, molding your pussy to the shape of his cock. Ruining you with a fervor that made your head spin.

Your peak was rapidly approaching, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust until you were half-mad with desperation, clawing at his forearms by your head and leaving pink, raised lines across his flesh.

“Gonna come for me, baby? God, I missed this little pussy—feels so good,” he grated, bringing one of his hands down to circle to your clit, firm and deliberate. Exactly what he knew you needed. “That's my good girl. C'mon, I’m right there with you—” Another thrust and he sent you both flying over the edge, sparks exploding behind your eyes as the orgasm ravaged your body, flaying you open.

You grabbed onto his arm, desperate for something to ground you as you soared, his hips still thrusting erratically as he pumped you full of his release.

Crack!

The desk suddenly tilted beneath you and Steve whisked you up into his arms, still buried inside you. You clung to him in shock as the desk collapsed to floor, sending all of Fury's belongings scattered across the carpet.

"Are you alright?" He asked, searching your face.

You nodded, easing your grip on him.

Steve adjusted you, lifting and lowering you onto his cock, and you gasped, still sensitive from the lingering orgasm, and mildly shocked by his lack of reaction to what you'd just done.

“Steve, we—”

“We did,” he hummed, kissing along your neck as he caught his breath, lazily working you over his length to wallow in the last dregs of pleasure. “And if he has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

“I think he's going to have a problem,” you snickered, and Steve smiled.

“And I'll deal with it.” He eased himself out of you and set you on your feet, straightening your panties and pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You felt like you were floating in a dream, in disbelief that you had your Steve back, that he never really was gone in the first place.

“How are you going to deal with it?” You asked after righting your dress and he had tucked himself back into his trousers.

Steve pulled you back into his arms, like even that moment of separation was more than he could bear. “Depends on how much of a problem he has,” he replied, smirking. “I told you, forget about him. I'll handle it for us.”

Us. Your knees went a little weak at the word. “Yes, Captain,” you replied rising on your toes to kiss his cheek.

Thank you so much for reading!

Likes and reblogs are always appreciated. My inbox is open for requests, check my pinned post for fandoms & characters!

[lamb-teaa]

` Choose Us, Choose Me

` pairing: colonel!Caleb x mechanic!reader

` tags: canon divergence!! strictly doesn't follow canon timeline!! but might seem similar?? idk tbh. anyway ANGST. full hurt no comfort. vague plot. vague relationship. vague mentions of betrayal and double agents. vvvery short scenario.

` teaa's note: having to wait for 22 Jan for Caleb's full lore to drop, imma indulge in my personal headcanon for this ficlet instead - a special (&painful) treat for all the Caleb girlies (and me ehe!) (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Your silence is the cruelest punishment he had ever endured.

Yet Caleb too remained silent as he watched you meticulously work on repairing his damaged bionic arm, not once had you uttered a single word since his impromptu arrival at your workshop stationed within the massive spaceship.

You merely glanced at him, your tired gaze instantly flickering towards his shortcircuiting arm before letting out a small huff of annoyance as you slammed the coffee mug on the messy table. Like a routine checkup, you wordlessly pointed towards the empty seat and began working on fixing his bionic arm back to good as new.

All the while the tense atmosphere remained palpable within the workshop. Even your trusty little invention-slash-companion robot, Brownie had jumped over the table, holding out all the necessary tools for you to fix Caleb up, yet the presence of the adorable little brown robot cat wasn't enough to shimmer down the tension in the air.

Your expression remained aloof yet the look in your eyes held a strong suppressed rage. Caleb winced when you purposely handled his arm a tad bit too roughly, shooting a side eyed glare at Brownie snickering at him, a clear message of 'you deserve it!' written all over your little companion's face.

Caleb was tempted to send the smug rascal flying across the room using his Evol.

...But he wouldn't want to risk facing your wrath, not when you're still mad pissed at him right now.

"...You know I had to do it." Caleb decided to break the silence first, his eyes locked onto your face, hoping to ease down your anger even just a little bit. "I was following orders."

You stayed silent, nonchalantly avoiding his gaze as your attention was solely on the holographic screen displaying the restoration process.

Caleb gritted his teeth, growing agitated by your lack of response. Why were you so stubborn? Why couldn't you understand him? Why do you have to subject him to this stupid silent treatment of yours?

Why can't you see he's doing all this for your sake?

"It's done." You finally spoke after a long tense silence, your voice cold and detached as you did the final adjustments on his bionic arm. His piercing stare was suffocating you and you wanted nothing more than to be out of his sight. "Now get out."

You had only turned around for a brief millisecond before his hand suddenly snatched your wrist, pulling you close to him. His taller frame towering over you, his face confronted in a mixture of anguish and pain - a sight that made your heart ache, but you refuse to show any weakness, not in front of him, especially not in front of a cruel man like him.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Caleb spoke lowly, struggling to suppress his own anger. "Aren't you tired of these charades of yours?"

You glared up at him defiantly, despite the slight tremble from his iron grip. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me." He scowled, his grip on your wrist tightened slightly. "How long are you going to play both sides? Do you think they're going to let you off easily once they find out you've been secretly colluding with the enemy?"

His heart sank in dread at your unfazed reaction, as if you've been expecting this to happen sooner or later, that the consequences be damned if it meant fulfilling your own secret mission no matter the cost.

Even at the expense of your own wellbeing.

"..Choose us." Choose me. Caleb shut his eyes briefly before letting go of your wrist, his voice strained with a soft plea as his hands gently cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him. "I can guarantee your safety if you choose our side, please Princess. You'll die if you keep this up."

He sees the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the conflict swimming in those alluring gaze that never fail to make his heart stutter. But as soon as that raising hope for you turn to his side came, it vanished in an instant when you slapped his hands away.

"I'd rather much die." You spat, your fist clutched the collar of his shirt as you glared up at him, the hatred and disgust written all over your face as your final words shattered his heart into pieces.

"Than to serve the likes of abominations like you.”

[tritoch]

one thing I find neat about Emet-Selch is that his chauvinism is so intense that it actually prevents him from making the strongest possible case for the unique moral goodness of the ancients, and that this same mental distortion ties into his classic final fantasy need to turn into a Horrible Final Form Monstrosity for your final fight

(for my part I think any minor unique moral goodness the ancients possess they have due to their status as demigods living in eden before the fall. even if they really are morally/intellectually/spiritually/magically/etc. superior to every modern eorzean on a 1:1 level it still doesn't change anything because 1) they are mythical and impossible, that's the whole point and 2) even if they weren't, they still have no particular claim to existence that is superior to anyone else's, no matter how good they are. but the point here is the case Emet-Selch is trying to make, which is that they are more "worthy" of life.)

when he's setting you up for the final amaurot sequence, Emet-Selch hits you with this one:

it's a solid line! stops the party cold for a second.

it's also...not that impressive. do I think if we called a big world meeting that half of everyone would just jump up to be chosen? maybe, maybe not. but, sorry: we're having a big world meeting? are we also demigods with their every material need fulfilled in this version? do we have a one world government that almost everyone seems to fully trust telling us that it knows for real a way to stop the meteor heading towards earth? because honestly i think as soon as we start creating structural similarities like that, it becomes a lot more likely. and every step you take towards making the comparison happen on level ground makes the idea that the ancients were possessed of some unique moral fiber that made them capable of this sacrifice (as opposed to the undeniable abilities in magic and global governance that actually enabled it) seem less and less likely.

and especially if you consider it in the context of what actual people are like. human (and presumably eorzean) history is replete with examples of people sacrificing themselves to save others, even though none of us are immortal wizard philosophers. i don't know how the white-room thought-experiment "will half of you die to save the others???" turns out. but do i think, across a grand rolling catastrophe, that half our population would sacrifice itself to save the other half in a million individual acts of sacrifice to save a parent, a child, a lover, a friend, a stranger? that seems significantly more plausible. altruism and sacrifice for others is even pretty frequent in animals! it's not a very unique moral behavior!

(stanford encyclopedia of philosophy on biological altruism)

but that's not the only sacrifice the ancients made. roll the tape, hythlodaeus!

...Yet oh how the star had suffered. So many species lost. The land was blighted, the waters poisoned, and even the wind had ceased to blow. Once more did our people give of themselves to Zodiark. Another half of our race sacrificed to cleanse the world; to ensure that trees and grasses and myriad tiny lives would sprout and grow and flourish.

(every time I read this speech and hit the ff1/3/5 ref about the land and waters and wind i become mylongestyeahboyever.avi)

this is the step beyond, and it's what separates the ancients from modern humans. they viewed themselves as stewards of the star and really meant it; whatever other criticisms you might level, you can't doubt the depths of their commitment. and this i think really does make them morally distinct from modern people, or at least raises that possibility in a much more compelling way than the first sacrifice. half of the living population sacrificing itself not in a moment of duress and apocalypse but in a moment of calm? when the sacrifice isn't for anything but plants and animals and some tiny proto-eorzeans? that kind of cold, calculated, long-term altruism, aimed at people and living beings that are nothing like you...that does feel like something a little more unique, more worth preserving. even in just the text of the game, we can say with real certainty that the ancients were at least more capable of facing their problems and had greater moral integrity and care for the world than, say, the people who made ra-la.

but emet-selch can't ever say that because rejecting and dishonoring the decision the ancients made as stewards of the star is his primary goal.

like, "my people were uniquely morally good. half the living population sacrificed themselves not for their loved ones or for the survival of their people but simply for the world. for the trees and grasses and the wind and the water. for the humblest insects and for the summer breeze and the tides." that fucks! damn, you got me there! i watch enough people throw aluminum cans in the trash on a weekly basis that i find this sincerely moving and beyond the seeming abilities of my own brethren! oh no, i'm being persuaded by the fascist immortal space wizard!

"and therefore, because they are uniquely morally good, we are going to sacrifice and kill the very things they gave their lives to save, so we can have them back :)" well, shit. i'm experiencing some dissonance here.

but you can't actually lie to yourself as long as emet-selch without distorting your understanding of the truth. you cannot choose to see the world falsely half the time and clearly the other half. in committing to self-deceit and willful ignorance regarding the value of the modern world, emet-selch blinds himself not just to the world as it is but to the ancients as they were. if he could describe accurately the ways in which the ancients were genuinely noble and benevolent, he would also have to able to see clearly how he has entirely deviated from that ideal. and he cannot do that and stay on the path he has chosen, so he simply chooses not to see things accurately.

i cannot help but link this blindness of his to his trial. here, at what seems to emet-selch to be the last stand of the ancients, he says to you "to be clear this fight IS a metaphor, and in that metaphor i stand in for the Entire Unsundered World."

and yet, in standing against you, he betrays both the customs of the ancients and his very title, itself a direct signifier of the mission he was charged with as one of the convocation of fourteen: "to ensure that all is right in creation, that our star may know a brighter future." contra elidibus, for whom remembering his duty to the ancients is one and the same act as remembering his name, emet-selch declares his own to be mere pretense. and that's before we even reach the matter of his transformation.

emet-selch believes the only way he can save the ancients is to betray their principles, forget their greatest triumphs, and abandon their trappings. he renounces almost everything of the ancients, save for his pale and sad and faceless amaurot, in the hopes of bringing them back.

i am reminded a little of borges's three versions of judas, a short story which uses the lens of fictional literary criticism (appropriate for a story as interested in competing narrative interpretations as shadowbringers is) to recast the betrayal of christ by judas not as the greatest of sins but as the greatest of sacrifices.

The ascetic, for the greater glory of God, vilifies and mortifies his flesh; Judas did the same with his spirit. He renounced honor, morality, peace and the kingdom of heaven, just as others, less heroically, renounce pleasure. With terrible lucidity he premeditated his sins.

and, in turn, the sardonic footnote to that very same line, which unsettles that sentiment as soon as it has been presented:

Borelius inquires mockingly: “Why didn’t he renounce his renunciation? Or renounce the idea of renouncing his renunciation?”

[heyftinally]

Non-exhaustive list of things maintaining a home required prior to modern conveniences:

Cooking three meals a day, from scratch or previously prepared preserves - baking, broiling, boiling, stewing, frying, toasting, and roasting.

Preserving food - canning, salting, drying, pickling, etc.

Laundry - likely anywhere between once and thrice a week, depending on income, living situation, and needs.

Child rearing - feeding, changing, teaching, reprimanding, cleaning, and connecting with.

Housekeeping - sweeping, polishing, airing out bedding (including mattresses), etc.

Mending and making - sewing new clothing for growing children, hemming or letting out clothing, mending tears, embroidering embellishments on clothing and good company napkins and tablecloths (which were not optional as they were a sign of capability), knitting/crocheting warm clothes for winter, etc.

Tending to any animals the family possessed, usually for practical purposes - chickens, cows, horses, sheep, etc.

Garden work - watering, weeding, harvesting, planting, tilling, and defending from pests and diseases.

Studying - it was all but required you (and your children) be well read on your religious book of choice in many communities.

Soap making, if you can't buy it easily/affordably. This means working with lye, which is caustic and can melt your flesh off.

Shopping - if you're lucky there's a general store a good 40+ minutes carriage ride from home, and that's where you'll get luxury items like coffee, sugar, salt, lamp oil, etc.

Now do all of that anywhere between daily and bi-weekly, AND work a part time job doing similar work for someone who can afford to pay you to do it instead of doing it themselves. So double at least one of the above chores (could be even more than that) or find time to do all of the above in between shifts in the cotton mill (praying your hand doesn't get cut off and your lungs don't give out), local factory (radium girls, anyone?), or other mass production site with absolutely zero safety regulations.

And when I say children, I mean you're likely to have at least two, anywhere up to double digits.

Nobody sat around just staring out the window for hours on end unless they were ridiculously wealthy. There wasn't time. If you were lucky, you might get a half hour or so in the evening to read something for pleasure (provided you could read and your husband allowed it) or work on a small pleasure project (assuming you could afford the materials to make it), or an occasional visit with a good friend for an hour in the afternoon. Otherwise? Well that's why people went to church - it was the only chance you had to catch up with people you otherwise rarely saw. That's also why Sunday used to be considered a rest day that was "evil" to break - it was literally the only day that people had some time to relax a little (there was still mending to do) before the next week of grueling work began.

Do women drunk on the trad wife fantasy know that women have been working in factories since the 1800s?

Like, why do you always assume you’re going to be middle to upper class living in the suburbs being a full time homemaker?

You’re more likely to be living in a multigenerational household while also doing some work on the side while raising your kids. Your money will go straight to your husband and he gets to decide what happens to it.

[almostmylove]

SNEAK PEEK(wip) not sure if should continue it.

A binding ring

Part 1

Damien Wayne x reader

Synopsis: after Damien leaves most of his life in the assassin league he forgets one thing, his fiancée, you.

Warning: my spelling is bad and English is not my first language. Unrequired love.( I’m trying to improve my writing)

Damien Wayne was many things. a son, a brother, demon assassin, robin and even an enemy but to you , he was your fiancée and your love.

You two had known each other since birth and you attribute that to the fact that your mother and Talia had been “pregnant” about the same time and due to…surcomstance ,you to were promised to each other.

Grow up as his fiancee was tough due to the training that was mandated from both sides of the family to be able to qualified to be with him. You cuddled up to his mother pretty quickly, seeing her as a aunt and it seemed that she liked you too even tho she could be cold when she wanted to.

Damien on the other hand ,He didn’t like you so much, he really didn’t and you were fine with that since love in the legue was a seen a weakness but there was one problem.

You loved damien.

You loved him more than anything in the world. You didn’t know it was because of his skill, position or even personality but you just love him.

When you were young you would follow him around everywhere like a lost puppy and many times it would annoy him to the point were he would yell at you or even fight you.

The bruises, the endless silent cries didn’t stop you, you were ready to follow him to the moon and back if successor you had to so Image your surprise when Damien, the future leader of the legue of the assassins didn’t come back with his mother after rah al ghul had been murder by slade.

You were confused. Maybe a little heart broken that he left you behind but you were a romantic ( something he never understood ) so You asked around. No matter how hard you tried the only answer you got was “ it’s not your business” or “ go ask Talia , she’s the one who knows” and you did.

You were sure she wasn’t going to say anything so why in the hell were you outside of the Wayne mansion!

You stare at the white double doors, taking a minute to take everything in. The mansion was beautiful, with a magnificent garden right behind you and the way the soft yellowish night lights lit up the trees and surrounding area was the piniful of rich money( tho it wasn’t anything that was out of your league) it still managed to amaze you.

You knock on the door, your knuckles white with strain as the sudden quietness fills your ears, waiting for someone, something to fill the blank space.

You stand there awkwardly until you hear the soft and turn of the golden handle. Quickly you straight your outfit which was personal picked by Talia, a white almost dress like with golden accents that looks like it was made for a goddess( your hair accessories in a similar way).

The door opens and your are surprised to see an old man? Maybe a butler base of his clothing, that is now looking at you curiously with a prominate eyebrow raised.

Before you can say anything he speaks up first with proper but heavy British accent.

“ good evening young miss, what may I help you with this fine evening? He enquires , staring down at you . It’s only there when you realize how small you are compared to the aged butler.

You clear your throat. “ I’m looking for Damien Al ghul? Is he around here?” You shift to either side of your feet, your gaze pushing past the side of the butler and onto the hallway behind him trying to peak to see a glimpse of him.

Your vision is interrupted by the door sliding to side which makes you look up at the figure was standing in the way. It seems like the butler had no plans in letting you in . You had to find a way to let him in?( maybe by telling him your relationship with Damien?)

“ excuse me miss?” His voice interrupted your thoughts. “ but I’m curious. Who are you? And why have you come to find master Damien ?”

Perfect!

You stand up straight, lifting your head and the sides of your dress before showing curtíos bow. “ my name is [ name][last name] , i come from one of the branching clans of the league of assassins and current finance of Damien al ghul”

Perfect! You nailed your introduction! You high-fived yourself mentally and by the look of surprise on the butler face it seems he agreed too.

With any other greeting you would try to mask were you came from but Talia had already told you much about them including their nightly activities so it was only fair if they knew too. Worst case scenario the butler would know nothing about the league of assasins and would think you were crazy. Yet it seemed your speculation was right.

“ Damien’s fiancée you say.” The speculation and suspicion in his tone of voice was expected but hearing those words from him was a joy, it was an acknowledgement of your statues with Damien and your future.

“ why don’t we discuss this over tea” he offered, a slight smile on his wrinkled face.

“ of course, I would love to” a bit surprised by his offer but you would never decline an opportunity to talk about him

Carefully he guides you inside , never leaving your side and showing a small tour.

“ what’s your name good sir?”

He chuckled slightly before answer “ you can call me Alfred”

“ so you like tea right? What’s your favorite type”

“ I have quite the pallet for black tea.”

“Quite sophisticated I must say, a classic”

Say miss [name] have you tried cucumber sandwiches ?

“ I don’t think so? Are they good?”

“ i personally like them but you’ll have to try them yourself”

“I’m looking forward to it!”

The soft hum on the car engine runs thru the walls of the enclosure vehicle, only helping to fill the tense awkward atmosphere.

It wasn’t too often where the whole family is in the bat mobile after a mission. It was awkward and everyone knew it, Being crapped in a car that mainly only seated 2 people ( 4 max).

Jason sighs. His face facing the side window, a way of not facing anyone he didn’t want to talk to. Dick in the other hand tried to make conversation with just about anyone, talking about the mission they just completed.

It had been a while since he come to Gotham from blodhaven. He told them is was for a mission that lead him here but being honest he just wanted to check up on his family.

Jason on the other hand wanted nothing to do with them. It was purely by accident that he stumbled onto the battle and (hesitantly) decided to help and here he was now.

Tim as silent as ever, concentrated on something in his tablet.

Damien and Bruce where still aloof as ever, showing no other expression that doesn’t show how though they are.

The car ride was silent until a ring shined , shining on the center screen. The name displayed [alfred] caught the attention of almost everyone in the car.

“ answer” Bruce command with a low and smooth voice.

Damien looked away in disinterest in whatever the butler had to say, the car ride was going to be quick!so couldn’t it had waited.

“ what is it Alfred” he waited for the butler to answer, while keeping his eyes on the road as he took a sharp turn. Dick in the back saying a quick hi to Alfred that didn’t go unnoticed.

“ we have company “ he says, his thick accent turning and moving in cursive.

“ who is it Alfred? Just send them away until tomorrow. ” he commands dismissive

Alfred on the side of the screen , clears his throat as if preparing for the next sentence.

“ I can’t master Bruce. It’s an important acquaintances of master Damien”. Damien who was solum and disinterested now has straighter up , now having his ears perked up with a questionable look.

“ what do you mean Alfred? Tell who it is?” His voice is high pitch and reaping with answers? Who’s would visit him at this time and what did they need.

Dick who was listening in shimes in with excitement. “ a friend of Damien’s? I would like to meet them!” He says with a bright smile that is almost blinding.

“ Damien? Friends? That’s a first.” He chuckles mockingly.

The short boy in the front seat scouls, ready to bite back but stops short at the voice of his father.

“Quite.” He glares to the people in the back seat before turning his attention back up front l”Alfred we will be there in five”

“ right at it. Dinner should be ready by then Il see you until then” the old man mentions before hanging up the call.

Once the beep of the call ended question filled the car, mostly directed towards the boy. Not knowing the answers he stayed quiet only answering in a “ we will see soon enough” before turning his head back to the window. The tapping of his gloved fingers on his thighs didn’t go unnoticed by his brooding father.

Closing into the bat-cave , past the hidden sewer and into the long futuristic tunnel everyone held their breath. Specifically Damien who now was more curious then before.

The car raced foward finally landing on a rotating piece that spun them around, their back faced away from the entrance before they could see anything.

Everyone off loads from the car, the first one being Damien. You watch from above the railing in the batcave as he gets out looking around curiously for anyone and taking the opportunity you pounce on him before his vision darts upwards making both of you land on the ground.( him accidentally cusenishg you fall)

[doberbutts]

hello! I'm the one that sent you that ask a week or so ago. Sorry I didn't check to see if you'd answered for a while because I was just so upset and had to take a second. I will say I scrolled through a bunch of helpful posts you reblogged before I even found the ask again that helped a LOT.

Two things I thought you might want to know is that it wasn't speculation that you'd blocked the weirdo blog that sent me your way: they literally have "proudly blocked by doberbutts" in their bio which was why i felt safe coming to you lmao. Second is I guess my struggle with this issue was an overall struggle with how bad wider misogyny has gotten in general and how muddied it's gotten with the "male loneliness crisis" and like, centering men's issues under patriarchy and just how insanely upset it's been making me. Seeing cis MRAs identify with trans men freaked me out because like, yeah it's important to talk about how (cis) men suffer under patriarchy but it's just so rare for me to find men do that without devolving into misogyny, and I start to feel so helpless because I know validating these issues matter but women are being literally dehumanized openly. I do play oppression olympics with this specific issue and just of COURSE women suffer more under patriarchy, but the same men who demand space to air how they suffer won't acknowledge that truth. (sorry for soapboxing; some of them do! It's just...things are so bad for women rn lol it's really hard to have compassion when it feels like none is being given to me).

So the more I see this issue the more I think people are being affected by larger misogyny like I am, but are doing the typical thing that happens where you lash out at a group you can "reach." Policing and harassing trans men's behaviours is way easier than cis men. I've also been seeing some parallels between this discourse and the "gay men vs lesbian women" discourse. It's not really a one-to-one but the discussion of the role of misogyny re homophobia towards gay men who still have male privilege but, come on, if they have feminine affectation it's Different and the back and forth that used to happen when gay men and lesbian women did oppression olympics, it just feels similar.

idk as i type this I hope I don't come across disingenuous or like, my Too Casual Overly Respectful tone is trying to subtly incept you. I worry my vibes are too "women first" but I just can't help it misogyny really is ruining my life 😭. Anyways I'm very grateful for your perspective and your blog. I feel more settled and equipped to push back against anti transmasculine behaviour with rhetoric that can actually challenge people

To respond to each point in turn:

1: Again I still don't really know who that is, though I am somewhat bemused by the idea that someone I clearly don't really remember is still so obsessed with me that they're proud I've blocked them. For the record, my block list is as follows: people who send anonymous hate, people who continue to harass me after I've told them to stop, people I catch with posts containing inexcusable bigotry, obvious trolls, self-identified zoophiles and MAPs, and people who repeatedly send me fundraisers after I have already said I only share fundraisers from people I know and trust. Being on my block list is, um, not really good company, so it's kind of funny to me that someone is proud to be there. Yeah I'm sure they'll fit right in with the neo-nazis and dogfuckers and cyber bullies. Oh and I guess my ex but I only blocked them after they started harassing me about our failed relationship years later. Enjoy block hell I suppose.

2: I'm not really here to play who has it worse, not because I don't recognize the wider understanding of privilege vs oppression but because I think it is a self-defeating thread of thought because you will always find a "more oppressed" example, and I think that people should be allowed to talk about their hurts regardless of their status of "more oppressed" vs "less oppressed". Talking about the ways society has hurt them is not what makes MRAs dangerous. What makes them dangerous is who they blame, how they go about fixing their problem, and the solutions to their problems they come up with.

To be quite frank, the majority of MRAs are men who have experienced some form of social rejection or isolation. Most have been sold some patriarchal lie about how by being men they inherently deserve good sex with hot women on demand, a wife at home to keep barefoot and pregnant, a high paying job where they are respected and valued regardless of the effort they themselves put into it, and all the luxuries that lifestyle can afford. This is a fantasy, you and I both know it. And when these men realize the hard reality that we live in an age of extreme social isolation, that in order to have a partner you need to actually have more personality than a used dishrag and with only half the mess at max, that good sex is about give and take and not just yourself, that these high paying jobs are few and far between with most takers being born into some level of wealth rather than any merit they themselves have earned... they lash out.

It does not at all help things to understand that many of these MRAs are themselves marginalized in some way, but their framework not only doesn't let them see it but also advocates a harsh rejection of anyone who is self-aware enough to realize it. A lot of these guys are undiagnosed, have trauma, and are just as affected by the systems of racism, classism, homo- and trans-phobia, xenophobia, sexism, and ableism as the rest of us.

Quite frankly, I'd rather these dudes see a group of (trans) men fighting for our place in society by joining hands with other activists with more feminist, black-friendly, disabled-friendly, gay- and trans-friendly in an attempt to lift everyone out of the pit rather than continuing to fight over scraps... than to see them continue to blame women and Jews and then go shoot up a school or a mall about it. One of these helps. The other just kills people and excuses rape. There's a lot of value in deradicalizing people by offering them a path to resolving their pain that is perhaps less destructive and more constructive.

This is also why the constant comparison to MRAs annoys me. MRAs kill people in senseless acts of terror and despair because they're upset that they're not having the sex fantasy the patriarchy sold them. Trans men talking about our oppression- regardless of the word we use to express it- are mostly talking amongst ourselves about suicide and rape statistics and sharing ways to get hormones and surgery despite unwilling doctors and insurance companies. We're talking about how our social groups rejected us the moment we came out, or how people use us being men against us in ways that was not happening before we came out or passed. These are not at all equivalent conversations.

3: Again I ask you- I see people using both cis and trans feminist frameworks to hurt other people. Where is your concern for that? I am equally concerned about TERFs as I am about MRAs, as they have driven multiple transgender people and our allies to suicide and even have committed acts of violence against people irl as a result of their ideology. Most TERFs will also be the first ones to tell you that they have been hurt, deeply, by men and that they also are frequently undiagnosed or untreated, traumatized, and affected by the same systems of oppression. Does their existence and their determination to latch onto every feminist conversation including those of people who are staunchly against them then poison all feminism to you? If not, then why make that distinction for trans men and MRAs?

I am black. I am Indigenous. I am transgender. I am gay. I am disabled. I am poor. I suffer. People hurt me. I see every day how bad things are. Do you think I cannot see it, or that my ignorance is the reason for my request for compassion? Perhaps consider that it is rather my knowledge and my lived experience that fuel my call for compassion, instead. I never said it would be easy. But I do think it would make a better world.

4: I do actually agree that it is very similar to the gay man vs lesbian conversation and have said for a while that it's the same queer infighting discussion we've already hashed out for the last 50 or so years, but the target groups just swapped out. It's just butchphobia, it's just biphobia, it's just aphobia, it's just panphobia, it's just nbphobia- it's the same fucking shit over and over and over again. It was shit infighting before and it's shit infighting now. Privilege is a conversation that depends so heavily on context, and the way it has been bastardized by the internet's poor understanding of political frameworks developed by women of color and their allies into cute soundbites and phrases rather than a deep, nuanced knowledge will never fail to annoy me.

Do gay men have privilege over lesbians? As a class, sure, they would have male privilege. But what do we mean by male privilege? The privilege to not worry about being assaulted on the street? To walk home late at night unbothered? To marry who they want, to have the romantic partner they desire, to feel safe within a domestic partnership? You and I both know that doesn't quite match up to the lived experience of gay men worldwide or even here in the "gay paradise" US. How does this interact with other marginalizations? Does a black gay man have privilege over a white lesbian? What happens if he's a drag queen dressed up for an event and she's a butch that passes for cis male? Does that change retroactively if this "gay man" figures out she's actually a transbian 5 years later, and the lesbian is a TERF? I'm not saying this breaks the framework of male privilege- I am saying that sometimes the theory doesn't match the reality, and a nuanced and intersectional understanding is required when talking on an individual scope rather than class politics.

Additionally- as a side note- it is also incredibly annoying to watch people act like privilege = oppressor = dangerous, and oppressed = victim = safe. Privilege, and whether or not you have any, is not a moral indicator nor is it an indicator of the safety of the person you're interacting with. I have privilege over people who cannot walk, because I can. I am not objectively or systemically oppressing people who cannot walk by the use of my legs in my day-to-day life. Oppression is action- if I vote for policies and politicians that removes ramps and safety regulations and provisions to assist wheelchair users? Now I am oppressing people who cannot walk. If I block or move or interfere with the disability aids, if I mock people or assault or harm them, if I dump them out of their mobility aids or break them, that is oppression. The act of climbing the 3 stairs on my front porch to get into my house is a privilege, but the oppression stems from the people who built my house to even have stairs on both exits.

5: lastly to end a very long post, I don't actually think there's any harm in centering yourself when discussing things that objectively affect you, as long as you remember to include others who are affected and let them have their floor to also center themselves when they need to speak up. I am a black trans man. My politics are pretty centered on black feminism. I don't think that is objectively a bad thing. I prefer to let the demographics with similar problems speak for themselves- I would rather my trans fem friends get the mic when they open their mouths, my lesbian friends, my Jewish friends, my latino and asian and arab friends. I don't think there's anything wrong with them centering their own problems and outlooks, as long as they recognize that there's shared space to be had with others who feel similar hurts. I think it's pretty normal to center yourself. I think the difficult thing is knowing when to relinquish the megaphone to someone who's been dying to use it, while you yourself still have so much to say.

[norasalina]

I’ve had a similar problem, but in 2023 I got lucky and was able to come across two of our mama cats right after birth, like, kittens still slimy right after, and they were too tired to run while I carefully set them up in a large dog crate I put in the laundry room (they each got their own).

But then another random cat showed up and had hers, so I got another cage, a smaller one, put her kittens in it, tied a string to the door, blocked the sides so she could only see then from the door, and hid around the corner. Took about 20 minutes, but the crying kittens got her in, I pulled the door shut, ran up to lock it, and was luckily able to find a shelter (all ours are luckily no-kill) that had room for them.

Once the two mamas had gotten their kittens weaned, I got them both fixed in one go, and after letting he recover released them. Found a few of the kittens homes (there were 8, 4 per litter) then got the rest acclimated to the outside, and then later that year got the females fixed just before they hit sexual maturity. Since they were raised indoor, all of them are perfectly friendly.

So that left one female cat. The only cat without a name because I can only think of rude things to call her. Every year she would have a litter, 3-4, and then start bringing them around for food. I’d catch the kittens, try the bait thing, fail because as soon as she saw me with them she’d be like “they’re gone now, so sad” and abandon them. So then I’d raise the kittens, fix any females, and she would come back later that year with a new litter.

Last year though, in the summer, I was finally able to catch the kittens at an age where she still wanted to rescue them. And after a few weeks, I was finally able to use a combination of food and the kittens as bait and use the sting-on-the-door trick.

Then, since it was good weather, I just put an old chick cage (No bottom, so they had grass) end to end with a big dog crate, which gave the kittens enough room to run around and grow properly and was big enough to keep mama cat from going stir crazy. I put a tarp over half of it, along with one of those storage bin cat houses so they had plenty of shelter, and just kept them there a few weeks until I could get the mama fixed and the un-adopted kittens into a shelter, since by then it was clear they’re been born too late in the year to make it through winter if it got as cold as it usually did.

So, not sure if any of that has any helpful ideas for you, but I’m kinda glad to know I’m not the only one being out-smarted by a cat! And finally catching her after a year was soooo satisfying!

We’ve had a cat fiasco

[chaotic-archaeologist]

So to make a long story semi short; during fall term a couple unknowing found a set of mastodon teeth and brought to my anthropology professor at the college, since then they conducted some field work and found more bone. They obviously stopped because of winter but in summer the college will be offering a field work class to go help at the site. I want to do that, but as mentioned before I have Cerebral Palsy which means I don't have a lot of upper body strength or flexibility. But I can still do a lot. My I guess problem is my Professors respect me and that's hard for me to get with all the ableism and I worked hard these last two semesters to break out of my shell to get here , I guess I just don't want to 1. make a fool of myself 2. be a hindrance and/or mess something up

any advice?

This sounds like an incredible opportunity, and I would definitely encourage you to pursue it! I hear your concerns about embarrassing yourself and being a hindrance, but I think you should reframe your thinking around facts that 1) everybody deserves learning experiences regardless of their physical ability, and 2) there are things you can do that will be an asset to the excavation.

Some of these things include taking notes and photographs, documenting and storing finds, and working with any digital tools like GPS units. You may also be able to do lab work and different kinds of analysis, depending on what they find and how they run the program. A good supervisor (although not all are created equal) will be willing to work with you to come up with a plan for how you can participate and what that will look like.

Usually, classes like this have applications where students list their relevant coursework and write a brief personal statement about why they want to participate. There are a couple of ways you could go about this in regards to disclosing your disability and seeking accommodations. You can either:

Disclose early: this would entail including something about your disability in your personal statement, in an email to the professor running the dig, etc.

Disclose later: submit your application without mentioning your disability. Feel free to mention how hard you've worked to get where you are, and if you want to talk about vague challenges with your health as part of that, it's up to you. If you are accepted to the dig, ask for a meeting with the supervisor where you can then explain your needs and what you are able to do.

Generally, I advise erring on the side of disclosing later rather than earlier. As I'm sure you're aware, prejudice and implicit bias are unfortunately a thing, and sometimes the only way to protect yourself from those impeding your application is to withhold information (although obviously this isn't an option if the professor already knows you). Additionally, you have legal protections against discrimination that are much easier to enforce after you have been accepted.

That being said, I've been heartened to see that more and more people in archaeology spaces are thinking about what accessibility means in field settings and how to include people with disabilities.—perhaps this is also the case with whoever is running this dig. Archaeology is for everyone, and there are many roles in an excavation for someone who can't do physical labor.

Finally, I'll close with some resources that might be helpful.

The Disabled Archaeologists Network: while I don't think they have a ton of programming for undergraduates (yet), membership is free and can put you in touch with

Field Tested: an article about a disabled student who was able to participate in a geology field school (similar levels of work to an archaeology one). It discusses some of the accommodations the student needed, and what they were able to do.

Here's an article by Dr. Anita Marshall, the professor who ran that accessible field school. Its content isn't substantially different from the one I linked above, but at the end it also cites some good literature about accessibility in field work. You should be able to access a lot of those publications through your institution's library or @jstor's free (or institutional) service.

Good luck, -Reid

[peaterookie]

I made some designs of the lupgang if they were in the world of kirby, and attempted to draw them in the style of the KSSU's key artwork!

More tidbits about their story and design will be revealed after I show the art

beware it is very long

LUPIN DEE THIRD

Lupin, or Lupin Dee Third as I call this character, is a Key Dee, a class of Waddle Dees you commonly see in KRTDL carrying a key as part of a puzzle. The reason I chose this guy over the typical Waddle Dee is because he has the monki-est design out of all dees, and I find that the fact it holds a key for any gate is pretty fitting for Lupin since he can surpass any challenges, no matter how impossible it seems.

His jacket color can be any of the ones in canon, but I chose green to be the main color he sports since it's a good reflection of the Kirby series. A lot of the locations are taken from nature and the peaceful and joyful themes lends the green jacket fitting very nicely. Red is too much of an aggressive color, while pink and blue don't seem as fitting either. Also, I wanted the jacket to share the same color as the money in the illustration, it's much less work if there's less color...!

Lupin Dee Third is a famous thief that travels across different planets to steal whatever he pleases. Often it is extremely valuable objects belonging to very pretigious or powerful people, which makes him become one of the most wanted criminals in Gamble Galaxy. He stores all of the things he's stolen in a secret place where nobody has found yet.

His combat capabilities is not much to be desired, so he relies heavily on the other members of his team to fight for him. However, he has the special ability to take an ability from another person and use it himself. It is not to the extent of Kirby's ability where he can use it as long as he likes and has full mastery over it, but it comes in the form of short bursts such as pouring a stream of water using the Water ability, or propelling himself into the air for a short moment with the Jet ability. He has an arsenal of these abilities kept in his backpockets at all times, so whenever you think you've cornered him, he always has a last minute surprise for you.

MR. DOOMENSION

Jigen, or Mr. Doomension, is a Waddle Doo with a goofy beard. There wasn't much thought behind my decision to make him a Doo iirc, I saw that it would fit to have him be a species that is a counterpart of Lupin's, since in canon they have pretty similar designs. The one eye makes him more menacing and mysterious anyway so it kinda just works lol

Since I wanted his body to be black, his clothes had to be a different color to appear striking. Thus, I've chosen blue, since its a rightfully common color to use for Jigen, and the accent as orange, the complimentary color for blue. Lastly, the shoes being black and shiny makes him appear much more professional and cool than Lupin, which he totally is.

Mr. Doomension primarily fights with his gun instead of using his eyes to fire his beams. He's always had an affinity to them when he was young, as he claims it allows him to focus and fire more accurate and powerful shots. Though he does load bullets in them, he is able to channel his beams through these guns as well. I'd like to believe that Waddle Doos can channel their beams through other body parts or objects (like Kirby) but choose to use their eyes since it's the biggest part of their body, thus more convenient. Mr. Doomension is built different however.

Much like in canon, he first met Lupin during an attempt to assassinate him for money. In Lupin fashion he ends up befriending the person that tried to kill him and they became close partners in crime, with Jigen always backing him up even in the toughest situations.

COMET RONIN / GOEMON

Goemon Ishikawa's kirby design has multiple names. He is commonly referred to as the Comet Ronin, since a famous story told of him cutting a giant comet into pieces to save a town. His real name is Goemon, but few know this name- or anything about him for that matter. He travels alone from town to town, fully cloaked so no one can see his face, requests food and shelter for the night, and disappears the next day. It was like that for years, until Lupin stole something that caught his eye.

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ayeee its goemon time. He has two versions of his design because he is that cool.

When first thinking of concepts, I knew I wanted to design him in a way where he is able to resemble one of Kirby's multiple knight characters, but also still be able to look like his friendly and cute manga design. I decided to lean much more into his ninja-ronin-like inspirations, since the kirby series very often likes to be straightforward with their designs. I gave him the straw hat that he wore in Fuma Conspiracy to cover his head, and made his hakama into a cape that he can use to cover the bottom half of his body. The rest are typical japanese stuff. The artwork I drew for his cloaked form tries make him look as imposing and mysterious as possible. You know nothing about him, you have no idea what he is capable of.

---

Lupin recently stole another priced object: The Ryusei, a sword forged by meteorites, an heirloom from a family long forgotten from history. It seems like an ordinary sword at first sight, but if a member from the family wield it, they would unlock the power to cut anything. It ended up being sealed away due to the fear of that power being end up in the wrong hands. Goemon's life mission was to reclaim that sword for his family for the greater good, and now that blasted thief has gotten it!!! From then on Lupin and Doomension were always being chased by the Comet Ronin for reasons completely unknown for them, and eventually the ronin succeeds in taking back that sword, along with taking out the thieves for good... or did he?

The two thieves thankfully survived, but their car did not!! It was sliced in half by the ronin, and now they will be the one coming to him with vengeance. Taking the opportunity to take back the sword while Goemon's guard is down, the two get to see his real face and both sides fight it out, unbridled with anger. Thankfully after pummeling each other with their little nubs, they talk it out and come to an understanding. Goemon gets his sword back and the gang gets some money to repair their car, and they become friends yayyyyy

---

So for Goemon's real form, I decided to have his body purple to match the color of Ninja Kirby from KSSU. His hair is a little nod to Discarded Character-kun (the hairball MP draws), and the eyes are much different than the usual type you see from puffball characters. I wanted him to still appear youthful and cute but have a determined look in his eyes, so I used the eyes that Bronto Burt and Burnin Leo has to better show that.

Also, he is supposed to have white wings with black tipped feather, but I sorta forgot to draw that so I might upload future sketches that go further into little details about their designs, where I'll draw his wings then.

If you read the entire thing- that's fucking wild dude this is so long, but thank you!!! and I hope you enjoyed it!! byebye

[cyanwyrmy]

💌📭Oh, I like Eddie so much in your performance, I adore this big boy, can we find out more information about his moms? (sorry if there are any mistakes, I'm writing through a translator)

Hello! Thank you for the ask! Just a reminder before I talk more about them, Jeanie and Evelyn are NOT CANON in the official Welcome Home lore and they are just fan-made concepts of who Eddie’s parents could be. I’m sure Clown has plans for Eddie’s family that will be shown in a future updates!

Jeanie Dear (Left) and Evelyn Dear (Right) are a married couple living in a city far from where they grew up. Jeanie is a writer and comic artist for a newspaper, and Evelyn is a mail carrier. The pair have been friends since childhood and grew up in a small southern town where they struggled to express themselves. I have some unfinished sketches of Jeanie and Evelyn as kids that I might share in the future, but for now I’d say the were similar to Carl and Ellie from Up: Jeanie was a shy and artistic kid who kept to herself, while Evelyn was outgoing and had no trouble standing up to bullies.

Perhaps I’ll share more later, but that’s good for right now. Please enjoy this cute newly wed drawing inspired by the “I love my wife!!!” Meme

[bonaesperanza]

I saw a similar post that I can't find right now where one of the replies introduced the concept of narrative porosity.

Basically, it's not about how good the piece of media is, it's about how many threads it leaves for you to pick up and follow up on (or how many holes it has for you to fill, hence the word "porosity"). A sort of fandom equivalent to affordances in developmental psych.

If a piece of media has resolved all its character arcs and subplots and dealt satisfyingly with all its narrative themes it leaves you nothing to do. It's all tied in a bow and you can't add anything without ruining it. Lots of more highbrow media is like that because these are things something like, say, litfic or an Oscar bait movie cares about: it has a small number of characters but their psyches are explored to exhaustion and the themes are usually done well because that's litfic's Thing. (That's what makes it good, while Fast & Furious is beloved less for its intricate characterization and more for its excellent car chase sequences.)

OTOH a CW show will have straggling plot threads and characters that appear and disappear ad hoc and themes that get dropped after two seasons and minor characters that are given certain traits for variety but that turn out to have fascinating psychological implications. Mediocre media has lots of threads to pick up on because it's shoddily made and therefore undersaturated with meaning by default.

BUT that's not the only way to have narrative porosity.

Worldbuilding that only hints at certain areas of the world or gives loads of information you can expand on also increases narrative porosity because that also gives you threads to pick up on. You wouldn't call LOTR mediocre but it has a huge fandom for exactly this reason - you get to flesh out all the random blorbos from the appendices or whatever.

This is also why media dealing with institutions and hierarchies and life within them does well - it gives you scaffolding to create your own iterations on those contexts, e.g. making your own Jedi or wizard or shinigami or waterbender OC or writing about the previous or next generation or whatever. The worldbuilding is basically a grid template where only the boxes for the main characters have been filled. OTOH if I wanted to write fic for, say, the movie Anora, I can only do that by featuring the characters of Anora, otherwise it's just a story set in New York.

Having a plot-oriented piece of media means that in-depth exploration of the characters' psyche doesn't fit the genre/format, but if your thing lasts more than like three hours your characters will behave in ways and react to things and if you've made them even the least bit humanlike that can be inferred to hint at hidden depths. Tantalizing glimpses of more complex characterizations that are never paid off in canon also create porosity, because they also leave unaddressed straggling threads. There's tension there, room for a theme or a character arc that the OG writer(s) haven't put in.

I'd argue that having characters and plots fit into easily comprehensible archetypes that are relatively detached from the setting also fits because it gives you AU potential. I recently had a talk on an ASOIAF discord server about how difficult it'd be to make a modern AU version of Theon Greyjoy, because his entire personality and mindset have been shaped by the medieval institution of sending relatives as hostages to guarantee your good behavior it'd be very hard to transplant that without losing a huge chunk of his character and motivations. OTOH more universal character beats or traits: abusive parents, star crossed love, overachieving, yearning for adventure, etc. are easier to play with by making various iterations across various settings. Luke Skywalker could be a random dude from Appalachia and he could have all the character beats from the OG movies - yearning for adventure, coming into his own, encountering his estranged father who turns out to be a dick. This can happen in Ancient Greece or in Alberta, Canada or in the Horn of Africa.

The dissatisfaction people talk about is recognizing that picking up some of the threads I described above would have made for a stronger work, or at least one more interesting to you. They're unresolved and frustratingly so, they're an annoying empty hole asking you to fill it. There's a connection that could be made but wasn't. The work isn't saturated enough with meaning, or a specific thread you care about a lot hasn't been addressed.

You can also connect the work's unresolved threads with other threads inside your head - e.g. I think I would make blorbo happy (readerfic) or I think blorbo would get along with character from fandom Y or whatever. E.g. I'm obsessed with the idea of a modern AU of The Count of Monte Cristo, because I see a novel written by a mixed race man about a man twisted by unjust imprisonment and I think about the modern prison industrial complex and what it does to minorities, and I also see the lavish wish fulfillment descriptions of fast boats and cool clothes and lavish furniture and people being judged on "taste" and I think about the cottage industry that analyzes every expensive object that's ever appeared in Succession and I think a Monte Cristo modern AU would be a crowdpleaser that I would LOVE to see. That's a thread I've connected to something entirely outside the original novel that's relevant and fun to me.

OTOH I think there's a type of work that says very little in the actual text but wields its blank spaces so masterfully that you get this feeling that trying to fill them would make everything worse. The blank spaces already have meanings.

Challengers for example - a lot of its artistry is in expertly wielding the tension, in choosing what to show you and where to cut off. It does feel saturated with meaning even though it leaves so much unsaid because the "narrative whitespace" takes on a meaning of its own, like the arrow in the FedEx logo can only possibly be an arrow. It's hands down my favourite movie of the year, but I'm lowkey kind of scared to look up fic for it in case I ruin it somehow. I feel like extending the narrative beyond the movie's ending would make things less thematically resolved, like adding things to the FedEx logo might.

A lot of my favourite book series play with unreliable narrators and characters' perceptions and what is said and what is implied, and it feels almost crass to break up the way the whitespace in them is set up. I dunno, it feels like easy pickings to write a fic explicitly describing how the Regent abused Laurent from CaPri, or Gen and Irene's first night as a couple for Queen's Thief, or Lymond breaking down emotionally for the Lymond Chronicles. Like circling the FedEx arrow with a red pen and writing "arrow underneath". It kind of kills the tension, because you can already make out the shape of the missing piece from the canon, and writing it point blank kills the delicious tension in it, and perhaps even obscures the meaning and characterisation that was built into the way certain things were not said.

Sorry for the wall of text this is just a really fascinating subject for me

also this might be an unpopular opinion, but i think MOST people are actually completely able to "consume" a piece of a media without anaylzing it through a shipping lense, but i just think they than aren't likely to be posting that analysis on archiveofourown. i think for the most people what's happening is that people are like. going on fandom websites and communities and getting really annoyed they're seeing too much yaoi or whatever, and it's like there's alot of fast food at mcdonalds too, i'm sure the people eating there don't have anything else going on in there lives either

[inexplicifics]

I just read Maiden Knight:

1) Beyond being just as amazing as all your writing is, I absolutely love the similarities Knight!Milena has with all the others - an open, generous heart, lots of courage, and a softly wicked sense of humor.

2) I'm now ferally spiraling over the idea of our favorite Cat (Aiden) rescuing a surprisingly-tall and deep-voiced noble lady from some tragedy, only to discover the Lady is physically a man - Aleksandra (Sasha) of Velen, who was legally raised as a girl Because Reasons (I'm imagining something about him and his twin sister getting put in the wrong robes for their ceremonial Naming, so he was Named as a girl, and his twin sister was Named the boy and heir - in a world where magic is real I imagine those Namings have some relation to, like, divine right of inheritance and the health of the land. As the sister died of a childhood illness and he has two younger brothers the succession is secure anyway, and it turns out he prefers more stereotypically feminine activities anyway, so it worked out - or it would have if his bastard of a grandfather wasn't an asshole about it), and who finds his rescuer very appealing. Fast forward to Lambert and Aiden's annual rendezvous/story swap on the Path (best weirdest story wins a bottle of Gull) and, well. Roggeven and Velen may be on opposite ends of the country *and* the political spectrum, but an alliance would still benefit both. And if Roggeven becomes a stop-over for *two* Witchers, at least they'll never have a monster problem again.

Okay this would be hilarious and delightful, actually. Sasha and Milena would probably have a great deal of fun messing with everyone's heads! And as a duke's "granddaughter" Sasha would have learned a great deal about managing a duchy, so it would be a good match both politically and logically.

[thanosscross]

Some head-cannons from the baby series to hold you lovelies over while I’m at work <3

*anytime Seung Hyun is around you after your performance with him he’s a blushing mess, only remembering how close your bodies were the last half of the night

*their fans would be iffy at first about how closely you were with T.O.P during the performance, not recognizing you at first they would be hella protective over the BigBang member

*the more they’d tour the more Seung Hyun would sneakily lay hints about needing a new back-up dancer for their shows

*you’d occasionally say yes, always loving the way his face would light up whenever you’d come out in a costume similar to his, all for him

*on stage Seung Hyun was always cocky with you, pulling you around, moving your body how he wanted while you danced but at home he’s the exact opposite after performances

*after all of the screaming and loudness going silent, it’d leave Seung Hyun overwhelmed and overstimulated, so he’d try and keep his distance from everybody while trying to be polite at the same time

*you’d of course take notice and take him off to the side, helping him in any way you could before you all went out to celebrate the tour

*After you two got together anytime you’d go to a club Seung Hyun would make sure to stay close to you, only giving you distance whenever he was drunk, and that was only if one of the boys were standing right next to you

*Drunk Seung Hyun was a sass king whenever you were around, sauntering around the dance floor and V.I.P section as he’d give you sass with anything you’d say

*”I love you baby but please sit down”

*”I don’t need to sit down, I like standing, I’m hot standing you know it” he’d reply, his tone dripping with sass as he’d walk away

*you’d just chase after him giggling, pulling you back to your friends

*After getting home from the club you’d basically become their nurse if you were sober enough, helping them all to the couch before dealing with your drunk friends.

*Handling drunk Seung Hyun was easy if you could handle the sassy come backs and the constant demand for you to drink with him

*handling all 4 of them? That was a completely different story.

*While Tae-Yang and Seung Hyun would be back and forth arguing Dae-Sung would be trying to drink even more, Ji-Yong laying sprawled out on the couch with his hand on his face fanning it dramatically as he repeated that he was drunk.

*you’d spend the night chasing after them all, eventually getting them all to their rooms you were left with a sassy, drunk, sleepy Seung Hyun.

*Seung hyun would get sensitive whenever it was just the two of you drinking, finding you wherever you were before pulling you into a tight hug, resting his head on top of yours while he reminded you how much he loved you

*”You just..care about each one of us in our own eyes, you love us all and yet you only look at me” that’s how you knew he was about to start ranting and you’d be unable to do anything else for the rest of the night

*you learned the hard way after about the third time he got drunk with you alone that you couldn’t turn your back to him while he was like this, it would break his heart resulting in tears from him

*You’d just hug him back rubbing his back as he attempted to sway back and forth while extremely drunk

*”you’re pretty like the sun..doing..sun stuff” he’d mumble after you’d finally get him into bed, pulling you onto him as he laid underneath the covers.

*You’d hold him for the rest of the night after that, waiting until he fell asleep to tell him you loved him back

-

*whenever you were drunk it was quite the opposite

*Seung Hyun would watch you throughout the night, the minute he’d realize you were near blacking out he’d rush everybody home

*you weren’t a constant drinker but you could hold your alcohol and had a pretty good tolerance, so if you were blacking out it meant the boys were far past blacking out

*whenever he’d get everybody inside, you’d be a fight on its own, waiting outside patiently for Seung Hyun to come grab your hand and lead you inside

*that’s how you got the nickname princess with him, anytime you got drunk with him, you’d demand to be treated like one

*You weren’t ashamed by it, not whenever Seung Hyun constantly talked about how cute it was, or how much he liked treating you like one

*whenever you’d all go inside Dae-Sung would immediately start making more drinks for everybody much to Seung Hyun disliking

*Your face would quickly change his mind though as he watched you grab your glass from his friend before making your way back to him

*He’d always hold your glass while you were drinking, unless you were taking an actual drink, you’d find your glass or cup in your boyfriends hand

*you really wouldn’t be a struggle while drunk, unless the boys started making challenges and dares, that’s whenever he’d start to worry about you

*drunk you would never turn down either, wanting to prove you were a badass

*if they did start daring each other to do stupid things he’d take you upstairs to the room, helping you into the shower to help get any sweat or remaining makeup you had from the club off of you

*he’d be the most respectful while helping you shower, boyfriend or not, you were drunk and needed help, not sex.

*he’d ghost his hands over you whenever he’d help you stand, if you needed more than that he’d grasp your hand, holding it in the air to keep his hands from touching any intimate areas.

*Seung Hyun would help you into bed, holding you until you fell asleep before going to care for the rest of his drunk friends.

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[tyrianluda]

i think if i actually went to complain about hazbin hotel / helluva boss and the unreadable character designs, it would look like this.