#also personal notes because this is more reliable than paper

[scuderia-eunoia]

☾ the crown that weighs heavy | KA12

starring: prince!kimi antonelli x mercenary!reader in which: you're a hired gun. a good one, at that. normally, you'd have no problem eliminating just about anybody; but your latest target proves to be more difficult than you expected. wc: 2.6k includes: enemies to lovers, no established relationship, might have a part 2 but im still not too sure, use of kimi's first name (andrea), kimi is loosely (i mean VERY LOOSELY) inspired by maven calore from the red queen series. english is not my first language! warnings: none notes: this has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute because i haven't really. cleaned them out. and partly bc im not really satisfied with the ending soo... but that might mean i'll make a part 2 soon (??) idk. let me know. also, this is pretty old (aka my writing is significantly worse) so i kinda hate it and you, dear reader, may or may not hate it as well- this is your warning.. haha.. anyway, enjoy!

The chill of the night sky sends a shiver down your spine. The entire city is quiet at this hour, asleep and resting for the coming day. But you’re wide awake. Your door doesn’t make a sound as you sneak out into the back alleys, leaving not even a speck of dust in your wake.

You landed a gig today. And it was big.

The requester was anonymous. They sent only a singular piece of paper with the details of your target, along with a sack of gold enough to feed an entire generation. You almost thought it was a scam when you first saw it— especially when you read who they were asking for.

Crown Prince Andrea. Kill him in the next month. I’ll send more gold tomorrow if it isn’t enough.

You didn’t know what was more absurd. The amount of money sitting right in front of you, or this request.

The crown prince was, well, a big deal— if his title didn’t suggest as much. He was the heir to the entire kingdom, a future king awaiting his birthright— which just so happened to be a month from now. You realize, then, what the request was implying: an elimination of the heir.

This wasn’t just any request. You’d be directly involving yourself in a case that plunge the kingdom into chaos.

The crown prince was the only eligible child to be in line for the throne His sister was too young, and there had been rumors circling about how the king didn’t want his daughter to rule even if she came to be of age. You weren’t one to indulge in palace drama, so it wasn’t like you cared about the inner politics about the kingdom. But this piece of paper and whoever was behind it was forcing you to.

You opened the brown sack carefully. Inside, piles and piles of gold coins twinkled back at you. It was an amount you had never seen in your life. To be able to amass this much would be impossible for someone like you in the lower class— but whoever this person was could easily bring it and deliver it to you as if it was nothing. You knew, then, that this person truly wanted the prince dead— and they had the money to make sure he is.

It wasn’t like you were some shoddy mercenary. Your name was popular among the market of hired hands, regarded as someone reliable and who can always get the job done. If clients wanted an elimination so quick that it almost looks like a disappearance, you were the one to call. It’s because of your quality of service that you tend to charge higher than the average price, which most of your clients happily pay for. But this person— whoever they were— was different. You felt it. It wasn’t just the price they were wavering— it was the target.

Who could be insane enough to target the prince? It’s not like he had committed some kind of secret felony that the entire kingdom wasn’t aware of.

But as you looked at the pile of gold coins and the piece of paper again, you realize that it doesn’t matter— not yet, at least. At the end of the day, you were just a third party in every story. A hired hand that helps for their own gain, who erases themselves from the narrative as soon as the job is done. It didn’t matter who or what it was— you were part of the shadows, and this was no different.

Which brings you here now, jumping across roofs across the night as you made a beeline for the royal palace. The moon cloaks you in darkness, with its light shining down on just the right places to give you vantage as you navigate through the sleeping village.

Soon enough, you arrived at the palace, hiding in the shadows as you climbed up into the balconies. Your client sent more details a few days after they sent the initial request— a map that showed the entire palace layout, inside and out, along with a detailed list of palace protocol that the prince had to follow. It audited his entire schedule— when he woke up, possible times of the day where he’d go out to see the public, his free time. You had never received this much information about a target all at once; the most you’d get would be a few pictures of their whereabouts in the past 12 hours, and maybe a few witness testimonies if you were lucky. But this was all on a different level. It made you wonder if whoever made the request had an insider in the palace— or if they were the insider themselves.

You chose to target the prince at night. According to the schedule, he should be free during this night and frequents the balcony during this hour. Your client mentioned that he doesn’t bring bodyguards with him after sundown— a peculiar choice— but an advantageous, nonetheless. The polished marble of the palace balcony is cold when you grab onto it, and you grunt as you launch yourselves upwards.

The evening air is cold against your face when you’re finally able to climb onto the balcony. You tuck yourself behind one of the marble walls, looking around your surroundings. The palace balcony was decorated with plants lining the railings, as polished pillars towered over the entire area. It cast a shadow over certain corners of the balcony, which were perfect for you to sneak around in.

You almost think that your guess is wrong and that the prince wasn’t here tonight— until you see a shadow emerge from inside of the palace. You step closer to the darkness as you look at him from the shadows.

Crown Prince Andrea approached the marble railings as the moonlight poured over him— regal and refined. His sharp eyes looked onto the horizon as he stood unmoving in the center of the balcony, detached from the world he was just in seconds ago.

From your place in the darkness, you drink him in. Curly hair, long eyelashes, an aura of indifference surrounding him. He was dressed in more casual clothing, his simple dress shirt bearing a contrast to the usual royal blue and black that he wears whenever you see him in the town square with his family. He isn’t wearing his crown either; without it, he has the silhouette of an ordinary boy.

The air suddenly feels colder. The bustle of the palace becomes silent. Everything is still, as if the world had finished preparing the scene for your strike and the prince’s final moments. You tighten your grip on your blade as you calm your beating heart. In all of your missions, you have never felt remorse for your targets. They were disposable, which explained why your client even hired you, you’d always think. Why would you feel sorry? You were just a hired blade.

But as you stepped closer and closer to the prince, slowly revealing yourself from the cradle of the shadows, an unexplainable feeling begins building up in your stomach. It crawled its way into your heart, making you bleed an emotion you didn’t know— pity? Sadness? Disappointment?

The blade in your hand twinkles against the moonlight. Did you actually feel bad for the prince? It wasn’t like he did anything wrong, you thought— what could he have possibly done that would make someone want him dead? From what you’ve seen of him; he’s been nothing but a kind and humble soul. He always smiled at the townspeople, worked hard to become a suitable heir to the throne, and whatever else the stories of him said.

But you had no time to think of this. Not now, when you raise your hand to cover his mouth as you pin him against the wall and away from the curtained doors leading back into the palace. He squirms under your grasp, and as you turn him towards you to sink the knife into his skin—

You freeze.

Sharp, almond eyes stare at you, shock and fear tainting his features. Your grip almost loosens when you meet his gaze, but your knife remains steady. It sits just below his chin, close enough to the skin of his neck that any more movement could tear it apart and slit his throat.

The words come out before you even know what they are. “Don’t move.”

A drop of sweat trickles down his forehead, dripping down onto his exposed collarbone. You follow it with your eyes, mouth slightly agape as you stare at his bare skin. You flick your gaze back at him.

“If you move even an inch, you’re dead.” You whisper, leaning into him. His eyes widened at that, but after a moment, his fearful stare dissolves into something calmer— he goes still, and you frown.

You weren’t unfamiliar with depressed targets— people who just accepted their fate after you ended them— but the prince was looking at you knowingly, as if he was aware of something you weren’t. It unsettled you, and your hand over his mouth slips ever so slightly.

Before you could press him against the wall again, the prince grabs the knife in your hand and gently drops it to the ground. The metal barely makes a sound as it falls— it was a custom blade made to be silent upon your request— and your heart skips.

You blink. Once. Twice. By this point, you would have already switched tactics and strangled him right then and there, clean up the possible fingertips you’d leave behind later, and get the job done. But now, you were staring at him dumbfoundedly as your grip on him loosened with every passing second.

His eyes unsettled you. His gaze was piercing, almost as if he was staring right through you. That knowing look never left his face even as he placed his hand over yours, gently lifting it from his mouth and back to your side. You were frozen still the entire time— the prince’s stare leaving you completely immobilized. You could hear your heart ringing in your ears now.

“I know you,” He whispered, tilting his head ever so slightly. His voice sends a shiver down your spine as you stiffened up. Your mind screamed at you— grab the knife and just stab him— but your heartbeat was louder than any other thought in your head. There was that feeling again from earlier— the way your stomach tied itself into a knot, the melancholy that clouded your judgement, and the split second where you felt a mix of pity, sadness, and disappointment— it was all coming back.

You stared at him. Your breath hitched in your throat when you meet his gaze. “What?”

“You’re that mercenary girl, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widened. Panic washes over you, and familiar instincts kick in. You grab both of his hands and press his back against the wall again, eyes burning with fury. But you don’t do anything more. You don’t break his hands or slam him against the marble. Instead, you open your mouth to speak. “How do you know that?”

He doesn’t move against your grip. You wonder if it’s not tight enough or if he’s got a loose screw when he replies, “My family told me about you.”

He smiled as he said it, and your brain short circuits for a split second. Your grip on him tightens, and you feel your judgement slowly bury itself away. “Shut up.”

“You were going to kill me, weren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Why haven’t you?”

Your jaw clenched. You couldn’t answer that. Questions swirled in your mind— why didn’t you? Your knife is still on the ground, and your grip on his hands doesn’t tighten or loosen. You don’t bruise his wrists or knock him out cold. You just look at him.

“You know,” He began, “I could pay you more than whoever told you to do this.”

You frowned. “And why should I?”

“Do you want to kill me?”

The question hung in the air like a blade. You blinked. Did you? You thought about that moment of hesitation you had as you snuck up behind him earlier— was that because you didn’t actually want to kill the prince? Did you feel for him? Was that why your knife felt heavier? Questions that haunted and clouded your judgement continued to conquer your mind, as the answers to them all felt farther and farther away.

That’s when you hear it. The slightest shuffle from the inside of the palace, along with hushed whispers. A feminine voice called from within- “Andrea? Where are you?”

The prince looked at you then. He didn’t say anything as he looked into your eyes, his amber gaze staring right into your soul and the inner conflict that you battled within yourself.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, your grip on his wrists immediately loosen and you push off him like fire. Your skin burns under a sensation that was never there— and deep down, a part of you mourns the bygone warmth. You looked over to the door. “Who was that?”

“My mom,” he said.

You sucked in a breath. You couldn’t kill him now. You wasted too much time talking to the person you were supposed to kill, for God’s sake— and now, the opportunity is gone. You expected to feel disappointed in yourself for letting a target go like this, but you didn’t. In fact, you felt something completely different: you felt relieved.

You didn’t want to believe the prince’s words. That you were unsure of killing him, or if you even wanted to at all. You knew yourself better than anyone, so who was this guy to make you think otherwise?

You didn’t have time to ponder over it any longer when you hear slow, cautious footsteps approach your direction in the shadows. You’re already preparing to take off into the night when the prince calls out— “wait,”

Your better judgement betrays you as you immediately halt to a stop when you hear his voice. You had your back turned to him now, and you didn’t want to look over your shoulder to see him— it made you scared, and you didn’t know why.

“What?”

“Will you come back?” he asked.

“Of course I will. I’m still going to kill you.” It sounded more like a reassurance for yourself rather than a threat.

“Okay, then.”

A beat. And then, he says, as if he wasn’t even afraid of you or the possibility of your blade sinking into his skin, “I’m Kimi, by the way.”

You scoffed, still not turning to look at him. “Don’t get personal with me, prince.”

Unbeknownst to you, he smiles. “If you say so.”

The feminine voice calls out again: “Andrea?”

You don’t hear Kimi reply anymore. You’re already jumping across the roofs again, riding the evening chill as you took off into the night. You’re faster on your feet compared to before— almost as if you were running from something or someone. You swore you heard the castle howl in the distance as you pulled further and further away, leaving behind the fleeting memory of the prince and his piercing gaze.

[beigetiger]

More writing-based notes for scenes I want to put in Where the Wild Things Go when I get back to my computer:

- Go back and input a scene talking about why the Hummingbird wants to leave their parents permanently, preferably by showcasing the parent’s attitude towards Wild Things.

- Go back and show more of the Hummingbird adjusting to living in a forest and the culture that goes along with it, probably before the Hummingbird has their full transformation and they’re still living with the Spider alongside the other young Wild Things

- Show the Hummingbird learning to craft a spear that they can use in hunting and learning how to use said spear.p

- Show how the Wild Things typically survive in the wintertime, since large farmland is pretty much impossible given the circumstances. As a result, the Wild Things are more social with each other and hunt in groups to ensure that nobody dies of cold and that everyone gets to eat.

- The Hummingbird creating a place to live, possibly sharing a living space or living nearby the Cyclopean Feline, basically finding the materials to decorate it and make it livable.

- Show a different winter, and a much harsher one, where a group of Wild Things are nearly shot to death after chasing some sort of animal into the field near the Civilized Society. This leads to a Civilized Person leaving a couple bags of food near the edge of the forest, which leads to a debate about whether or not the food is safe to take or if it’s been poisoned/if they’ll be shot upon entering the field to grab the food. But desperation leads the Hummingbird to go out and grab the bags before quickly retreating to the forest.

- The Hummingbird, now a much better flier, doing air trickshots through the trees alongside other flying Wild Things.

- The Cyclopean Feline adopting a young Wild Thing (maybe 12-13?) and the Hummingbird agreeing to co-raise the kid with them. The kid is probably on-par with a griffon but has the front half of a tiger and the back half (including the wings) of a dragon. Basically show them raising and interacting with the kid.

- The Hummingbird unwisely getting near the Civilized Society and spotting a partially transformed kid inside the wall who is being chased. Hummingbird then dives down, grabs the kid, and flies away with them, which causes a ruckus within the wall and gets the Hummingbird in vague trouble when they get back.

- Another average day in the Hummingbird’s life now that they’re slightly older and a more functional adult, plus them checking in on the now fully-transformed Wild Thing they saved. They also fly around with the Tiger-Dragon.

- The Civilized Society getting more and more aggressive towards the Wild Place, which eventually leads to a party of them going out to capture Wild Things. They nearly capture the Tiger-Dragon, who’s probably around 16-17 at this point, but the Hummingbird saves them and gets captured instead.

- The Hummingbird is caged inside the wall and meets an old classmate of theirs, who is their jailer. The classmate recognizes them and is horrified by their transformation, but the Hummingbird eventually convinced them to unlock the cell and let the Hummingbird fly away.

- Civilized Society continues to be aggressive, which causes more and more Wild Things to leave the forest in search of somewhere better. The Hummingbird, Cyclopean Feline, and Tiger-Dragon stay as long as they can, but eventually also choose to leave together in search of somewhere safer. The Spider, however, opts to stay so it can continue to care for young Wild Things. The family wishes it luck and then leaves.

- Show a couple different places that the family travel to and see if it’s a good fit for them, leaving for various reasons. They do, however, eventually find a place they like and decide to stay. They then have to learn to adjust to this new place and to having fewer Wild Things around.

- The three of them continue to live their lives and they all slowly get older. They also reminisce along the way about the Wild Place, and the many creatures who lived there alongside them.

- Eventually, the Hummingbird and Cyclopean Feline are quite old and struggle to do many tasks, but are still relatively happy and enjoy their life together, especially since the Tiger-Dragon is capable of caring for them. The Hummingbird does eventually die (although not of violent causes), and dies looking up at the sky and seeing the birds flying around.

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes]

coney island | bucky barnes

summary: on the day of the election, you find bucky at his safe place and he shows you, his assistant friend around.

warnings: kissing, tooth rotting fluff, angst (if you squint) <3 + sexual tension; bucky is a sweetheart; both are down bad for each other; insecure bucky (?) kinda; i made shit up about coney island, i have never been there, sorry; a LOT of obsession over eyes; use of pet names (doll, sweetheart, sweets); no use of y/n; misuse of political jargon? author is clueless about political jargon lol; author thinks the ending is bad; I AM SHIT AT WRITING SUMMARIES SORRY!

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x assistant!reader

author's note: this is kind of inspired by @dreamwritesimagines lovely series Declassified and its 6th chapter, but its still completely different. but do give Declassfied a read, because it is my favourite congressman bucky fic! i'm sorry if the ending is weird :/ I worked literally two weeks for this fic, pls show some love!

words: 7.2k (my creativity has been sucked out of me)

masterlist | for my other works <3

divider by @toastray

Bucky Barnes didn’t have time for love.

It’s what he believed; It's what he let everyone believe; It’s what you witnessed everyday.

You knew how tight his schedules were; You knew how much work had to be done; You knew how much stress burdened him. He had absurdly timed meetings, endless galas, campaigns that he had to take care of. The whole Valentina thing didn’t help him either. He had too many things on his mind and you noticed how it affected him. His pretty blue eyes would go dimmer, his left shoulder would start to ache more and you don’t even know how many hours he slept during the night. 

Actually. You knew. 

It was your job to know. To understand how many hours he slept because those eyebags didn’t do well during interviews; to understand how cranky he was going to get during the day so that you could schedule meetings with the more considerate figures amongst USA’s political landscape; to understand whether he would listen to you at least once during the day.

You knew, not only because it was your job as his assistant, manager and manhandler, but also because you have been in the hell that is politics for a long time. He might have been alive for longer than you, but you had more experience in this than him and you understood that the work he was doing, slaving his and your ass off for was worth it. So, yeah, you knew that Bucky Barnes didn’t have time for love. 

But maybe, after sleep deprived and joy filling nights under the crappy office lights, your chest bloomed, just a little bit, as you hoped that there might be a cracked window, a chance, for some space in his heavy heart. 

—

It was the day of the election. 

You were running around with papers in your hand, phones blowing off with god knows what notifications and trying to find where the fuck James Buchanan Barnes is. The office was a whirlpool of chaos; people were sprinting, shouting over phones and all the pots of coffee were empty—and in the middle of this whirlpool, was you. 

And all you could think about was why Congressman Barnes not picking up his goddamn phone. 

You huffed and smoothened out your dress. He could’ve at least texted you, but now you had to resort to asking his driver, even though the poor man was not a reliable source. Bucky couldn’t stand another person driving him, like a chauffeur, like a child, like a handler. You had tried to convince him it was for his safety and that he was the driver’s boss, not the other way around, but he was so fucking stubborn, it made you want to pull out your hair. 

I haven’t got the foggiest clue, ma’am.

Your lips curled a little at the old man’s lingo, but the worry in your heart and the stress in your brain only intensified. You thanked the man and kept your phone aside. You dismissed your manager, who asked you to draft up a speech, one that James Barnes would have to deliver, in case he lost—which was the popular opinion amongst many people. Many people that you threw out of your life, because ever since you started working for him, beside him and by him, and even if he made your life aggravating, you absolutely devoted your time, body, mind and soul to his ideas.

His dedication.

Him.

So, you stood outside his office, his space inside your chaotic office, with a false sliver of hope that he might be hiding himself in there, or maybe a note—tucked under his desk, in the secret crevice that only you knew. 

You opened the door, cautiously walked around his desk and put your hand underneath the table to inspect. A sigh of relief left your body and your shoulder relaxed a bit as your fingers felt the small paper, a note in secrecy, left just for you. You hated to admit it but knowing this part of Bucky, knowing that he would inform you, if no one, even with a piece of paper that was meant for you, made you feel special: a warmth, akin to giddiness, settling in your stomach. 

You opened the note and opened it up, only to have your hopes crash and burn. Your stomach twisted in knots at the blatant vagueness of the message written. 

I can’t be there, but I'm safe. Don’t call for a search party, doll, I want to be alone. 

You rolled your eyes at his teasing remark, but the nauseous feeling in your stomach was clawing away at you. You needed to find him. This was his moment. His and yours. You wanted to be with him, enjoy the night, reap the fruits of your hard work. Yes, maybe you were being too sure of him winning, but you had done everything in your capacity and his to make sure he gets this win. Because he deserved it. Because he was the only one that genuinely cared. Which was why you were attracted to him.

In a professional, ideological way, of course. 

And if he knew anything about you, it was that you were as stubborn as he was. 

So, you almost ran past everyone in your office, ignoring their quizzical, inconsequential looks, your manager’s booming voice and grabbed your coat: because you will not let that man be on his own tonight. You were selfish, perhaps, but he owed you this. After all, you were a team, were you not? 

You called his driver and got in the car. 

“Coney Island, please?”

—

He recognized your perfume, immediately. 

It had notes of lavender, mixed with Jasmine and mandarin: your favourite perfume. At least he hoped it was, considering he was the one that gifted you the YSL perfume on your birthday and since then it was the only one you wore. At least around him. It was sweet and stubborn, just like you. The way you constantly nagged him and bossed him around, never left him alone yet still cared for him in an unconditional, unstaggering kind of way. It reminded him of you: when you calmed him down after one of his panic attacks for the first time, when you fumed at him for not memorizing the speech you had carefully curated for him and when he turned up at your house just for you to yell at him while serving him your sweet, drenched in maple syrup, pancakes. 

You didn't approach him, not yet, still a few steps behind. The abundant breeze was doing a splendid job of flying your hair around and you tugged your coat around you, as if it was second skin.

“I told you not to put up a search party for me, doll.”

“I am not a search party, Bucky.” 

“You are my assistant.” 

There was a pause. A moment of hesitation after his teasing remark, where your heart sank as you spoke up again. 

“Do you not want me here? With you?”

Your words were not accusatory, but rather fragile, a soft question that held your heart. Your gentle tone made him shudder, his heart skipping a dangerous beat. He had your back towards you, which tensed and slumped a little. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, breathing in the salty, sea air. “I don’t want numbers. I don’t want the…office.”

“I am not the office.” You recoiled and Bucky pursed his lips.

“You are my assistant.”

Your heart sank. Yes, you were aware he wanted to be alone, but his words still felt like shards in your chest. Your nose started to sting and you looked away from his back, to the ocean and breathed in. Did he only think of you as his assistant? Was that all that entailed between you?

It was a hit you were not prepared for. But Bucky understood your silence, almost reading your thoughts, your questions, your heartbreaking doubts. Because no, you were not only his assistant. After months of working together, spending every waking moment with each other, which ultimately included you holding yourself back from slapping him after his constant non-cooperation and him teasing you to your absolute flustered state: you were not only his assistant—you were his safe space now.

He opened his mouth again, to speak out, tell you that you meant much more to him, to ease the ache in your heart and the hurt in your silence. But before he even got his words out, you plopped down next to him. He turned to look at you, only to have his breath taken away.

You had taken your hair down from your restricting bun that made him wince after he saw it in the morning: it flowed freely now, your beautiful locks flying around haphazardly, just how he liked it. You had taken off your blazer, leaving you in your pretty blouse with a sweetheart neckline and your pantsuit. Your forehead didn’t hold fatigue lines, which he constantly tried to dissipate. But your face held a soft glow; One that he had seen rarely, only when you and him were alone: moments when he made terrible jokes, gossiped about other senators and congressmen, and made you laugh. Moments where he saw you, raw, vulnerable, unbearably you, under the warm light of the lamp in his living room, when you used to come to his aid and cared for him. The soft glow he believed was only reserved for him. 

His heart softened in his chest. 

You didn’t look like his assistant anymore.

“I am your friend, Bucky.” You gently stated, as if it wasn’t somewhat of a gross understatement. Because you held a place in his heart that was right beside Sam, his other safe space. You turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his, your soft gaze that wrapped him in a hug as it met his clear, stormy blues. You gave him a small smile, easing his heart and looked back at the ocean again. 

“I bet you used to drag Steve here for ill-advised mischief.” 

He scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes at your teasing remark. But his shoulders were relaxed as he gazed at you. Sweet and stubborn. He shook his head and gave out a chuckle which warmed your heart.

“He was the one who got into ill–advised mischief.” He mocked your words. “I was the one who saved his ass.”

“Whatever you say, Sarge.” 

Bucky glared at you, playfully with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. You giggled and imagined a young Bucky alongside Steve, wreaking havoc wherever they went. There was a comfortable silence between you after, only the crashing of waves and the excited yells of children filling you up with happiness. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “How did you find me?” 

You turned at him and gave him a deadpan look. He raised his hands in defence at your pointed look with raised brows. “Just asking a question.” 

“When your boss tells you all the tales about him and his partner in crime at the Coney Island and how it reminded him of simpler times, you catch on.” You quipped. 

“Back to being your boss, again?” He asked. You pursed your lips and glanced at your lap, your fingers fidgeting. 

“You know you deserve it, right?”

He huffed, exasperated. “I thought I told you—”

“I am not talking about numbers, James.” His eyes flicked up at you. You only ever used his first name, but the way you said it made his insides melt. “All I am saying is that,” You breathed and bore your eyes in his.

“You have worked so hard. You care more about these people than anyone I have ever seen, talked to or even worked for. The way you speak for them—the veterans, the soldiers, the people of the city ranging from all the minorities that deserve proper rights, such as universal healthcare—Bucky, I could go on and on.” You completely turned your body toward him, your eyes holding more compassion than he had ever witnessed. You held brain–wracking eye contact with him, your body crackling with sudden butterflies and fuzziness.

“All I know is that you actually care, Bucky. You are not one of those wolfish, perverted, power-lusted people that just crave control. You are the exact opposite—genuine, caring…” You gulped under his intense gaze, his blue eyes carving into your soul as you poured your heart out. “...loving. A completely bonafide candidate…and even if this whole thing was just to get information on Valentina, you were still doing good.”

Your hand reached out to his, reassuring. “You deserve it, more than anyone.”

A loud silence took over you both, but you didn’t, or more than that you both couldn’t escape each other’s gazes. Tension crackled between you both, like a silent bonfire, providing intense warmth in the windy atmosphere. Your cheeks and nose were flushed, from the wind or Bucky’s unrelenting eyes, you didn’t know, because all you could think about is how his eyes perfectly resembled the ocean, under a stormy sky. Yet they provided comfort and you couldn’t look away. As if they were a drug. 

Bucky cleared his throat and your whole face flushed as you looked away from his face. 

“You should be a motivational speaker.” He said quietly. 

“There is a reason why I write all of your speeches, Barnes.” You scoffed. He gave you a small smile, but one that reached his eyes, crinkled around his cheeks. Why was he making you feel giddy? “Come on, you gotta show me around this place. You know I have never been here?”

Bucky stared at you incredulously. “What the hell do you mean you’ve never been to Coney Island?” 

“You do realize I work 100 hours a week, right?” You quipped, making Bucky shake his head. 

“I told you, you can take a leave whenever you want.”

“And leave you alone? How would you even survive without me?” You raised your brows at him, challenging him. He just shook his head, giving you an annoyed look, but safe to say, he was elated. To be here, with you. 

“So are you going to show me around or what?”

—

“I am NOT getting on that, Bucky.”

“Live a little, doll. Besides probably isn’t even that hard—”

“Says the super soldier! Did you not see the way that man got yeeted across—”

“He did not get yeeted across—what the fuck is ‘yeeted’?”

You rolled your eyes and stared at the bull ride that they had recently installed at the park—and there was no fucking way you were going to get on that. 

“I’ll pay you 100$! Come on, doll—” He spoke up again.

“I may complain about it, but I get paid enough to deal with you.”

Bucky looked at the bull, the girl on it with a cowboy hat letting out drunken yelps while other people cheered her on.

He moved his eyes back and forth, from the ride to you, and then his eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but you could catch on easily. You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head, hardening your glare at his forming smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” He shrugged, nonchalantly. “Just thought you never backed down from a challenge.” He said, in a dangerously low tone, challenging you. Your jaw dropped, just a little, at this man’s audacity! Slowly, a ghost of a smirk formed on your face as well. 

“Okay, fine, I'll go on the goddamn bull, but only if you come with me.” You raised your brows and Bucky rolled his eyes, tilting his head. “Seriously?”

“Oh, okay. I see you are one of the people that easily backs down from a challenge.” You mocked his words, jabbing back at him. His eyes narrowed at you but then a sly smirk greeted his face. The smirk that made you fucking crazy. It was when you knew he was not going to back down. That smirk aggravated you to no end, because that smirk came into display whenever he was not going to listen to a single word you said about the press training and he’s going fuck up everything. That fucking smirk, infuriated you, because you saw it often, especially after he flustered you, made you stutter or even saw a small sign of a blush dusted on your cheeks. That smirk made you go weak in your knees. And it frustrated you. 

Goosebumps arose on your skin as you felt Bucky’s warmth creep up your body, even if he was just walking towards you, agonizingly slowly, as if he was teasing you, hunting you, craving you. He stepped forward, his hands in his pockets, that goddamn smirk paired with those devilish eyes, and did you just notice how hot he looked with just a pair of trousers, shirt and his loosened tie? Fuck. 

You gulped as he towered over you. You could smell his cologne. Your knees almost buckled. What the fuck was happening? Why was he so close? And why did it feel like you just wanted to grab that tie and—

Suddenly, the cheers slowed down, faded away, you didn’t know why—because all you could think about was why he was making you feel hot? Parched? Starved? All because of what, his cologne? The tie? His hands? That fucking smirk? 

Somewhere in the background, the girl got off the bull, more drunk now than she was before, clinging onto her girlfriends, giggling about god knows what.

The host took the mic again and called out for volunteers—all while your cheeks had turned burning red. Bucky started to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face, his pretty pink lips almost brushing your cheek as he pressed them against your ear. You shuddered, restraining the need to hold onto Bucky’s shoulders so that your trembling knees would have some support. 

“After you, sweetheart.”

—

You don’t know how you survived that. But your head was spinning, your body was fuzzy and warm, and your balance—completely uncontrolled. Bucky still had his hands around your waist, steadying you, as he did on the bull ride. You gulped down, the warmth of his hands leaving you trembling, and somehow you found yourself falling again.

Your knees buckled and he held you up, his hands tightening, almost lifting you off the ground, as if you weighed absolutely nothing. It scared you. How comfortable you felt, almost leaning into him, craving more of his touch—not only because of how addicting it was—but also because he grounded you. Comforted you. Kept you steady when you felt like the world was going to disappear underneath you. 

“That was one hell of a ride.” He whispered, near your ear, his breath spanning your face, making you go hot. You hummed, voice strained, afraid of what will come out of your mouth. Because all you do, all you could feel right now were his hands. His body. His warmth. The way his metal hand drew soothing circles on your waist, as if he knew it was the perfect cure to your nausea. The way his chest was almost pressed against your back, radiating the kind of intensity you did not dare to confront. The way his sweet words kissed your neck, smooth like honey, voice like velvet. 

“Are you okay, sweets?”

Sweets. That was new. You tried not to bask in the tooth rotting attention he gave you, the absolute saccharine–like concern laced in his voice, for you. 

You turned around, abruptly, to look at him. His eyes looked at you like as if you were the only person he cared about. Like right now, in this moment, only you mattered. Not the thousand children running around, the women giggling and complaining and the men shouting and groaning. It made you feel…cherished. Something you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

You cleared your throat and looked away, blushing. “Yeah, yeah…”

But he was relentless, determined to hold your eyes, understand how you’re feeling. He bent down, his face looking for your eyes, seeking you out. Your eyes flicked back to him and you almost gasped because those fucking blue eyes, god, they left no room for you to wallow in distress. “I’m perfectly fine, Bucky.” You whispered, your eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips. 

Bucky froze. He followed your gaze and reciprocated it. His perfect blue eyes dropped down to your perfect lips. He licked his lips, as if he craved something. Someone. You. 

Suddenly, a loud bell rang, a loud announcement, a swift yet harsh slice in the middle of…whatever just happened. You both broke apart, his hands ghosting your waist, and you resisted tugging him close to you again, missing the solace his hands provided. 

“The last ride for the Wonder Wheel is starting in 20 minutes!”   

It happened fast. His hands found yours again, gripping them like vice, like he wouldn’t let go of you ever again. His eyes widened as he processed the words said over the microphone.

And you started running.

“What—Bucky!”

“Come on, we can’t miss the ferris wheel!” An impish smile adorned his face, and your heart raced faster than ever before. “I’m wearing heels, Bucky!”

“I can carry you—”

“Absolutely not—” 

Bucky let out a giggle and it was as if time had stopped because right now, it felt like both of you were back in the 1940’s. 

And he was happy.

—

where the fuck are you

and where is the man of the hour

You gulped down the wash of anxiety as you looked at the text. You resisted looking at your watch, but you knew it was time. They were going to start counting the votes. And you both were supposed to be there, at your office, in the conference room, where they had set up a dinner spread. You had insisted on booking the bar that Bucky liked, that all your co–workers liked, but least to say your manager was a bitch. “Keep it professional or you will drown.”

Who even says that?

You internally scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

come here, right now, he looks like he’s about to explode. 

Your nerves and stress were conjoining hands and you could feel it. There was no way they would get to the office, in time. You imagined your manager throwing disapproving glares at you for more than two months, he will probably give you warnings disguised as threats. Maybe throw in some crude insinuating comments about you and Bucky. “Trust me, committing to your responsibilities is more dignifying than ignoring and…sleeping your way up. Just look at Senator Gray’s assistant—”

You shook your head, remembering the lewdness of his comments. Keep it professional.

He would explode if he could see what was happening right now.

You were standing in the line, ready for the next and last ferris wheel ride for the day. There were kids jumping up and down, frustrated workers who tried to calm the complaining parents.

Your body was tensing up because the count was going to start soon. They will announce who got the most votes. Declare whether your hard work paid off. Whether Bucky won. If it was the end to your team, your partnership, whatever you both were. Would Bucky want a new team in DC? Would you have to move to DC? Or was he going to have to hire another assistant—

Bucky squeezed your hand, gleefully. He looked back at you and all your worries melted away, drained from your body all because of that damn smile. He probably had no idea that he was blowing your concerns away. Because, right now, blind enthusiasm was buzzing from his body, almost resembling that of the kids near you. He looked younger, if that was possible. The worry lines from his forehead, long faded away. His posture was more confident. Welcoming. Relaxed. His shoulders no longer slumped from stress, fatigue and paranoia. No longer was he seeking out the ways anything could go even slightly wrong.

He was just there. In the present, without any burdens on his body, without constantly having to stare down the barrel of a gun. With you.

Not his assistant. Not his manager.

Just you. 

You moved ahead of the line and Bucky did not let go of your hand. He kept it, in his, safeguarded, as if he was preventing anyone taking you away. So that you wouldn’t fade into the crowd. So that this moment wouldn’t vanish. 

As both of you got in front of the line, waiting to get entry, Bucky immediately reached for his pocket. “How much for two?”

The operator gave the price and then looked up. You felt Bucky’s hand freeze in yours, his body going tense. The operator was giving him weird looks and stood, almost defensive in front of the booth. “Have I seen you somewhere?”

You quickly answered. “No, you haven’t.” But he just looks you over, dismissively. A few seconds after he tries to wrack his brain, Bucky clears his throat. “Listen, we’re just trying to get on the ride…if you could please move aside?” 

He hesitantly moves aside, letting you both on the booth. “Have a nice ride, I guess.”

You both sit, side by side, thighs almost touching, intensity crackling. The booth starts to move and the wind sweeps through both of you, calmly. You glance at him; Bucky was peering at the sky, as you moved upwards, towards it.

He looked…melancholic. Longing. Almost forlorn. As if he never thought he’d see the sky like this again. As if he would never feel the same wonder he felt when he was just a boy with a childlike laugh and an unnecessary bravery to take on the world. 

But here he was. With you. And it felt surreal. 

“Can I ask you something?” You softly broke his silence. He sighed and looked back at you, nodding to let you continue. “For a man who hates being in the spotlight, hates overbearing attention and certainly hates talking to snooty senators, discussing power moves to win over people’s votes, why did you even step into politics?”

He was taken aback. Bucky looked at you as if you asked him to solve the question of all the why’s in the universe—that would have been easier. His gaze started to become distant, his eyes seeking answers that he did not like to face. 

“Even if you leave Val aside, Bucky, you have more than enough resources and capabilities to spy on her and her plans. Why politics?” You ask, gently.

Your tone was soft. Free. Like sunshine mixed with the kind of care he didn’t dare yearn for in the last 70 years. Like he wasn’t just a ghost; a trauma–filled bomb that everyone was waiting to blast. Like he was a person. Whole. Deserving. Your words didn’t slash through him; They didn’t glare at him, daunting, demanding, as if they were entitled to an answer. Your words, your sweet words were a soft nudge. A nudge that he needed. 

“I–,” His breath shook and you slipped closer to him. Gazing at his eyes, holding his sight, reassuring, that you both were the only one existing there right now. “Amends.” His voice broke. Bucky thought you would flinch, but you stayed put. Not leaving him astray. 

“After the court–mandated therapy ended, I didn’t know what to do with myself. With this,” He looked at his hands. “I felt the obligation, the need to make it right. Wipe it off, all of it, from my hands. After the Flag–Smashers and when I saw the things they went through, I couldn’t just sit. I thought—” He gulped, breath trembling. But then you moved closer, held his hand, as if a sign. A silent promise. You rubbed soothing circles on his hand with your thumb and he grasped your small palm with his rough, calloused hand. You didn’t force him. Pressure him to go ahead. 

“I thought that maybe, this way, I could make a difference. Make lives easier. Safer.”

He exhaled, like he had just let a flood of his emotions flow after holding it for so long with his walls. And you stayed. You didn’t push. You let him exist. Without any judgement. His breath trembled, heartbeat hammering in his ear, brain numbing as he finally let himself feel. And you.

You grounded him. You let him breathe. Understand his emotions. You weren’t prudent around him like you were watching him; observing; stalking: just so you can capture the moment he fucks up. 

A sudden ping threatened to interrupt this. The secret oasis that you both had carved in the night. He thought you would move away to check it, your incessant notifications, abandoning him and leaving him high and dry without your warmth. Your kindness. Your perfume. But you didn’t budge; didn’t move an inch from your place. Your eyes didn’t leave his and it was as if they wrapped him up in a security blanket. You softly smiled at him and lifted your hand, gently tucking Bucky’s outgrown hair behind his hair. You gazed at him with such care, such intricacy, so much affection, that he would have melted right there. 

“You can find a way to make a difference without torturing yourself, honey.” 

He grew shy. “I didn’t realize it at the moment. Thought this was the only way.” You softly chuckled. “I can make a list for you: community service, youth programs, fundraisers for veterans. You can’t make a difference if you suffer inside. If you feel suffocated.” 

He breathed in deeply, taking in your words. 

“Thank you.”

“Bucky—”

“No, hush,” He took your face in his pulsing, warm hands. “Let me say this please.” You nodded, wordlessly. “You—” He let out a shaky breath and smiled at you, oh-so-softly. “You have been here for me, through this hell, like no one has.” 

“You stood by me, helped me, tolerated my uncooperative ass and you still look at me like I deserve something. Care. Hope. Peace…Love. If it weren’t for you…someone who took more than necessary effort to understand me, help me, know me, I wouldn’t have lasted.” You gasped, and his big hands resting against your reddening cheeks started caressing you. He looked at you like you hung the stars up for him. Like you were the only reason. His oxygen. His breath. 

“Thank you so much for everything.”

Tears welled into your eyes. You leaned into his touch, his hands that molded perfectly with your face. You were about to open your mouth to say something, until your phone started buzzing again. “Oh god, it must be the results.” You put your hand on his which was still resting on your cheek. “I won’t ask if you don’t want to know, Bucky. This is your moment,” He pursed his lips, hesitating for a moment. But then he looked at you. 

You. Who has been here with him throughout every step. Through his first media press, through all of the stupid, pretentious galas, through all of the debriefs. You, who sat with him in silence when he could not bear another noise; who held him at his worst, when the nightmares used to come back and he couldn’t stop trembling; who made him mac and cheese at 3 am because he hadn’t had any decent meals. You, who worked your ass off, ensuring his ideas would come into execution; You, who defended him at every corner when Bucky’s career as Winter Soldier came up; You, who was more faithful in him than he was in himself.

“This is your moment as much as it is mine, doll.” He leaned forward and your heart started pacing faster. As if his earnest words hadn’t already made your insides flutter: he kissed your forehead. A long, meaningful peck. That held more weight, that defied every other sign of affection ever. He lingered, his lips still ghosting over the crown of your head. You closed your eyes, reeling in this moment, holding it close, not wanting it to fade away. He sighed and you knew it was time.

“Hey?” You picked up the call. Nerves were firing through Bucky’s body and he squeezed your hand, trying to ground himself. He couldn’t bring himself to eavesdrop on your friend’s words nor was his anxiety sparing any energy for him to decipher your expressions. What if he didn’t win? Would you leave him? Would you find some other upcoming political hotshot to work for? What would he do with his life? 

Almost as if you could read his doubts and anxiety—you didn’t need to, they were literally jumping off his body—you squeezed his hand back and consoled him. A small gasp left you, spreading rapid goosebumps on his skin. He couldn’t understand whether it was a good one or not. Wouldn’t you smile if it was good news? God, what he would give to see that smile…Does that mean he lost? Your hand slipped out of his and his heart broke in two. 

Of course, he lost. 

You quietly said goodbye to your friend and cut the call. He gulped as he saw more tears in your eyes and he hoped for the worst. For a regretful look, a fit of anger. But he got something worse: unfathomable silence. Your silence. Not a peep of a word. Not one indication of what you just interpreted from the call. You slowly raised your tear–filled eyes and Bucky was stumped. He didn’t know whether you were going to sob or kiss him. He wished it was the latter. Wait, what?

But then suddenly, in that cramped space of the booth, you lunged towards him.

His breath got knocked out of his lungs as you pressed your body against him. Quivering. Barely Containing. Your hands slid from his shoulders to his neck and you nuzzled your face into his neck. Bucky froze as you whispered something. 

“We won.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath. “We won?”

You lifted your head. Tears threatening to fall out, your cheeks filled with glee and your wobbly smile giving him more life than anything else possibly could. 

“We won, Bucky. You won.” Bucky completely engulfed you, holding you tighter to his chest, burying his head in your neck. He was consumed. By your sweet and stubborn scent, by your honeyed words and soft sobs of joy. His hands ran from your back to your waist, wrapping them around you as if you would vanish into thin air. He had to cherish you. Hold you. 

You sighed into his body, almost as if your souls were entwined, breathing in each other, as if you couldn’t live without each other. You softened more to his touch, melting like snow in his warmth when he ran his hands from your back to your waist. He smelled like faint citrus and lavender, his woody scent completely enthralling your senses.

You both clutched onto each other, embraced each other, because you found comfort. Both of you found home. 

“You are the only reason.” He whispered.

“W-What?” You asked, quietly between hiccups. 

He cradled your face in his hands and looked at you. He scanned your face, taking in every intricate detail: How cute you looked with your nose red and puffy eyes; How your perfect lips spoke with sweet melodies aligned in every word; Your hair, cascading like an angel’s and your eyes, god, your eyes looking at him like he hung up the moon for you. And to be honest, he would. And you would be worth it.

He locked it in his mind, for safekeeping, because he never wanted anyone else to witness you in your state right now. Because that? That was for him. Just him. And he was damn sure, he wouldn’t let anyone else see you like this. Because right now, even with your eyes, fresh out of tears, your cheeks stained, your face red, and your heaving breaths: you were utter and complete perfection. 

“You are the only reason I am right here. As Congressman James Buchanan Barnes. As a man. I wouldn’t have done it without you, doll. You are my reason. My miracle. My rock. You put up with me, you stood by me, you defended me, you trusted me. Believed in me.”

He rested his forehead against yours.

You processed his words, the fervour in his voice, the great vehemence throwing you off. “We did it, James.”

You pulled him closer, tugging him at his shirt, like you couldn’t get enough of him. Your hands travelled from his chest, to his collar, to his stubble. You looked into his eyes, your hands softly caressing his beard, his cheeks, as if you were holding the object of your desires for the first time in your life. Like what you have been waiting for, yearning for is right here, in front of you, close enough to kiss. Both of you understood that this was more than just a victory. 

You slowly leaned in. Hesitantly, to see how he would react. But almost immediately, Bucky locked his eyes on your lips; gazing at them like he has been wanting to ravish them for months, years. Your eyes were still on his, shy, asking for permission. But you didn’t need any, because according to Bucky’s mind and body, he has been yours to take for longer than he could care to admit.

His lips brushed against yours, like a question. You gasp, just slightly, with feather-like volume, delicate, willing. But that gasp sent a nuclear reaction through Bucky’s body, like fire; Something more sweeter had taken over him and his mind. 

Because then his lips were on you.

Not fast, not rough, not aggressive in any way. But with a slow and agonizing intent. There was desperation, but in a way that said ‘I have been waiting too long for this, so I am going to savor every single second.’ And that, he did.

He tasted you. Gently. Sweetly. Softly. Lightly. Almost as if he kissed you any deeper, he would drown and he would never be able to resurface. As if he was still afraid; Afraid, that you might pull back from him. Feather–like, in case this was just a dream—a figment of his imagination, like paradise—which would make his reality a nightmare. 

But god, he was already addicted. To the way you tasted; the way you slightly gasped when he kissed you; to the way you melted into his touch. You tasted like faint cotton candy that he just bought for you and your raspberry mouth freshener—the one you were so picky about because ‘the regular mint ones left a weird aftertaste’. He was addicted to the way you breathed him in, to the way you let him take you. Because that just meant that you trusted him.

And that you did. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of Bucky’s stomach.

When you sighed into the kiss, you knew your soul and heart had been snatched. Stolen. Taken away from you. You poured every ounce of your love in the kiss; your heart was palpitating through your chest, your hands and your ears. You could feel him everywhere.

His breath, his kisses, his soft groans and hums. The tingly feeling in your stomach just raged throughout your body. Just because of him. His scent. His hair. His oh-so-perfectly soft lips. 

You felt like you were floating. His lips felt like a dream but also secure. Secure in a way that says ‘I will always be there for you’. In a way that said ‘you are my future’. 

What felt like an eternity that fell too short, you both pulled away, unwillingly. But you didn’t let go: none of you wanted to. You were lost in each other, dazed by each other’s touch. His hands were at your waist, now gripping, almost lifting you from your position, putting you on his lap. One of your palms was resting on his broad chest, unclenching and clenching his shirt, the one on his nape, softly scratching his baby hair. 

Your heads softly banged against each other as you rested your foreheads. He breathed softly and you bit your lip, shying away from his eyes. He lifted your chin with his index finger, searching for your eyes, his intense gaze making heat crawl up your neck.

Bucky leaned down and softly kissed your nose and you let out a giggle. Joy bubbling up both of you, with barely contained smiles. He took his thumb and sweetly caressed your lower lip and pecked you. “You are my everything.” He whispered, content adorned his face. You kissed his cheek, lovingly: “I love you. Bucky,”

“You have been the only person who made me feel safe, made me feel seen, made me feel special.”

“Do you remember that day when I had to skip work because I couldn’t even get out of my bed?”

He frowned. “Because of your period cramps?” You nodded and scanned his face. “You fought with my manager and you skipped too. You came home with insane amounts of chocolate, cold coffee and even a new heatable plushie.” 

“That day, you took care of me, like no one ever had. And I didn't even have to ask you…You made sure my blankets were fresh so I would be comfortable, you put on my favourite TV show and you held me while I cried about a dog I saw on the street.”

“You cooked for me, my favourite meal, that nobody had ever taken the effort to do before. You made sure I didn’t overwork myself and you reassured me again and again. Even if it might’ve been strenuous. How could I not fall for you?” You kissed him again. 

"You're perfect, Bucky. I love your eyes and the way they light up when you're with the people you care for. I love your smile and how raw and vulnerable you are when you are actually happy. The way you make sure everybody is comfortable and safe. You, Bucky, you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, my love. Your existence, Bucky; Every since we started working in that crappy office, you made my life easier, you instantly made all my worries fade. I didn't know I could be this happy in my life."

There were unshed tears in Bucky's eyes.

“I love you so much.” You said, gentle tears welling up in your eyes and Bucky cradled your face again. “I love you more, my doll.” You giggled as he leaned in yet again, kissing you more deeply, more fervently, more firm. 

So, yes. You concluded that: Bucky Barnes did have time for love. Because Bucky Barnes’ heart belonged to you. He was yours and you were his. 

Under that sky, at coney island, on that ferris wheel, you both began. Began to create a life together, for each other and by each other. You both vowed to never let each other go and whatever whirlwinds came in your way, you would face them together.

At coney island, Bucky and you promised each other love, like an oath, never to be broken and always to be held.

if you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did —lana del ray thank you for reading! requests are open <3 reblog, like and comment!

[ur-dad-satan]

BarbatosxF!MC (she/they)

Personal Assistant

5.9K words, 18+, MDNI, Enjoy <3

(Including stolen touches, public sex, fingering/hand job, kissing, groping, oral (M & F giving and receiving), M and F orgasms (includes squirt), and face painting)

MC had been living in the Devildom for a few months now, and had taken quite the interest in the Demon Prince's butler. In fact, they would try to help out around the castle anytime they could just to get a little extra off of Barbatos' plate. Whether that was helping Diavolo with his paperwork, or cleaning something that needed to be cleaned, despite the blue haired butler always saying that he could do it himself. MC refused to stop trying to help out and whether it was because she just wanted to be nice, or because Barbatos had piqued her interest and she wanted to get closer to him, she didn't really care.

As much as Barbatos tried to keep his metaphorical distance, he couldn't avoid MC if he tried. The human was virtually everywhere, and as annoying as it could be, it also meant that she was extremely reliable. This came in handy on one summer day when Diavolo was sick with a summer cold, but couldn't reschedule an important meeting. As much as he tried his best to get up and go, he was too sick and Barbatos wouldn't let him. So, as a compromise, he offered to go in the prince's place. However, it would be a lot for one demon. So, Barbatos picked up his D.D.D. and made a call.

"Hello, Barbatos. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Lucifer asked politely when he answered.

"Hello, Lucifer. The young master has come down with a cold, however, I must attend an important meeting and I require a bit of assistance. If you aren't too busy, would you be willing to accompany me in a few hours?" Barbatos asked politely. A small, apologetic, sigh could be heard along with paper rustling from the black-haired man's side of the line.

"I'm sorry, Barbatos, I'm still working on the student council paperwork, and I have to get my brothers to do their paperwork too. Unfortunately, I am extremely busy today. Perhaps MC is available today." Lucifer suggested. Barbatos thought about it for a moment, then spoke once more.

"Very well. Thank you anyway Lucifer. I will check in with MC." Barbatos said genuinely. "Good luck with your brothers." He added.

"Thank you. Please tell Lord Diavolo that we wish him well." Lucifer said. The two finished their conversation, then Barbatos called the human under the same roof.

"Hello?" MC answered pleasantly. Her cheery tone was admittedly a pleasant change from his tired one and Diavolo's sickly one.

"Hello MC. I was wondering if you were free to accompany me to a very important meeting? The young master is sick, and I require a bit of assistance." Barbatos asked.

"Yeah! I can definitely be your assistant!"

"Excellent! Thank you very much, MC." Barbatos said relieved.

"No problem! When is the meeting and what do I need to know?" MC asked. Barbatos shared all of the details including that it was a smart-casual meeting and that he just needed them to be an extra note-taker. Not long after, MC was showing up to the castle to help Barbatos and wish Diavolo well. For the meeting, MC wore a nice light colored blouse and a dark blue skirt; though not matching Barbatos' white button up shirt, and signature blue pants and blazer.

*.*.*.*.*.

During the boring meeting, MC tried their hardest to pay attention, but found themself spacing out once or twice. The second time they zoned out, rather than refocusing on their own, a foot gently nudged their own. Subtly, MC looked up and made eye contact with Barbatos. His eyes practically said 'pay attention', but quite frankly, MC didn't want to. She knew it was an important meeting, but it was so boring. It had already been going on for over an hour and a half! MC already had three pages of hand written notes, and there wasn't an end to this meeting in sight. Suddenly, an idea flashed in her head and she tried to suppress a small smirk.

MC adjusted slightly in her seat and crossed her legs comfortably. She continued writing down notes and paying attention, but let her foot touch Barbatos' leg. A small flicker of acknowledgement barely flashed behind his eyes; however, he didn't stutter or stop speaking. This simply wouldn't do. As Barbatos and the other demons spoke, MC went between paying attention, and writing the important things they said. They waited a few minutes to avoid suspicion from the blue haired demon they had came with, then began to move her foot up and down Barbatos' leg earning a small glance from him, but not much else.

Soon, MC moved their foot higher up Barbatos' leg. His legs were slightly apart, so it was easy for MC to press their foot between their knees. They looked up at him through their lashes as nonchalantly as they could. He shot them another small glance, this one seeming to hold a warning behind an almost unwavering expression. MC knew what she was doing could end badly, but honestly, it was a risk they were willing to take. As the meeting went on, MC's foot crept higher and higher up Barbatos' leg, but they stopped when their foot was halfway up his thigh. She never broke her facade of diligent note taker, and before she knew it, the host of the meeting was giving their closing remarks. MC wanted to do one more thing, knowing that she'd already be in trouble anyway, so why not? Barbatos put on a polite smile and spoke; however, MC pushed her foot into his crotch as he did. Though almost unnoticeable, his breath hitched. As quickly as it happened, his breath evened out and he continued speaking and gathering his things to leave.

"Oh, please do not forget," The meeting's host spoke gathering everyone's attention once more. "There is a social event this evening. Wine, hors d'oeuvres, live music, and polite conversation. And please, dress for the weather; it is going to be quite warm." They reminded the room. MC's eyes lit up a bit and packed up her stuff and said her goodbyes. As they walked out of the venue, Barbatos pulled MC into a different, smaller, unused meeting room and a stern expression overtook his face.

"MC, what was that about? I asked you here to focus and take notes, not to... touch me." Barbatos said, his usual cool demeanor was completely gone. His voice dripped with an inebriating mixture of annoyance, slight embarrassment, and exasperation. MC nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders and put on a coy expression.

"I was taking notes, just like you asked. I just got a little bored and my foot started to... wander." MC said innocently. Though he tried to seem irritated and frustrated, the light blush spread across his face betrayed him. As did what MC had pressed her foot against a bit ago. Barbatos let out a sigh and rubbed a tensed middle finger and a thumb on his temple.

"MC, please just do as I ask next time. We cannot afford to embarrass Lord Diavolo." Barbatos said exasperatedly. A mischevious grin settled on MC's face.

"Next time? There'll be a next time?" MC said through a grin. Barbatos, clearly frustrated, rolled his eyes and started to leave the room with MC hot on his heels.

*.*.*.*.*.

The two made their way back to the castle to check on Diavolo. Lo and behold, the red-haired prince was not feeling any better. As much as he wanted to get up and go, he physically could not. Barbatos decided that he would have to take MC along with him once again. Slightly begrudgingly, Barbatos told MC to go back to the House of Lamentation and dress for the occasion.

"I will be at there to pick you up in approximately two hours. Can you be ready by then?" Barbatos asked escorting the human to the castle door.

"Yeah, of course! I know just what to wear. I'll see you in a few hours." MC said genuinely excited. They ran a feathery hand down Barbatos' arm and left, going to get ready for this event. A fleeting moment of regret flashed in his mind, but he pushed it out as soon as is flashed in his head.

*.*.*.*.*.

The time had finally come for Barbatos to pick up the human for the social event they had to attend. Barbatos had also asked Simeon and Luke to stay with Diavolo and tend to him while he was gone because he didn't know when they would be back. Though out of his usual style, and he didn't want to admit it, he thought he looked really nice in this outfit and it made him a bit excited for this event. When he rung the doorbell to the House of Lamentation, it only took a few seconds for Beelzebub to answer the door looking slightly confused, but a polite smile quickly replaced it.

"Hi Barbatos," The tall demon smiled.

"Hello, Beelzebub. I am here to pick up MC for the evening." Barbatos smiled back.

"Oh, come in for a minute, I'll go get her." Beel said and motioned for him to come into the foyer, which he accepted. He sipped from a water bottle as he closed the door, before looking Barbatos up and down taking in his appearance. "I like your suit." He complimented genuinely. The butler wore a blue two piece suit, a black button-up shirt, and black shoes; his hair was in its signature style, and a silver watch sat on his wrist that tied his look together.

"Thank you," Barbatos smiled genuinely as the orange-haired man turned to walk away, then disappeared around a corner. It wasn't long until the sound of a pair of heels could be heard coming down the hall. Barbatos looked up just in time to see MC come into the foyer followed closely by Asmodeus. The human was clad in an olive green wrap around skirt and top set, silver jewelry, and small black heels. Their pink hair contrasted beautifully against the color of their outfit.

Barbatos took a moment to take in her appearance; she looked amazing. A small smile overtook his face before he greeted the two people in front of him.

"Hello again, MC. Hello Asmodeus." Barbatos said.

"Hi, Barbs." MC said smiling back. Both she and Asmo took in the butler's appearance, then shared a look.

"You two look so good! Especially next to each other!" Asmo gushed. He had helped MC get ready, and let her borrow one of his perfumes to pull it all together.

"Thank you, Asmodeus. I must say, I agree that you look splendid, MC." Barbatos said kindly.

"Thanks! Would you be okay with Asmo taking our picture? I really love this outfit." MC asked. Seeing no harm in it, he obliged and posed with MC while the blond haired demon snapped a few pictures of the pair, before they turned to leave.

*.*.*.*.*.

When Barbatos and MC arrived, it felt more like a small party in a big mansion. Most of the attendants who were previously at the meeting were there along with presumably their significant others or assistants. Time goes by, and Barbatos and MC have polite conversations with everyone, munch on the mini appetizers, and enjoy a drink to the light music filling the air. Though mostly behaved, MC did steal quite a few... daring touches throughout the night. They started off small on his arm or shoulder, then they became more pointed. A feathery touch slipped under his jacket once or twice, and MC's fingers "accidentally" tapped against Barbatos' hip; those were the touches that made the blue-haired man's stomach do flips.

As calm and collected as Barbatos usually was, MC's stolen touches continuously ran through his head in a way he couldn't stop. The more he thought about the way his skin burned at MC's touch even over all of his clothes, the more he felt his will to be civilized and remember where he was, was slipping. The evening continued and MC only stole more touches, each lingering a bit longer than the last as she sipped on flutes of rare human world wine. Toward the end of the night, Barbatos had been marinating in emotional turmoil and decided that he would do something rash; he'd do something completely out of character. As a waiter passed by with a tray of demonus, Barbatos grabbed two glasses, quickly downed them, and noticed walking away.

MC had slipped away from the party down a long hall to go to the bathroom. The hall didn't have many decorations aside from a few paintings, a large oval-shaped mirror, and a table next to a door leading to a bathroom. As MC finished up, she dabbed a bit of cool water on her face and let out a sigh. They felt almost completely drained and when they next saw Barbatos, they'd ask if they could leave yet. What the human didn't expect was for Barbatos to be standing next to the table only a few feet away from them.

"Oh, just the demon I wanted to see." MC said cheerily. Barbatos let out a breathy laugh and a sly smile overtook his face.

"I'm glad I could be in the right place." He said and leaned against the table. MC stepped closer to him still wanting to tease him. All she really wanted was to see if she could break him.

"Can we leave soon? My social battery is running low." MC asked. They placed a delicate hand on Barbatos' arm; whether it was an absentminded movement or purposeful, it set his skin ablaze all the same.

"Unfortunately, we must stay for a while longer. However, I suppose we can hide away for a few minutes, if you need to." He suggested.

"Yes, please." MC said in relief. They exhaled and let out a small laugh, before turning their attention to the butler who may have gotten closer. "By the way, Asmo wasn't lying when he said you look nice. I know you always wear blue, but this shade really... brings out the green in your eyes." MC complemented. There was a look in MC's eye as she spoke that intrigued Barbatos. A dangerous mixture of hunger and want.

"Thank you, MC. Maybe that's why you can't seem to keep your hands to yourself." Barbatos joked with a hint of flintiness. A mixture of embarrassment and excitement flashed across the human's face, before it changed to a more nonchalant one.

"Ah, I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable. I'm sorry if that's the case." MC said and moved her hand off of him. Despite this, the fire inside of him spread up to his chest. He was losing his will to behave.

"Not at all. I was merely pointing it out. Though I'm not usually one for revenge, I feel like I should get you back for all those stolen touches, and what you did at this morning's meeting." Barbatos said with a smile as he got ever so closer. The two were less than a foot apart. The air was thick as MC looked up into Barbatos' eyes really noticing how much taller he was than them. He all but cornered MC against the table. His hands were right next to them, but not actually touching them, but extremely close.

"Really now?" A seductive smile slipped onto MC's face as they leaned against the table, something hot and rough bubbled up in their lower stomach.

"Yes, really." As Barbatos spoke, ever so close to MC's face, a light pink blush dusted his cheeks and ears. The combination of his massive presence, his physical height, his cologne, and the alcohol on his breath was almost dizzying. Both of their walls were crumbling, and there was almost nothing they could do about it. Barbatos placed a hand on MC's waist and pressed his fingers right above the waistband of her skirt. Her breath hitched almost silently at the sensation. Both of their eyes lidded, and their breathing became heavier; they were completely lost in each other's gaze. MC's eyes fell to Barbatos' slightly parted lips.

"Barbatos," MC's voice was breathy and her plea sounded almost like a moan. Fuck. That was all it took for him to break. He squeezed MC's waist and grabbed her face, as he hungrily closed the distance between the two. They melted into one another's touch. Their bodies pressed against each other as their breaths quickened and small sounds of pleasure escaped from them. MC's hands flew up to wrap around Barbatos' neck, pulling him as close as he could physically be. Their lips danced against one another; only heating up when Barbatos' tongue slipped past his lips and into MC's mouth. The taste of demonus was a welcome intrusion that made her moan softly.

The sound once more turned Barbatos on and he lifted MC onto the table, slotting himself between her legs. The table was relatively small, so MC's back pressed against the wall, the cold material felt amazing against their warm skin. Barbatos' hands ran up MC's sides, then one continued up to the back of her neck, while the other went back down to squeeze her hip possessively. MC, wanting to take some control, broke the kiss attacking Barbatos' neck. MC kissed and licked at his neck, careful not to leave any marks. The feeling sent shivers down his spine and he let out a shaky breath, only getting hard in his pants. Absentmindedly, the blue-haired man started grinding against MC's thigh aching for some kind of contact.

"Mmm, MC-" He moaned lowly right into MC's ear. She almost bit down on a highly visible area of his neck, but stopped herself just in time. "You're driving me crazy." He finished saying in a tone that was a half laugh and half moan. MC couldn't take it anymore, they knew they'd sound like a slut, or like they're desperate, but they didn't fucking care.

"Fuck, Barbatos." MC pleaded and moved one hand down to rub Barbatos' hard dick over his pants. His breath hitched, and he began attacking MC's neck with kisses, licks, and gently running his fangs across her skin. He nodded his head and squeezed MC's hip with one hand and ran the other up the back of her top. MC's hands went to work unbuckling Barbatos' belt. As she moved, the blue-haired man started to grope MC's breasts, in a way that could only be described as uncouth degeneracy.

MC slipped her hand down his pants, palming him over his underwear making him let out low, growl-like moans from his chest. Completely lost in pleasure, Barbatos' dominant hand slid down MC's thigh, then ducked under her skirt as he touched her gently above her panties. MC moaned against Barbatos' skin and her hips bucked against his touch. His fingers pressed and prodded against their pussy making their underwear get wetter and wetter while he got harder and harder. The tension was becoming too great for the pair, it only took a minute longer for their hands to dip below one another's underwear. Barbatos' soft skin contrasted from the hardness of his lust; however, MC's wetness complemented the delicate softness of hers.

"MC," Barbatos started. "I don't know if I can hold myself back from having my way with you any longer." His breath was shaky as his ever-present control slipped from how heated the moment was. The social was a long forgotten memory in this long, hidden away hall and all they cared about was each other.

"Then don't. Fuck me already." Not a moment after the words left the human's mouth, Barbatos' lips were on MC's. He pulled MC close by her waist and pulled the wet fabric aside before pushing his hard cock into MC's wet cunt. They moaned out in unison careful to keep their voices low as to not get caught. Barbatos shrugged off his suit jacket, leaving him looking more disheveled by the minute. They both took a moment to adjust to his size and their tightness respectively, before Barbatos began to move his hips. The pleasure radiated from their abdomens and spread throughout their bodies hotly, intensifying ten-fold wherever their bodies touched.

Low moans seeped from their mouths and mixed together with the low hum of the band playing back down the hall where someone could walk down and see them having sex out in the open so brazenly. The very thought turned MC on even more. They reached up and started to unbutton Barbatos' shirt about halfway; she couldn't not leave at least a bit of evidence. As Barbatos thrusted deeper into MC gradually becoming more rough, MC put her arms in his shirt and ran her nails gently down his back making his back arch and his cock push deeper into the human.

"F-fuck!" The blue-haired demon moaned out a bit louder than anticipated. "MC, you're going to get us in trouble if you keep that up." His breath was hoarse and unsteady.

"Should I stop?" MC asked in a faux innocent voice mimicking the one she used after the meeting that morning. Barbatos didn't know why, but his face burned once again, and his cock twitched inside of MC.

"Absolutely not." Barbatos replied and began to kiss her again. His thrusts got faster, and MC dug her nails into Barbatos' back making him moan into her mouth and transform into his demon form. Without a moment of hesitation, Barbatos used his tail to play with MC's clit making her moan harder into his mouth and her hands scratched into Barbatos' skin again. The intense pleasure mixed with the atmosphere of everything going on around them makes them both cum. Barbatos quickly pulls out and cum on her thighs as he covered MC's mouth muffling her orgasm. Despite both of them already riding out their orgasms, Barbatos' tail did not let up on MC's sensitive and puffy clit. Through their continued stimulation, MC's toes began to curl in their shoes and they reached down to pump Barbatos' dick even more.

His legs started to shake with the overstimulation matching MC's already trembling body. Both of their movements slow to a stop. Barbatos pretty much leaned down on MC as they caught their breath together, and Barbatos' horns and tail seem to disappear as they calm down. Barbatos fixed his clothes, then ducked into the bathroom to get a damp paper towel and helped MC clean up. After they were both completely dressed, they walked back into the main area where everyone else was. The only reason no one was suspicious was because their whole little rendezvous only took fifteen minutes.

*.*.*.*.*.

About an hour later, Barbatos and MC were saying their goodbyes to the guests as they leave and they decide to leave as well. Luckily, the walk from the venue to the House of Lamentation was approximately 20 minutes long. MC suggested walking rather than calling a car and having their night end in five minutes. The two chatted happily as they strolled down the dim, sparsely populated streets, only lit by streetlights and the few faint stars that could be seen in the devildom sky. Despite both of their calm and happy demeanors, the events from earlier played over in their heads. The touches, the kisses, the heat, the atmosphere; it almost fogged their thoughts. Those feelings seemingly leaking from the back of their heads, slowly dotting its way into their current conversation. While Barbatos was speaking, MC suddenly let out a small laugh which he met with an inquisitive look.

"Did I say something funny?" Barbatos asked half amused.

"No, sorry. I was just thinking. I never thought I'd hear the Barbatos, butler of the Devildom's prince say 'fuck'." MC said holding back another small laugh. Barbatos immediately knew that they were talking about, and a light blush spread across his face.

"Well, I never thought I would abandon such an important event to indulge in such acts. Even if it was for less than twenty minutes." Barbatos replied. The more the earlier scenes played in his head, the more his blush spread, but stayed light and airy.

"Damn, just the thought of me is enough to make you blush, huh? It's a shame we had to rush." MC teased and linker her arm in his, her fingers brushing his hip once again.

"MC... Barbatos said in a tone of both warning and slight embarrassment.

"What? I didn't do anything." MC grinned and hugged his arm into her chest.

"MC, I'm only going to tell to tell you this once: you don't want to start something you can't finish." The tall man warned again. Once again, he was in an internal struggle for control over his actions. It wouldn't be wise to lose his composure and do such unbecoming acts where anyone can see. It wasn't late, so people could easily see if they did do something out on the street. MC let out a snort of laughter before leaning close to his ear, and speaking again.

"I think I finished what I started when you came all over my thighs in the hallway." MC's voice was low and sultry as they spoke. Barbatos' breath came out shakily, a familiar fluttering in his stomach told him all he needed to know.

"If I'm not mistaken, I did all of the work." Barbatos said and freed his arm from MC's grasp. He wrapped his arm tightly around MC's waist and let his thumb rub small circles on their exposed skin. He pulled them close and spoke into their ear. "You just laid there on your back, looking pretty, and taking me in so well." His voice deepened when he spoke, an air of gruffness replacing his usual honey-like voice. MC bit her lip to keep herself from moaning; a familiar pang pulled in MC's pelvis and they knew their underwear was going to get wet again.

"Really, now? Fine, how about I put in some work then?" MC asked and trailed her hand from Barbatos' lower outer thigh, upward and inward. She avoided his crotch and instead finished trailing her hand up the center of his thigh, then over to the buckle of his belt. The butler's breathing became shallow and his cock started to stiffen at her touch. Damn this human's affect on him.

"Oh? And how would you do that?" Barbatos asked with a mischevious grin as he looked down into MC's eyes. MC went up on her tip toes and kissed Barbatos on the lips briefly, before looking around the empty street, and pulling Barbatos down a dim alley. Once they were more towards the back, MC pushed the demon against one of the walls and caressed his face gently.

"Like this." MC said and kissed Barbatos deeply. His hands greedily gripped and kneaded MC's ass and thighs as her hands slid down his body. Barbatos' tongue found its way into MC's mouth, deepening the kiss and making the human moan lightly. MC unbuttoned the butler's suit jacket and ran her hands down his clothed chest, taking it upon herself to squeeze his chest like he had squeezed hers; a shiver ran up his spine and he let out a shaky moan. MC kept kissing Barbatos and started to unbutton his shirt. After the black button up hung loosely off his torso, MC pulled away; a thin strand of saliva connected their lips, before falling into nothingness. MC kissed along Barbatos' jaw, biting softly every now and then as one of her hands continued rubbing his chest, and the other went down to sinfully grope his hard dick over his pants.

"Shit, MC-" The man moaned out. His pleasure only intensified when MC started kissing lower. She kissed down his neck, to his chest, leaving a bite mark only he and MC would know about. A slew of low but salacious swears and moans leaked from their mouths, drifting into the air, and against skin respectively. MC kept going lower, making her way to his stomach, then lower stomach. They got on their knees, and looked up at Barbatos through thick lashes. MC began tugging at Barbatos' belt and their eyes met; heat rose and radiated off the two.

MC opened Barbatos' pants and pulled out his hard dick. She licked up the shaft, teasing his tip with their tongue and watching Barbatos' face become more red and contort. MC kept teasing the demon, until she couldn't take it anymore. The human took as much of his cock as she could before it hit the back of her throat causing her to gag. The vibration made Barbatos moan and grasp the human's face. Gently, he caressed MC's face as her head bobbled up and down his cock, not wanting to look away from such a beautifully lewd sight.

Whether it was because of how intimate the moment was, or how hot the moment was, it didn't make a difference as Barbatos transformed into his demon form. As he watch MC, his mouth watered; he wanted their- no, he craved their taste. Reluctantly, he guided their mouth off of him, and spoke.

"Get up." He commanded in a tone completely soaked in lust. The human complied, but before she could ask why, Barbatos was lifting her up and putting her legs over his shoulders. He leaned her against the wall he was just against, and moved her skirt to the side. He kept one hand on MC's ass half for support and half for his own pleasure. With his other hand, he pulled at one side of her underwear and popped the seam completely and cleanly so he had quick and easy access to her tight, juicy twat.

"Barbatos!" MC called out in surprise. He looked her in the eye and smiled that damn calm, polite smile that he wore everyday and reassured the human that everything was under control.

"Don't worry, dear. I can sew them back up. I'm careful in everything I do." Barbatos said before kissing MC's thighs getting closer and closer to her dripping wet pussy. When he started kissing and licking their sensitive cunt, MC let out a shuddered moan and leaned their head back in pleasure as much as they could. The demon lapped and licked and sucked, massaging MC's ass and hips, now with both hands. Moans leaked from both of their mouths softly and drifted off in the evening air. MC thought it couldn't feel better as their hands held Barbatos' face in admiration, but somehow, he did the impossible; with just enough pressure to make an orgasm shoot through their body, Barbatos ran his teeth over her puffy clit. A high pitched gasp-like moan erupted from MC's chest. Her hands gripped Barbatos' hair in pleasure causing his dick to twitch in response.

MC's hips jerked into Barbatos' mouth where his movements slowed. A combination of spit and juices covered Barbatos' mouth and MC's upper thighs. Slowly, he let the human down and made sure they didn't lose their balance. He hugged the human to his chest and kissed their neck. MC's back pressed against Barbatos' chest as he ran his hands over their body.

"You're so fucking beautiful, MC. I don't know how I held back from fucking you for so long." The butler said against MC's skin. She moaned softly in response before speaking.

"Ugh, shut up and fuck me, butler man." MC said with a dangerous mix of humor and hot fervor in her voice. One of Barbatos' arms wrapped around MC's waist and pulled her tight against him, his still out dick rubbing against their skirt. His other hand slid up MC's tied top, squeezing and kneading her breasts hungrily. It took almost no time for Barbatos to bunch MC's skirt up by her waist and rub his cock against her pussy. The demon's precum mixed with the human's pussy juices and made a delicious squelch when he pushed into them. They both moaned out in pleasure as Barbatos' hand not holding MC up by the waist moved between their tits and their throat- not quite choking them.

His thrusts started off slow, going completely in, then almost completely out; his hot breath fanned over the back of MC's neck making her shutter in pleasure. Gradually, his speed increased, and MC reached down to play with herself. Barbatos saw and grabbed MC's arms and put them behind their back, holding their wrists to keep them in place.

"No, you don't get to do anymore work." The blue-haired man said shortly. His teeth grazed the back of MC's neck before he kissed and sucked right at the base of their neck. The combination of his throbbing manhood in her tight cunt, his sheer dominating size just engulfing her in warmth, and his wandering hand moving from their breasts to their throat, was beyond intoxicating. The human almost didn't realize how suddenly their orgasm bubbled up in their uterus. Almost. MC's moans became rapid and desperate before hot wet squirt started gushing out of MC's twat squeezing around Barbatos. By some miracle, the hot liquid missed Barbatos' legs, and only the last few drops ran down MC's.

"FUCK! I-I've never..." MC moaned out, their voice trailing off and turning into a low, growl-like mewl. A familiar heat all but clawed at Barbatos' groin, he was not going to last much longer. Hell, how could he with MC all undone in front of him. The man was going to cum on MC's legs again, but she pulled away and instead got on her knees in front of him. She started stroking and sucking his cock once more bringing him to the edge, then over. Barbatos shuddered and moaned as his hot sticky white cum shot all over MC's face. His tail wrapped around their waist possessively as he rode out his orgasm. His moans slowed to deep breaths as he regained his composure and looked down at the human with his bodily fluids on her face.

"You make me weak, MC." Barbatos said fixing his pants then squatting to be eye-level with MC. As he reached into his jacket to get a handkerchief to help MC clean up, he noticed MC take out their phone and take a selfie. He would have protested, but there was just something so utterly endearing that he just let them get away with it. "Don't show that to anyone, darling." Barbatos asked and started wiping the cum off of her face.

"I can promise that almost no one will see this. The only person I can't guarantee won't see this picture is Asmo, but he's immaculate at keeping secrets." MC said, a smile forming on her face as Barbatos moves the cloth across her face so gently. Barbatos thought about it for a moment, then sighed out a small laugh.

"Fine. If you think he's trustworthy and he accidentally sees that picture, it's okay. However, I want you my dear to be anything but a secret. If word gets out that we are... close, then so be it." Barbatos said and finished cleaning her up as best as he could. He helper her stand, and kissed her forehead while she fixed her clothes before they continued on their walk to the House of Lamentation. He dropped them off, then made the short walk back to the Demon Lord's castle planning his next outing with the beautiful MC.

*.*.*.*.*. (A.N) No smut for a month so I made this extra long. Also MC's outfit is by Charm_Others on Instagram. Love y'all and stay safe <3

[imjustaf444keriguess]

sources time

(base links for some of the sources: sophie's page, the guardians doc. also note i am not a scientist and could be wrong, and some of these sources might not be super good sources or reliable. if you wish to debunk any sources and their claims with better evidence, feel free. also, not all of these sources directly say "this is 100% a real phenomenon", but shows that currently, there are studies being worked on and planned to explore what people are already experiencing, and how non-traumagenic plurality differs from traumagenic plurality)

edit: adding a read more, nothing has changed i just hate scrolling past this on my blog

the tulpa study's AMA (if it's been published i'll edit this once i know of it)

Collective-Screaming 6mo ago Hi! Nice to see you two here :D If you can say, what differences did you find between how the brain expresses both the host and the created headmate (tulpa)? Was there any difference between when someone was fully switched in and just controlling (possessing, whether fully or just some parts of) the body?

michael_lifshitz 6mo ago Hi, thanks for your question! Our strongest finding was when we looked at tulpa possession. We were using a simple writing task in the fMRI. We found that when a tulpa is possessing the body and writing a sentence, there is reduced activity in a particular part of the brain that's involved in planning actions and having a sense of agency over your actions (the pre-supplementary motor area, or pre-SMA). This suggests that tulpamancers have learned to down-regulate this key agency/planning region, which lets an alternative agent (the tulpa) take control. It's pretty amazing that tulpa systems can do this on demand. We did have a few tulpamancers who could switch, but we haven't carefully looked at their data yet to see how it's different from normal possession. That's a secondary analysis we're planning after the main results come out :)

(there is more information in the AMA thread, but this comment is Lifshitz using the term "tulpa system", which is amusing when anti-endos and sysmeds insist that system is exclusive to DID.)

tulpas and mental health, a study of online tulpamancers and their experiences with mental health

an "explorative interview study" on multiples personal experiences

"exploring the experiences of young people with multiplicity" mentions:

Respondents discussed that there is a lack of understanding regarding how multiplicity develops without a basis in trauma. For respondents who did not have a trauma history, they described feeling ‘left out of the conversation’ and ‘unable to access support’ or resources. Many people discussed multiplicity in terms of being an experience and a part of their lives, rather than being a ‘disorder’ which needs to be treated or cured. [...] A greater level of understanding and resources were mentioned as being needed within both research and practice.

a similar paper by the same people as the above one that's "exploring the utility and personal relevance of co-produced multiplicity resources"

1.Assuming that someone has multiplicity because they have been abused can be experienced as disempowering and impersonal. Don’t assume a trauma history or pathology. If suitable and appropriate, the young person may wish to confide in you in their own time. An identify of being multiple can exist separately from a young person who has experienced abuse. Multiplicity can be viewed as posiitve by young people.

conceptualizing multiplicity spectrum experiences

5.1.1 Misinterpretation of multiplicity experiences Research discussed the lack of diversity encapsulated in current explanations of multiplicity, with primarily medicalised perspectives explored and validated by support and research (Floris & McPherson, 2015). Individuals discussed the link between their experiences and past traumatic events, which they often felt was part of the development of multiplicity (McRae et al., 2017; Parry et al., 2018); however, the conceptualizations of their trauma varied. While some discussed multiplicity in terms of protective factors against trauma (Fox et al., 2013; Zeligman et al., 2017), others felt experiences were separate from prior trauma (Perry et al., 2007). Often not captured within research that solely focuses on clinical aspects of multiplicity, not all experiences were discussed as being a result of trauma, which added to the complexity in understanding (Ribáry et al., 2017). The lack of standardized language was a barrier to understanding (Černis et al., 2020). Overall, a variety of unique terminology was reported, including ‘multiples’, ‘residents’ and ‘plural identity’ (Blunden & Billie., 2021; Ribáry et al., 2017). As a result, participants felt misaligned with current discussions around multiplicity, which is often more complex than current criteria and language elucidates.

6.1 Multiplicity: Disorder versus experience The findings of this review support the notion that multiplicity experiences are complex and varied, existing across a continuum inclusive of multiplicity, DID and derealization–depersonalization (Sar, 2011). Findings also recognized that individuals with lived experiences can struggle to articulate their experiences, perhaps due to a limited framework of available language, representative of our developing understanding and the nuances surrounding multiplicity. Consequently, as with other mental health experiences, multiplicity is often oversimplified and depersonalized, leading people to question their identity, exacerbating one of the central tenants of depersonalization, rather than supporting self-acceptance. As detailed in Table 2, there are unique features associated with multiplicity, DID and depersonalization–derealization disorder, which warrant individual exploration, terminology and support.

the creators of the TOSD mentioning other forms of plurality and the need to study them

Dissociation in Hypnosis and Mediumship Our definition of dissociation pertains to a division of the personality in the context of trauma. We are aware that this division may also occur in hypnosis and mediumship, that several other definitions of dissociation also address these other contexts, and that there are some indications that dissociation in these other contexts is also best understood as a division of personality. For example, Hilgard's well-known “hidden observer,” as found in some highly hypnotizable subjects, involves a dissociative part of the personality that is endowed with consciousness and self-consciousness, but the phenomenon is disputed (e.g., CitationKihlstrom, 1998; CitationKirsch & Lynn, 1998). Mediumship may involve conscious and self-conscious dissociative parts of the personality (CitationBraude, 1995). However, dissociation in mediums is in several regards different from dissociation in DID (CitationMoreira-Almeida, Neto, & Cardeña, 2008). The possible involvement of consciousness and self-consciousness in dissociated controls in hypnosis and in dissociative parts in mediumship needs to be examined in more detail before a conclusive general definition of dissociation can be formulated.

the ICD and DSM's exclusions. notably, the ICD uses the same language for its "boundary with normality" as it does for the alters themselves.

(EG is "for example", so it is not the only possibility it's excluding)

(note criteria C and D)

[anxiousbrazilianstuff]

Repost:,)

So, yesterday I was really down and ended up deleting my two AUs, but today I'm feeling better so I'm reposting with more paragraphs, as always, enjoy!

Also, it's fixed!

The text is about a future where Jack and Kath never met, so Jack became an artist (🙏🙏) and Kath a very frustrated journalist, and they end up meeting in an interview that Kath needs to do with him, Jack's a bit of an asshole, but I swear he has reasons 😭

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Damn this job, damn those men and their smug looks, damn her father.

That's what she wrote quickly in her notepad, in such a scribbled way that it felt like she was in third grade again. She had fought so hard for a high position in that world of journalism, and yet she was seen as weak and was always thrown into the most futile articles, there were people who didn't even know her name, they simply called her "the Pulitzer girl", "the little heiress" it was infuriating, but she bit her tongue, she needed the job. This was one example that she wasn't taken seriously; she was a journalist, but she would have to be an interviewer of an artist, who had a reputation for being the most difficult person to deal with, he was arrogant and it was impossible to get anything out of him, and obviously, the good old punching bag was there, as the reserve of reserves. She walked through the streets of Manhattan in a hurry, she had woken up late, and to make matters worse, because of the heat, everything seemed to be more sensitive, her waist, tightened by a corset that her father insisted for she to wear because she was too "chubby" to be a perfect wife with a perfect body, the thousands of clips and products in her hair to keep her curls perfect, the heavy makeup suddenly felt suffocating, and her mind was racing a million miles an hour as her heels clicked furiously on the streets floor. She reviewed her questions thousands of times and did little patience tests to make sure she wouldn't snap at the man and put her job at risk.

Suddenly she found herself in the man's house, she sighed, and clutched her notepad, her patience was already thin before she even saw him but even so, she knocked on the door, praying that the rumors were just rumors and that he was a decent person to be around, while she waited, listening to the footsteps inside the house, she tapped her fingers impatiently on the notepad, finally the door opened, revealing a tanned man, with a mess of curls where his hair should be, much like hers when she woke up, ink stains all over his clothes, he had a few, very few freckles, almost invisible, and she hadn't even spoke in but those two brown eyes seemed to judge even the way she held the pen, she forced a smile and said; — “ Good morning, Mr. Kelly, I'm-” — He cut her off with a scoff and a roll of his eyes, and she suddenly knew she was screwed, he looked at her with disdain and said: — “ I know who you are, journalist... Come on, don't waste my time any more than you already have. ” — Journalist. He didn't even try to call her by her name, she felt her blood boil, and she clutched her notepad so tightly that she was sure her fingers were already marked on the page, even so, she nodded, humming a "mhm" and entering the house, it wasn't big, but it wasn't a shack either, it seemed decent enough to have what he needed. Inside the house, it was full of paintings, most of them his own, a bit arrogant on his part, she wrote on the paper, but I couldn't deny that they were all beautiful, different colors and styles, they certainly didn't match the man who made them, but some say that fame goes to your head, it was notably the case with this artist, who by the way, was talking and talking about something completely uninteresting to her, so she just nodded and wrote notes of the pictures, suddenly he stops, and she remembered why she hated heels, they were not reliable in case you tripped, she honestly hated her clothes, uncomfortable heels, tons of clothes that made her hot, heavy and usually overdone makeup, it was difficult to try to please people, she almost fell.

He looked at her with a smug look, the one she saw every day at work, she was already used to them at this point, and they still bothered her, he he chuckled and said in a voice as smug as his eyes: — “ No need to pretend you're paying attention, journalist, I know you're impressed by the paintings, a pretty common reaction if you ask me. ” — For a moment she got tired of biting her tongue, she could no longer contain her immense anger towards that man and his behavior, they had only spent a few minutes together but he was already getting on her nerves. — “ Well, Mr. Kelly, at least something in this room is beautiful, because you? You are annoying, arrogant and disrespectful, I don't understand how you make such beautiful art. ” — Suddenly the hallway fell into a heavy silence, any shred of confidence disappeared from Jack's face and he just looked at her in disbelief, perhaps she had hit a sore spot, but anyway, they just kept walking, in silence. He opened the door to one of the rooms where she assumed the paintings were made, she took a moment to look around the room; Paints were scattered everywhere, as were canvases that were probably defective in his vision, and many broken brushes, he was definitely a bit destructive and that was a bit worrying. She sat down on a stool, she needed to start the questions, he also sat down, going back to work on the one he was doing before she arrived, probably. She cleared her throat, it was quite embarrassing if she was being honest, but she couldn't go home empty-handed, so she began; — “ So... When did you start painting? ” She asked softly, trying to ease the awkwardness that had been left after her little outburst, but could you really blame her? It was frustrating, she was trying to do her job and she was just humiliated, over and over and over again, no matter who it was. She was pulled out of her thoughts at the boy's response, she shook her head and began to write as he spoke.

“ When I was younger, my mother was into arts and since I had this "gift", she encouraged me to pursue it. — It wasn't much different from her, to be honest, her nannies, butlers and maids always said that the gift of writing was in her blood because of her father, the problem was, she became extremely strict with her writing, it needed to be perfect, she was already not respected as a working woman, if she didn't try hard, it would be worse. She saw a bit of fear on the artist's part in answering her question, maybe family was an uncomfortable subject, that was important, she noted. The problem with being here was that she had forgotten all the questions she made, and it was making her stressed, she knew how to improvise, so she took a deep breath and asked the first thing that came to mind; — “ Were you simply born knowing or did you attend some school? ” — She watched a little confused as the boy scoffed under his breath, muttering something she didn't understand, she frowned, tightening her grip on the pen and forced a smile, asking; — “ Mr. Kelly, believe me, I’m not the least bit interested in your life, but at least we can help each other to finish this quickly, I'll help you leaving you alone and you help me being decent and making this faster so I can leave, yes?”

What an insufferable man. That was what she thought over and over again, she felt that the next time that man underestimated her, she would end up with a frazzled nerve from pure stress, he sighed, clearly as unhappy as she was about that situation, the only difference was that he didn't hide it, she had to hide it, after all, it wasn't polite for a woman to get annoyed. After a few eternal minutes of silence, he replied; — “I taught myself, do you think I had money for a damn art school? ” — She flinched a little at the sharp tone, her father had the same tone when he talked to her after she messed up, and she realized he saw it, and his expression softened for the first time since he saw her standing in the doorway; — “ Look, girl, I had... Other concerns to worry about hobbies. ” — Again, he didn't call her by name. But she let it go, because that was important information, he apparently didn't have many money as a child, that was important, and so she began to write, she already had quite a bit of information about that man, but it wasn't enough for what her editors wanted. She was surprised when he started talking on his own, a breakthrough? Was she seeing the light?

— “ I started painting more because of the encouragement of my adoptive mother, she owns the local theater and would ask me and pay me to paint sets for the theater.” — Her eyebrows rose, she knew the local theater, she had been there to review one of the shows, the owner if she was not mistaken, was Miss Medda Larkin, now the question was, how could such a sweet and kind woman have educated someone so difficult? That was none of her business, so she just wrote what was passed on to her, apparently his background was humble, so she sympathized with him just a little bit, because his life probably wasn't easy. As she wrote down her own deductions about the boy, she heard Jack utter some less than desirable words in her presence, in a language she knew was Spanish, She had to thank the thousands of language lessons her father made her do, after all, it made her resume more eye-catching, which was necessary if she wanted to be someone , an immigrant? That was a good question, she turned to him waiting for him to finish his mumbled rants and said; — “ You aren't a native here?” — He looked at her in surprise, He probably thought she hadn't noticed, and hesitated for a few minutes, notably this was another subject he didn't like to talk about, but he after a sigh answered.

— “ I was born here, but my parents were Mexican. ” — With the melancholic way he had spoken, apparently his parents were a sore spot, she knew how immigrants were viewed, so it was probably an injustice, it made her furious, and she took the opportunity to write this, after all, it was a good topic, she just hoped that her editor wouldn't block it because it was a frowned upon subject. She noticed the room was getting dark, frustratingly she wouldn't be able to get all the information she wanted, but what she had was probably more than enough. She stood up, if there was one thing she learned from a young age, it was not good to go out alone at night, so she began to speak; — “Well, thank you very much for the answers, Mr. Kelly, I will probably have to go back tomorrow, but you've already given me enough material, so thank you. ” — She forced a smile, although it wasn't as forced as the previous ones, she waved and left the room, with hurried steps she also left the house. She was quickly thinking of ways to start writing the article. She couldn't just talk about her unpleasant experience, but she also couldn't leave something unrealistic, and she remembered how difficult writing was, especially for a newspaper where your word could influence many people, but she had to try, and she would.

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SO GUYS, That's it for now, if you like it I'll write more, but for now that's it because my hand is sweating from writing/typing

( Guys please see this, this was a LOT of work)

[cereal17]

First art post on this account.

If there’s one character that truly brings me comfort, it’s Alune. Technically, the species she’s from isn’t mine, however I have essentially dominated the species by almost single handedly making enough OCs to fill the entire population-

But that’s besides the point-

Alune is a tarcadian, a warrior who can turn into a bird (her specifically a harpy eagle), her sole purpose to crush her enemies: the Nervemites.

As a soldier class, she’s very skilled with a variety of weapons, but her primary ones are good ol’ throwing knives (don’t be surprised, they pack a punch with spikes that deploy once they hit their target!)

Alune is around 7 feet tall and is on the average height/borderline shorter end of the height spectrum for her species, however she makes up for her height in muscle. She’s a very strong tarcadian, being able to take on someone 3 times her strength/size, as her individual ability is super strength!

Regarding other aspects of her appearance, the horns are not part of her head, but rather something her species get made for themselves when they achieve a major accomplishment - it is standard for tarcadians to eventually all have a set of horns made unique to the individual.

Alune has a tattoo on the tops of each of her hands, her right being the letter G, and the left being the letter M in her language, these are the first letters of her mother’s names.

Alune’s name comes from the word ‘Lunar’!

Alune is the most loyal friend you could ever have. Her confidence, quick thinking, and bold demeanor made her the perfect leader for her brood (a term for a group of tarcadians of similar age that grow up together). Since she as a nestling, she was always wanting to take charge, and while one do the younger ones of her brood, she was incredibly resilient and was never afraid to speak her mind about what she wanted.

While her confidence is infectious, it makes her significantly more stubborn than her peers, causing her to butt heads with others and having trouble admitting when she’s struggling, or when she’s wrong. This has unfortunately been her biggest obstacle as a person, causing her to break multiple personal relationships because she cannot set her ego to the side to hear someone else’s perspective.

Alune isn’t the smartest tool in the shed, while she’s very quick in combative situations, she isn’t as book smart as she is street smart (but don’t tell her that, because she’s always right-) She struggles with dysgraphia, and has to do all of her paperwork on a tablet instead of with a paper and pen.

While stubborn, Alune is a very strong, and deeply caring individual. The wellbeing of her friends, family, brood mates, and colleagues is incredibly important to her. She’s a great shoulder to lean on, someone you can always go to if you need to cry; this gives her a sense of responsibility that she’s responsible for the physical along with mental wellbeing for those around her. She’s Carrie’s a lot of unnecessary weight on her shoulders that she will never disclose due to her pride, after all if she isn’t the perfect Alune everyone sees her as.. who is she?

So much of Aline’s confidence is an act she puts on to not worry her crew, and most of the time she is a pretty energetic individual.. but there’s those particular nights when she thinks about her purpose in life, in the war.. and questions her very existence. If this is was all she was made for, did it really mattered if she lived or died? But she’d never do it, her brood counts on her, and she never breaks a promise. She’s frequently seen as reliable and someone most people can trust and count on.

A lot of people would call Alune egotistical and some have said she’s narcissistic, but her response? “Is it really so bad to strive to be the best at something?”

“It’s funny how the most confident individuals can also be some of the most insecure,” one of her peers noted.

She’s a very flirtatious individual who has 4 lovely partners that she absolutely adores names Recu, Eelvi, Scabren, and Rtexea; however they do not adore her dirty jokes (well… one does-)

Alune suffers from sleep walking.. and fighting, as with her super strength it causes excess energy that she has to keep up by eating massive amounts of food and exercising frequently. If she doesn’t get out the pent up energy, she’s prone to kicking her partners out of bed, or wandering around the ship.

Some of her quirks include the following:

- Chirping when her ear is pulled

- Sneezing if you boop her nose

- Upper lip twitching when annoyed or focused

- Chewing pens

- Unable to sit still, needs compression on various parts of her body to be able to focus

- Clicking and whistling to show she’s thinking or surprised

- Cocking an eyebrow when annoyed

- Voice breaks/cracks that are almost whistle-like when making high pitched sounds, laughing, or speaking in higher pitched tones

I’ve never found a proper voice claim for Alune, on the account that I can’t find a voice that would account for her little voice cracks that she gets (especially when she laughs, her voice cracks/breaks when her laugh reaches higher pitches)

Alune’s bird form is a harpy eagle named Goldwing, which tarcadians describe being in their bird forms more like driving a car than being the bird itself.

Alune is a character I go whenever I need someone to lean on, because out of everyone, she’s the one I know I can count on without any fear of judgement.

Let me know if you have any questions about her! I’d love to hear everyone’s thoughts! (Please I desperately want to ramble to someone about this ;w;)

Credit for the creator of the tarcadians goes to @zombiecicada

[dramadramallama]

Love Supremacy - brain rot part 3 (hopefully that's it, last part, i'm done PHEW)

As stated here, the story within a story structure makes for a cool viewing experience. Different readings for different levels.

Layer 1 - Myung-ha abandons himself Layer 2 - Limbo: an intermediary, temporary, blurry state Layer 3 - The Game, roleplaying yourself (Layer 4 - Us, watching the show haha)

It grants both the audience, and the characters a chance to get a new perspective. 

As Myung-ha sinks into himself, he has to rise back up.

The game framing is interesting, as it makes Myung-ha an active participant in his own fate. He is more likely to act in the safety of a game, with defined, clear goals, and “easy” missions to complete on the side of the main quest. It compartmentalizes the universe in neat little game notifications, and relieves some of the pressure of the hardest part of life. Finding happiness? Pfff, EASY, right?

Myung-ha is given the opportunity to do what all of us have probably wished at one point: re-start, from the latest save point, where it all went wrong. As argued in part one, the characters aren’t just words on paper, or pixels in a game. They have agency, just like Myung-ha.

1. Mirrors/Symmetry

2. Fate, Free Will, and Happiness

▶️3. Game/Reality

Very soon, it appears the lines between the so-called game and so-called reality are getting extremely blurry. 

First, the stakes are incredibly high for a simple game. The penalty is death. 

Myung-ha doesn’t seem fazed by the threat of death, he’s not scared of it. It could be because it's "just a game," but I personally think it's because he's technically already "dead." He ignores the penalty and focuses on his mission(s) at face value. Subconsciously, he works towards changing his own fate, and he gets there!

Debuffs (negative effects) need to be corrected

His efforts are slightly slowed by “debuffs.” These incidents happen due to Yeo-woon’s general dislike for everyone (including himself). They slow the process down enough to teach Myung-ha how to build friendships and relationships. The trick here is that Myung-ha is supposed to learn by proxy, through Yeo-woon’s self-love journey, how to love and be loved, and speak his true feelings.

“Bad” things seem to happen because Yeo-woon isn't quite ready for that unstoppable wave of affection Myung-ha unleashes. At first, the debuffs are incredibly mild and inoffensive (Fondness/Affection level around -10 or -5 = a LEAF falling on his face, a defective streetlight, and spicy tteokbokki lmao) and are easily transformed into something positive, bringing them closer.

But Yeo-woon’s affection is directly related to how honest Myung-ha is with himself and others. For example, he is disappointed to realize the urgency of Myung-ha’s text was fake (="Myung-ha doesn't trust me like I trust him"), and he doesn’t reassure Yeo-woon about the fact that he smells like someone else (lol cat energy). By refusing to open himself up to be cared for, it backfires with direct consequences. 

Myung-ha is allergic to listening to his own advice. All "do as I say, not as I do." When he told Yeo-woon "when someone cares for you, just accept it, why do you have to [question it?]" I almost screamed. We're all mental health experts when it comes to someone other than ourselves lol.

As for most things in life, the answer is balance. His side quests involve, for example, making other friends, who can be reliable and provide help in return. Kyung-hoon helps with a part time job and Sang-won offers to drive him to Yeon-woo.

Also interesting to note, his knee jerk reaction to anyone trying to enter his sphere is to close himself off, keep some distance. The above is in response to someone using casual honorifics (hyung/oppa).

Kyung-hoon, as if expressing Myung-ha's interiority, explains he's ok with long distance dating. Why? Simple: he likes his boyfriend, and wants to enjoy every moment until it ends. This is in direct opposition to what Myung-ha chooses: he places the certainty of pain/suffering above the mere possibility of happiness.

(...relatable tbh)

Myung-ha's inner desires clash with his depressive state constantly, and it gets worse after Yeo-woon’s affection levels dramatically drop from a positive number, back to zero, and then negative again, due to Myung-ha struggling to accept, and balance his own feelings. Too much love for everyone but himself, too scared to need anyone who might end up leaving him. The debuffs get more serious (Grandma gets hospitalized), and he starts fainting. Myung-ha is falling back into old traps, and like vicious circle, by trying to fix the errors incorrectly, in turn, makes the system shut down.

Thankfully, he does come to understand things remain worthy, even though he cannot have them forever.

The mysterious texts from an unknown number

Myung-ha faints several times, like things aren't quite going right. The nonsensical texts keep pouring in.

These read, to me, like close friends/family grieving, like they're in a columbarium (?). Besides the one from his sunbae at the end, they're all unsigned. There's one text saying they have "followed someone wearing the same clothes as [Myung-ha], knowing it couldn't be [him]", and one about a broken vase. Are they all from his sunbae, relaying the things said to him once? Or after his death? At his funeral? As a prayer? Thinking of him?

While the game server experiences extreme instability, memories, “real-life” happenings parasite the safety of the game.

Very personal elements keep permeating the game play; lines go beyond blurry, and disappear entirely.

Elements outside of the game keep popping up. Soon, the edges of the gameplay aren’t so clear-cut anymore, as Myung-ha gets more precise with defining happiness. His own handwriting shows up in the game notifications.

The answers are his own: he filled in the blanks himself. But he constantly tries to apply them to someone else.

It becomes impossible to dissociate the game from Myung-ha’s existence. I’m sure I haven’t caught them all, but there are many instances where Myung-ha's reality bleeds into the game.

Bubbly, water sounds are heard at key moments, and before long, his "memories" with his sunbae also get a underwater backdrop. To say nothing of the water/wave imagery around Myung-ha.

His world is leaking through the seams, the wave is rolling him over, and he’s sinking deeper. Which way will he come up? Water symbolism is always, MUAH, chef's kiss.

He is given ultimate freedom - a symbolic pen, to overwrite the program, and solve the system errors

Myung-ha for better or for worse, whether he likes it or not, is in control, quite literally, of the game, and by extension, of his life. When he starts to understand he's the origin of the errors, he panics, chooses to end it early, and saves Yeo-woon's fate over his.

That same pen has been used to write all the answers to the questions that appear in the game. He chooses Yeo-woon over himself. The game fails, the universe wavers. Beautiful contradiction: he fights to stay. Just like the way he regretted it after walking into the water. His true intentions come bubbling back up to the surface, and he runs to Yeo-woon, away from death and towards life. He doesn't want to disappear.

Time's up

In the previous post, I went more in depth about how he only gives, never takes. He doesn’t reach out to be pulled out of the water, thinking himself to be alone, and his system slowly starts shutting down. 

The scenes end abruptly, we jump from seemingly disconnected locations, faster, while Myung-ha frantically tries to outrun his own errors. I’ve seen some criticism of the pace and editing getting a little hectic in the later episodes, but I think it was purposefully reflecting Myung-ha’s state. 

Yeo-woon, with his newfound agency, defies his own story ending. By changing the game’s core mission to “make Myung-ha happy” he counters Myung-ha's one-sided choice and the balance can be restored.

CONCLUSION // PLEASE LET THIS END

"Despite knowing the journey and where it leads, I embrace it and welcome every moment." (Ted Chiang, Stories of Your Life and Others)

It is unclear whether Myung-ha gets a redo in a new reality, or if he gets to enjoy his own personal heaven after death. The game might be a physical representation of Myung-ha’s mind. It’s as real as any other intangible concept, like love, or happiness. There's definitely something to be said about the aspect ratio changing depending on where he is, but...

But to me, it doesn’t really matter. It's not where he ends up, it's how he got there.

I love that we open with Myung-ha abandoning his life at sea, and close on him returning to the water for a new start.

And I love that Myung-ha loves his own story: on his date with Yeo-woon, he gets emotional over the movie because the Monster Croc is "an alien" (COUGH Myung-ha) who joins the Zombie Gorilla (COUGH Yeon-woo) in his world to "save it"...

[nocturnalandflawed]

Whirlpools of Infinity: Part One | Chapter Ten: Route 666 / Nightmare

title: whirlpools of infinity.

chapter: chapter ten: route 666 / nightmare.

rating: (whole work) mature

pairing: dean winchester / original female character

warnings: (whole work) supernatural, angst, sexual themes, strong language

trigger warnings: (whole work) descriptions of gore, death, blood, violence, sexual situations (non violent), grief, sexism (situational)

notes: you’ll notice that I’ve skipped over Route 666 for the most part. It felt needless to write to erase a black woman character whose existence in the universe is meaningful and important. Cassie is one of my favourite female characters from the early show and so I wanted to leave her just the way she is — untouched by this fickle AU of mine.

masterlist | ao3 | previous chapter

Uneventful wasn’t usually a word Dean, Sam, or Noah could reliably use to describe their lives. But for the past few weeks, that was what it had been. The Winchester-Allard alliance, it seemed, was in a dry spell. 

Idle hands were no friend of the hunter though, and so with the three of them staring cabin-fever in the face after weeks of dead-end motel-jumping, right about now, any case would do them. But while they waited for the inevitable evil to return and in lieu of anything better to do, Sam had taken to observing his brother and their enigmatic sidekick with sideways glances, wondering but still not quite sure of what it was that had shifted between the two of them since the Venir case, and Dean not-quite dying. 

For his part, Dean was just as restless as Sam, hardly enjoying his mind’s tendency to wander when he had nothing better to focus on. Nearly losing his life had an effect on a man though, it turned out. And so casting this mind back had been an unfortunate byproduct of trying to look forward, and as a result, the impossible thing that was still simmering between him and Noah was becoming harder and harder to ignore. 

Noah spent most of her free time trying to follow up on any potential John-related leads, hitting the books with Sam and trying hard to ignore the unreadable look that Dean had taken to gazing at her with spread across his brooding face. But the closest they’d gotten to a breakthrough on any front — personal, or professional — happened late one night. And in the end, it’d had almost nothing to do with anything supernatural. 

The three of them had long given up on obits and local papers for the day, and so to celebrate, Dean had procured a couple of six-packs. They ate not enough and drank too much, and by the time any of them realised just how far gone they were, deep and meaningful questions had already been asked and hesitantly answered. 

“You dated somebody?” Sam stared disbelievingly at his brother from his spot lying on the floor, having given up his bed to Noah who was propped up on one arm and fighting a loosing battle against a case of the giggles. “For more than one night?”

Dean was unimpressed with his brother’s line of questioning, mostly because he hadn’t meant to to say anything about Cassie in the first place. But also because, despite himself, he did actually care about what Noah thought of him. And so Sam being shocked and awed at the idea of Dean having anything other than a one night stand in his life, he figured, hardly gave off the most respectable impression. 

“What about you?” Dean got off easy in the end though, with Sam’s attentions quickly turning to their fairer company. 

“I dated a guy in school, a chef. He was nice,” Noah was pink in the cheeks with a dangerously playful look in her eye. 

“Nice?” Everyone knew what nice, meant — even Sam. 

“Yeah. There was a barman a couple of years ago. Less nice, but, you know, fine. We’re not all built like you are, Sam.”

“Oh?” Sam was scandalised, only briefly. “And how am I?”

“Domesticated.” With that from Noah, it was Dean’s turn to laugh. “It’s a compliment.”

“Is it?” Sam wasn’t convinced, but Noah nodded cheerily along anyway. “What does that make you, then?”

Noah glanced at Dean over the neck of her beer bottle before turning back to Sam. “I just have a different set of skills.”

And with that, Sam lost it, and Dean choked on the sip he’d just taken. 

They needed a job, Dean thought. He thought many, many, many other things as well, but most of all, he was sure that they needed to go out and get their hands dirty. Or else, sooner or later, he was going to end up getting them all into trouble — and a lot of it, of an altogether human kind. 

•

Eventually a case did find them, like always. But long drives in confined spaces all while dealing with hangovers and whatever new thing Dean and Sam had woken up and decided to bicker about this morning? That much was more than Noah’s fuzzy brain could manage. And so, she’d had an idea. 

Sending the boys each to their own room for a while to cool off was hardly the most original idea in the world. But it was the best idea that Noah had, especially when she was already running on fumes. 

“Seriously?” Noah wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Sam so excited as when she tossed him her car keys across the second most miserable roadhouse carpark they’d found themselves in, this week. But she was serious — very serious. 

“Yeah, you two seem like you could use a break,” Noah looked from one brother to the other, surprised to find only amenable faces staring back at her. “You know, from each other. And to be perfectly honest, I could use a break from the bickering. Or at least until this Advil kicks in.” And so in the end, Noah had barely needed to convince anyone to go along with her plan. They just did. Sam took off in her car, NPR blasting on the radio, while Dean settled silently back into the Impala and managed to limit his sideways glances at Noah to only one every few minutes or so, until they were safely back out on the open road. 

“So a chef, huh?” Dean wasn’t great at small talk and he wasn’t great at hiding what he wanted when he really, really wanted it, either. “That’s…interesting.”

Noah smiled to herself, the visage of her amusement reflected in the speckled window beside her. “He was a nice guy, very talented. It was a nice first love, I guess. Good guy. You know, nice but uneventful. No demons on his ass — doesn’t even know that demons exist, I’m pretty sure.”

His name was James, and sometimes he would still Noah an email out of the blue just to check in. He’d been good to her, and he’d even taken her home with him a few times and showed her what being a nice kid from a nice, normal family was like. But even back then, the truth had still been just the same as it ever was — that with Noah came danger. And so the idea of risking someone she cared about by sticking around wasn’t a reality that Noah had been content to live with. 

“That’s nice.” The mortifying truth of the matter was that Dean wanted to know anything about Noah that she was willing to tell him at this point. Although just how many of the dirty details he thought he could stomach was another issue. “He sounds…nice.”

Noah wasn’t unawares — she knew what this was, from Dean. The two of them had been dancing around each other like awkward teenagers ever since their I’m-Glad-You’re-Not-Dead hug a few weeks ago. And while she had no good idea of what Dean thought about her or anything that had happened between the two of them up to this point, what Noah did know, was that the banalities of getting-to-know-you chatter felt like a breeze compared to the deep, dark, and usually very scary reality that was otherwise ever-present in their lives, these days.

“What about you?” So, Noah played along. She asked questions and tried not to laugh out loud at the faces Dean made whenever things got too real, or too close. “The girl you dated,” Noah’s eyes cast over towards Dean’s furrowed brow. “Did you love her?”

Dean took a breath, then let it out as a sigh. Behind his usually steely exterior, his eyes were gentle. 

“Yeah,” he said, after a while. “Yeah.”

“What happened?” Noah glanced in the rearview back at Sam, who looked happy as a clam, before letting her eyes wander back toward Dean. He looked at her, then back at the road, then at her again. 

“She broke up with me.” His words started out sharp, then softened, like he couldn’t bear to stay mad. 

“Why?” Noah saw Dean, then — saw an echo of pain etched across his face — and she knew that even after all the years in-between, this memory still stung at him. 

Dean glared at her briefly, but then gave up on being anything like mad as soon as he laid eyes on Noah’s face and the tender look in her eyes. 

“You told her?” Dean hated that Noah could read him so easily. And also, he didn’t. “That was brave.”

Noah was being serious, and Dean could see it from the way she was holding him in her gaze. She meant what she said — that letting someone into their world and trying to be honest with them about the fucked-up-ness that could be their day-to-day was, in fact, admirable. But all things considered, the question remained.

What did it mean when the person on the other end of your outstretched hand, already knew the whole of you?

•

Noah was getting used to being woken up in the middle of the night by one boy or another banging down her door. What she was less used to though, was the reason for the waking being Sam having had a premonition. 

The case that they’d been working since they’d rolled into town had been basically open and shut. So far, they’d been here for all of three days and after finishing up last night at an hour even normal people called reasonable, the three of them had gone to dinner, made nice, and then hit the hay before the witching hour could catch up with them. Or, that had been the plan. Until Noah opened her hotel room door to the sight of a rumpled Dean with an apologetic and only mildly panicked look on his face. 

Sam was already in the car, and by the time Noah had managed to throw her bag together and make it out her own door, the Impala was already set for take off. And so with no questions asked, off they went. 

By the time they’d arrived in Saginaw, Michigan, it was already too late. The man in Sam’s nightmare was dead, and the police were already on the scene. 

Noah wandered around the gathering crowd trying to glean anything that might be useful while back at the cars, Dean and Sam were huddled together, whispering. Sam was devastated that someone had died without him being able to help, and Dean was sick with worry at the idea that Sam was apparently having dreams that were evidently coming true. Or rather, in this case, playing out in his subconscious like a live action replay. 

Noah didn’t know what the right thing to do, was. Not about this. All she could do, was whatever the brothers needed. And first thing in the morning, that would mean procuring some very specific uniforms. 

•

Noah sat shotgun while the boys — junior priests, in their weird and wacky world of make-believe, today — ventured into the house they’d last visited in the pitch dark. She was the getaway driver. Only this time, she was the driver with her hands on Dean’s keys. 

Even with being as distracted as he was by, well, everything, Sam had still managed a bewildered expression that had matched Noah’s own when Dean had tossed her the keys to the Impala after their drive-by breakfast. He hadn’t even flinched, and Sam and Noah had both managed little more than to look dumbly at each other for a beat after Dean had landed himself in the back seat.

The junior Fathers from St. Augustine’s had come up broke in the end, though. And so the rest of their no good very bad day was to be spent back at the motel; Sam with his head buried in research with Noah by his side doing the same, while Dean cleaned guns and added a running commentary when he wasn’t actually contributing. 

There was nothing supernatural about the house, and nothing supernatural about the land it was built on. They had nothing to go on except for Sam’s gut and his bad dream, until, out of nowhere, a sudden new headache sent him crumbling to the ground. 

“Sam?” Noah noticed the pain etched across Sam’s face first, her vantage point at his front just barely giving her the upper hand on Dean, who knew Sam better than he knew himself and so had realised that something was the matter just as fast.

“It’s happening again,” Sam was still in a ball on the floor when he found his voice again, his eyes unfocused, his mind elsewhere. “Something's gonna kill Roger Miller.” And then, before he’d so much as found his sea-legs, the three of them were off out the door, again. 

In the car on the drive over to Roger Miller’s apartment, Noah sat quietly and listened while Sam very understandably freaked out, and then she kept listening while Dean lied to his face and told him that none of the everything that was rattling his bones was much of a bother to Dean, at all. Noah knew better though and Sam did, too. But still, Dean wanted to be the rock, ever unshakable. And so they let him, and no one said anything to the contrary.

In fact, Noah didn’t say anything at all until Roger Miller’s decapitated head landed plum at her feet.

By the time they’d finished wiping down their fingerprints and made it safely back to the car, the brothers had already developed a running theory that the Miller family must be cursed. And so as the resident medievalist with a forte for legends, Noah found herself being peppered with questions all the way back to the motel, about what it could possibly be that was doing all the murdering around the place. But the truth was that Noah didn’t think that the boys curse theory held much water. However, she also didn’t have a better idea. And so she went along with their best best guess for now, until they managed to come up with literally anything else that made even a lick more sense. 

•

By the time they’d figured out what was really going on with the Miller family, Sam had already collapsed again, this time in public. And so if history was anything to go by, chances were that they were already on the back foot as they raced across town in the Impala, on their way to see Max.

A case of theirs being a living nightmare was nothing new. But nightmares being alive in Sam’s head in the middle of the day and the killer they were hunting being a boy whose pain was caused by human horrors unimaginable even to them, very much was. Reality, plain and simple, was harsh. It was harsh in the Miller house for Max, and it was harsh in the car that was the nearest thing either Sam or Dean had to a home, as well. There was no good plan on this case. All they had was the element of surprise, and some explaining to do about who the motley young woman might be who was suddenly backing up the plain-clothed St Augustine Fathers. 

But before they could explain much of anything, and before they’d had the chance to get Max alone, Dean’s shirt had ridden up and revealed his sidearm. Dean didn't trust just anyone, and he wasn't about to take a risk where Sam or Noah lives were concerned. And so, he'd brought a gun — a gun that had gone sliding across the floor right as the doors and windows slammed shut.

Being weapon-less and on the other end of the gun than usual didn’t leave much room for negotiation, though. And so despite Dean’s protests and the sinking feeling in Noah’s gut, the two of them took Alice and went upstairs like they were told, hoping all the while that divide and conquer would end up being as good a plan as any. 

Noah rustled up a wash cloth and tried to find a reassuring smile for Max’s step-mother while she wet it down and handed it to Dean. He was gentle with her, and kind, and even though they were both trying as hard as they possibly could, it still wasn’t enough. 

Before they knew what was happening, the bedroom door opened to make way for Max, ominous in the stark light of day. And Sam was nowhere, but the gun was everywhere, hanging in the air. 

They were running out of options and Dean couldn’t be in two places at once — he couldn’t shield Alice and Noah both at the same time. Still, he tried anyway, pulling Noah close behind him on one side with Alice on the other, his hand crushing Noah’s in his even despite his knowing just how much she’d hate the idea of him protecting her and especially when there was a gun pointed squarely at his chest. But then, out of nowhere, suddenly there was Sam. And for a moment, there was almost relief. But it passed as soon as it appeared, and then all that was left was the absence of any at all. 

All there was, was death and questions. Just like always. 

[fursasaida]

If you have a bunch of trees, and you chop them down to make paper or lumber or whatever, you can sell the paper or lumber or whatever for money, but on the other hand trees store carbon and cutting them down is bad for climate change. If instead you do not chop down the trees, that is good for the environment, and it is a great innovation of modern finance that, now, you can get paid for not chopping down the trees. This is called “carbon credits.” There are measurement problems.

If you mine Bitcoin, you use a lot of electricity to run computers to perform calculations to get Bitcoins for yourself, which you can sell for money. But this is bad for the environment, because it uses electricity that is probably generated in ways that release carbon.[1] If you were to stop mining Bitcoin, conversely, that would be good for the environment. Can you get paid, though, for not mining Bitcoin? Oh yes, modern finance has solved that one too:

Bitcoin miner Riot Platforms Inc. made millions of dollars by selling power rather than producing the tokens in the second quarter as the crypto-mining industry continued to grapple with the impact of low digital asset prices.

The Castle Rock, Colorado-based company had $13.5 million in power curtailment credits during the quarter, while generating $49.7 million in mining revenue. Riot booked $27.3 million in power curtailment credits last year and $6.5 million in 2021 from power sales to the Electric Reliability Council of Texas, which is the grid operator for the Lone Star state. …

The company had $18.3 million in power credits in June and July based on its latest monthly operational updates, including $14.8 million in power curtailment credits received from selling power back to the ERCOT grid at market-driven spot prices under its long-term power contracts and $3.5 million in credits received from participation in ERCOT demand response programs.

Here is the 10-Q; this stuff is described in Note 8. Some of what is going on here is that Riot has a long-term power supply agreement in which TXU Energy Retail Co. has to supply it with electricity at fixed prices through 2030, and Riot has the option to sell the power back to TXU, at market rates, for credit against its future electric bills, when the spot price exceeds the contract price. But part of it is demand response, where ERCOT pays Riot cash for using less than its typical electrical load during periods of peak demand.

As with carbon credits, there are measurement problems; I have never mined a single Bitcoin, yet ERCOT has never sent me a penny for my forbearance. Still, how great is modern finance? Twenty years ago, if you had told people that one day they could get paid for not mining Bitcoin, they would have said “what?” But now it is possible. Modern finance created the problem (Bitcoin mining) and the solution (paying people not to mine Bitcoin); the overall result is that nothing happens and yet people get paid. Just a miracle of financial engineering.

Also: Riot is getting paid for not using electricity, but if you are an enterprising Bitcoin miner surely you should look into getting paid for not using carbon when you are not mining Bitcoin. Riot is not there yet, but it is possible to imagine a warming world in which energy prices go up and Bitcoin prices go down and Bitcoin miners can get paid more for not mining Bitcoin than for mining Bitcoin. Giant fortunes will be made by people who got in early to the business of not mining Bitcoin. The future is so good, man.

This is from Matt Levine's "Money Stuff" newsletter (which yes is under the Bloomberg masthead), which I highly recommend if you want some kind of awareness of what the finance yahoos are doing but want to feel like you're hearing it from a human person

[milquetoast27]

The ✨Frame Narrative ✨

The literature nerd in me must be set free at least every now and then. So let's talk about the frame narrative!

A frame narrative is pretty much, a story within a story, and more often than not, the story of someone else being told to you by a narrator (laughs in John Watson narration).

But the frame narrative/direct narrator has so many uses and can impart completely different things based on the context/events of the story! The possibilities honestly feel endless, and I think it is important to know when and when not to use a frame narrative in writing! (Note: it might also be known as a box narrative or a sandwich narrative). I will also be using Sherlock Holmes, Frankenstein, and The Time Machine as my main examples.

The frame narrative is a great tool for immersion. This may seem obvious, but having someone else tell you a story automatically makes the events feel more authentic. This may come about in different ways, such as discovered manuscripts, published chronicles, or as epistles/letters. This can be utilised to place the reader themselves in a different position, for example as Margaret Saville in Frankenstein, or in some cases the reader themselves, such as in the Sherlock Holmes stories. Even so, the direct address from the narrators inevitably will position the reader as a character within the events taking place. From a new angle, information communicated through epistles, posters, newspapers, etc. is an effective method for crafting a world that seems genuine.

It makes the events so much more human. Typically, frame narratives will be in past-tense, the recounting of events already occurred. Because of this, a character like Watson is able to very kindly speed up his recordings for us. If he skips over something boring-- he is able to tell us it is so and move on. An omniescent third-person narrator may have more difficulty getting this task done. Additionally, the presence of a human narrator introduces the wonderful unreliable narrator, which can give us so much information into the biases/true thoughts of the character we are reading from. Although Watson is probably one of the most reliable narrators that have graced fiction, his keen attentiveness to Holmes tells us where his fascination truly lies-- a very good use of 'show, don't tell'. A narrator like Watson is also able to use hindsight to enhance his writing, but because he is crafting a story, he can still conceal important information when he wishes to.

It makes the story feel noteworthy. Because someone has taken the time to write out and tell you this story, it feels more significant and even allegorical. A Christmas Carole, in fact, had a similar effect, as it was typically read out on Christmas Eve. Or the scientist in The Time Machine. The events he witnessed and heard of were simply too extraordinary to not put to paper. While it is subtle, it does communicate his shock at his experience.

Frame narratives can also indicate levels of power. Frankenstein is full of ideas of having the power to tell your own story. The majority of the creature's words come through the mouth of Frankenstein, and then through the letters of Walton, the explorer. Not once does the creature have means of truly speaking for himself, and ultimately had to rely on two others to have his words heard by even one person: Margaret Saville. This is a subtle indicator of his status in the hierarchy between these characters. Or, in The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, the fact that he reads of the singular experience of Imrat Kahn still places the focus on the protagonist, as he reads of someone else.

If I think of more, I'll add them! It's a shame that it's largely older literature (from my experience) that uses this technique. Quite often it's stuff like, "a guy at a pub told me about someone he once knew..." But today, omniescent third-person narrator seems to be preferred. I like over-the-shoulder narration, too, but nothing hits like getting it right from your protagonist.

[merchantarthurn]

hello!!! if you dont mind me asking what kind of white pen do you use for adding little highlights in your art? your art inspired me to start inking and coloring my traditional art and ive been having a lot of fun with it for a year or so now but i can never seem to find a good white gel pen to use 😭

you and me both friend 😭 I have a lot of issues with the ones i've tried and im thinking i might switch to just using white dip-pen inks (shirahama has given the brand she uses it's something like icy-white but i'll have to dig that out again).

the best luck i've had has been the following:

General notes of paint/acrylic markers - be extremely careful of smudging and drying times, both of the pen and whatever you have underneath. For any solvent-based mediums (paints, alcohol markers and ESPECIALLY linework inking) acrylic markers can pick up some of the colour or damage the paper and create smudges and tears. This is relatively easy to avoid so long as you wait for stuff to dry and work in small areas. The paint itself will take a while to dry so I usually let it sit for 30mins-1hr before putting it anywhere near my scanner bed. If you need to work on a larger area and the paper you're working on isn't pretty robust you should probably switch to a paintbrush and just use regular acrylic paint (which has a longer drying time).

I've also found that with smaller pen nibs getting a reliable opacity is an absolute crapshoot lol.

Artistro paint market pen - really good when fresh, but god help you if you go without using it for too long after you start using it. it'll gunk up and I don't know how to fix them. They are relatively cheap and come in packs at least. Doesn't seem to have larger sizes though.

Posca paint pens (various sizes) - far more robust than artistro if you store them right but regrettably more pricey. I've also found the finest nibbed white pen to be... deeply underwhelming. It never seems to have adequate pigment no matter how long I shake and prime it. By contrast the artistro gave the same sized line much more consistently, but at the cost of the pen nib itself being pretty unreliable.

Decobrush pigment - I've not got these in white so can't speak for them directly, but the colours I do have are pretty spiffy and it's a BRUSH pen, which gives you so much more control and a range of sizes per pen. There is some difficulty with low opacity on these though (since they're meant to be used with other decobrush markers), so I don't know how a white "corrector" would fair. The colour range is generally pretty gorgeous though, in the long term i'd like to have more of them.

General note on gel pens - I've got a love-hate relationship with gel pens honestly. I find I can get more consistent results out of them because the ink doesn't settle and you don't have to prime the nibs, but that's only if you can find a good brand... and then a good specific pen lol. I've also found an issue when you don't let the medium below dry properly re: smudging, but it also seems like if your work isn't boneeee dry (like overnight or multiple days of alcohol markers drying) the gel can very easily take on the colour of the pigment underneath, especially darker ones. Oddly this doesn't always show up when scanning, but it will look odd in person. Not always a draw back though - it looks great for white detailing in shadow.

Sakura Gelly Roll 08 - Not sure if there's other sizes (or their efficacy) so I thought I'd be specific because if there's one thing about gel pens the specificity MATTERS. I've got a couple of these and they don't disappoint (insofar as my expectations for gel pens go)

Uniball signo broad - this was my favourite until it ran out of ink. I cannot say for the uniball signo (without the broad part) which seemingly just gave up delivering ink and enjoys carving lines on the page and maybe delivering just enough ink that you can see where the ball is on the track it leaves behind. But the broad? I really liked. It honestly probably performs the same as the gelly roll but the pen just feels nicer to use lol, and the fact that it ran out of ink rather than dried out speaks for how much I liked it lol

as a general warning though - basically any gel pen or acrylic pen should be the last thing you do on your piece, because the second it goes down you will not be doing any more colouring in that area (unless you paint with acrylics). You can maybe use lineart pens on top of them once fully dried for at least an hour (ideally more) but it's very likely to smudge.

honestly... if you scan your work, there's no shame in cloning a white area of your work to use as a highlight post-scan. i always feel like im cheating until i remind myself that every digital-artist peer i have gets do to this at their leisure lol. i'd recommend getting a good scan/photo of the work before adding any highlights anyway because it's sooo easy to bugger them up and be unable to fix it (i say this as someone who never remembers and always regrets it lol)

examples:

you can see where the opacity doesn't quite hide what it's covering - an extra layer or digital correction would have been great. pretty sure this was artistro acrylic pen. but the unseen thing is i had to correct around the iris to the point where i said "well fuck i can't do what i want now" and just fixed it digitally.

dot highlights on the left and in/around the eye - definitely gelly roll. gel pens are really good for little pin pricks because you avoid the ball-point smearing things too thin and you can get pretty high opacity from that. also some more digital "help" with a bit of airbrush glow.

Definitely gel pen but i forget which kind, but I wanted to show what I meant by "picking up some pigments" and how can can be a boon, but also how sometimes the scanner just picks it up as white anyway (left is scanned, right is a photo - you can see it's purplish in the shadows)

[frost-eyed-autumn]

What is Chuuya's opinion of each member of the Armed Detective Agency?

I'm going to assume that this is mainly in regards to actual Canon and not any individual muse interpretations so here goes...

Chuuya's Opinions On The Agency

First thing to note is that even though he can seem a bit of a hard-ass, Chuuya's opinions are a little bit flexible (and largely determined by events at the time and Mori's orders). He's never dead set on what he thinks of them, though overall, he thinks the Agency is a bit hypocritical and unfairly praised in the public eye.

After all, the Port Mafia ( / Mori Corporation) has done a lot to protect Yokohama from external threats (arguably, Chuuya alone has done more to protect Yokohama just when he was 16 than the Agency has probably done in its entire career up until the Moby Dick incident ; never mind the rest of the Port Mafia. And Akutagawa was just as responsible for protecting the city from the Moby Dick, but as far as we see, its only Atsushi and the Agency that get praised in the papers).

He also sees the Agency and the public as hypocrites since the Agency technically involves itself in vigilante gang warfare (see: the gang the Agency retaliated against for attacking Cafe Uzumaki, and all the gangs around Yokohama that are blatantly terrified of going against them because the Agency retaliates violently). Its not so much the retaliation that he has a problem with, so much as it is that its treated differently than when the Port Mafia retaliates. The Agency gets public awards, while the Port Mafia are regarded as criminals for doing the same exact things.

The Port Mafia gets away with it because they have a strong network of lawyers and other such people in place to fight / pay off the courts and authorities to turn a blind eye.

The Agency gets away with it because they're the Agency and tote around the "good guy" label.

On a personal level, I wouldn't say he hates them exactly. More just that he finds them to be rather obnoxious and likes to mock them on the regular (he often refers to them as "Toddlers") to be petty and derogatory.

On a professional level, he's loyal to Mori's whims. If Mori says they're allies today, then they're allies today. If Mori tells Chuuya to crush them out of existence tomorrow, he'll do so without hesitation. That's his promise to Mori as his second-in-command.

Fukuzawa

He's generally neutral towards him, though he knows quite a bit more about Fukuzawa's history than your average person through Mori, and views it as "hypocrisy trickles down from the top". That's not to say though he doesn't have at least a little bit of neutral respect for the guy. He knows first hand how hard it can be to run an organization reliably, even a small one.

Ranpo

He used to be fairly neutral towards him, only knowing him by reputation, until the Cannibalism events. Then he got stuck in that book and left there to find his own way out long after Ranpo managed to escape. He's even more peeved because it happened while Mori's life was still in danger, and there's nothing Chuuya hates more than being helpless to protect his people or his Boss. His feelings can be summed up in 3 words: Fuck That Guy. He really wants to pummel him properly.

Kunikida

Likewise fairly neutral, though he's heard quite a bit (through Dazai, obviously) how he can be a bit of a volatile hard-ass and pain in the neck (naturally, because Dazai is an unreliable narrator about his role in things like that, Chuuya just assumes by default that its entirely deserved). Following events with the Hunting Dogs though, he does have to admit he's pretty ballsy though. Almost blowing yourself up to save the rest of your organization takes some guts most people don't have.

Yosano

He's had very little contact with her (though he's heard plenty from Mori since her Ability is so coveted). However, after the one run-in he did have with her when the Three Way Conflict with the Guild was in full swing, he definitely thinks she belongs with / would fit in well with the mafia with how sadistic she is against her enemies purely on principle.

Kenji

He's actually fairly friendly with him (I mean how can you not be? This is Kenji after all). Moreover, he's actually impressed with him, which is a rare feat, given that Kenji is capable of tanking his kicks with hardly a scratch or bruise to speak of. The fact that Kenji also complimented his Ability AND his hat certainly doesn't hurt things. He really wants to fight him purely on the basis that he's curious about how well his Ability and Kenji's would match up in power, rather than out of hostility. Its not every day he finds another Ability user who can take his blows to give him an actual challenge or fun time.

Tanizaki

He's barely met the guy, though he does have some mixed feelings. On the one hand, the guy tried (and nearly succeeded, more than anyone else) to assassinate his Boss during the Cannibalism events, and he really doesn't like that. On the other hand, his Ability would be real handy to have in the hit squad / Black Lizards if the Agency decided to make him the person they traded to the Port Mafia in exchange for helping them against the Hunting Dogs. He clearly has the willingness to assassinate people with it already.

Dazai

Do I even need to spell it out? He's still pissed at Dazai for a lot of things - the list is too long to put here. He hates him now more than ever after he defected from the mafia. He hates that Mori still has a "place" for him set in reserve afterwards. He's also still the only person who can allow him to use Corruption safely, and Chuuya still trusts Dazai not to let him die in action if circumstances force them to work together. Which naturally means he hates and is irritated with Dazai even more.

Kyouka

He's tentatively friendly towards her, being that she used to be Port Mafia, and is important to Kouyou. He's well aware that the Port Mafia simply wasn't good for her, nor was being forced to kill people repeatedly when she's only 14, so he doesn't hold any hard feelings towards her leaving (and her leaving was sanctioned by one of the Executives, so he doesn't count her as a traitor). That said, she's no longer Port Mafia and with the Agency, so he'll put the organization first and won't hold back if Mori orders him to go up against her in battle.

Atsushi

He's heard a lot of things about him, but they really haven't met. He just knows he's newer to the Agency and has worked with Akutagawa a handful of times similar to how he and Dazai sometimes work together, and he knows Dazai wants to make the two of them the next generation of Double Black.

[hashiiiiisuniverse8]

Hello mga ka sheesh, my co- pre-service teachers and Pauliniatics. This is your newbie blogger Stephan Hashley Javier, 19 years old and not ready to be an adult huhu! I am currently taking a Bachelor of Secondary Education major in Science, and I believe that cram is the best way to finish your activities!

Come along with me and my journey in TTL promising you that this blog is full of sheshableness! :>

THESE ARE MY ANSWER IN OUR FIRST QUIZ IN TTL 1 UNDER MR. MARK FRANCIS ASTOM.

In this blog I will be tackling the different facets in Ict, and will be able to give real life scenarios in each of them. Sit back and read.

Before you start, here is some ice cream, to be more relaxed while reading. <3

____________________

Cloud Computing

Scenario:

It allows me and my fellow students to access updated learning tools from anywhere, making collaboration easier and saving time. Where we can view some digital notes and modules for us to be easy to access. The remote capacity of cloud platforms means that a more diverse range of students can also be reached by educational institutions while lowering costs.

Software

Scenario:

I use software to help me learn more efficiently. This can include games and simulators, flashcard apps, video conferencing, and some online learning apps for , online encyclopedias, or tools like calculators or spellcheckers. For me to make my learning easy. For the past 3 years we have been using some software in our daily life as students, like Microsoft 365 where it is really necessary in the learning process.

Transaction

Scenario:

We are in a transaction everyday we cannot just notice it sometimes, as a lazy person like me I like purchasing online that going to a mall to buy my necessities one of online platforms that I've been using is Tiktok shop, Shoppe, Lazada, Food Panda, and in paying them I am using gcash, gcash is very easy to use and safe also you don't need your wallet too.

Hardware

Scenario:

As an education student the first thing that we need is Gadgets like phones, laptop, printer, wifi, and etc. So it is easy for us to access some online learning access.

Digital Data

Scenario:

As a student I rely more on digital data to have more accuracy, because judgments and actions are made by computers rather than people, so it is greater accuracy in terms of assigned duties. Also it is faster and wider reached because the digital data can contact and provide data to many individuals simultaneously and at the one push of a button, it is really incredibly and considerably faster to use and to access with.

Internet Browsers

Scenario:

Web Browsers allow me to access websites, search for information, shop online, and connect with my friends worldwide. They can translate complex web code into user-friendly pages, making the internet accessible to everyone and easy to use too and it is also relevant to our journey as students and future educators.

Computers and Technology

Scenario:

Last semester in one of our subjects, the teacher required us to create our own research. We need to gather information on renewable energy sources. Computers and technology help us and guide me on how to use computers and technology effectively for our very own research. Computers and technology have really been a powerful tools for research. First, we begin by identifying reliable online sources. We also used search engines to find reputable websites, academic journals, and research papers related to renewable energy sources. We also made sure to evaluate the sources for credibility and relevance. From this scenario, we, student reallt needs to seeks guidance on using computers and technology in making research. Where even the teacher provides information on finding reliable online sources, the computers and technology still hits diff.

Online Access

Scenario;

I noticed this during the pandemic in 2020 where the pandemic started, the Philippines Local Government implemented the Digital Online Class where the students started to rely on Online sources. Then nowadays we noticed that the majority of the population relies heavily on the internet for various aspects of their lives. Country is known for its strong community spirit and commitment to progress. Where online access has become an integral part of everyday life, enabling the people to stay connected, access information, and even on conducting and relying on their businesses.

In the Philippines the local government has implemented a digital infrastructure plan to ensure that every school has access to high-speed internet. This initiative has transformed the country into a hub of digital innovation, attracting new businesses and entrepreneurs who appreciate the convenience and opportunities provided by online connectivity such as online sellings and etc.

The citizens in the Philippines and also all over the world have embraced the benefits of online access in their daily lives. Students can easily access educational resources and participate in online learning programs. Small business owners can reach a wider customer base through e-commercial platforms. Professionals and un-professionals can also work remotely, saving time and reducing commuting expenses. Even healthcare services have become more accessible through telemedicine, allowing people to consult doctors online without leaving their homes that's another benefit of online access.

The community has also leveraged online platforms to enhance social interactions and support local initiatives. Online forums and social media groups have become platforms for sharing ideas, organizing events, and fostering a sense of belonging. The students have been actively participating in virtual seminars because it is easy for them to access, they don't need to travel at all and it's less hassle, where they can freely voice their opinions and contribute to decision-making processes.

Online access has also played a crucial role ti us as we response to emergencies and natural disasters. The local government uses digital communication channels to provide real-time updates and instructions to residents, ensuring their safety and well-being. Also Online fundraising campaigns have been successful in mobilizing support during times of crisis, allowing the community to come together and help those in need.

Online access has become a lifeline for the people, empowering them to thrive in a digital age. The country serves as an example of how a strong digital infrastructure can enhance the quality of life, foster economic growth, and strengthen community bonds.

____________________________________________

Here I am emphasizing Learning process because all that I've mentioned was all interconnected w/ each other. Online access in the learning process, where the teachers can a make use of the internet by proving the students with extra study material and resources such as interactive lessons, educational quizzes as well as tutorials. Teachers can also record their lectures and provide it to the students for revisions which is better than reading from notes. We cannot deny the fact that every student always uses their gadgets so it is easy for them to access their notes when it is digital.

Online access can be applied in various ways in teaching learning in Virtual Classes Online access can be applied in teaching and learning in various ways to enhance the educational experience. Here are some examples is the Virtual Classes where Online access allows teachers and students to connect through video conferencing platforms, enabling live virtual classes, Online Learnings where we can utilize online learning platforms which the teachers can create and share educational resources such as lecture notes, videos, quizzes, and assignments, Collaborative Projects where nline access enables students to collaborate on projects and assignments, even when they are not physically present in the same location where they can also create group chats so they can communicate with each others, Multimedia Content with this the implementer can incorporate multimedia content into their lessons to make them more engaging and interactive, and also in Online Assessments where Online access allows for the administration of online assessments, including quizzes, tests, and exams or diagnostic exam trough google drives, and etc.

[pls-do-crimes-to-me]

I've realized the reason this sits so unwell with me is that it reminds me of "don't eat anything with ingredients you can't pronounce". Both are incredibly both are incredibly unrelated metrics to use pigeons were completely different from AI just as names of chemicals are completely unrelated to how they affect your body. The only possible reasoning behind the argument is just, anything away from nature cannot be trusted.

READ RESEARCH PAPERS. For gods sake, there are so many scientists with the same concerns as you actually doing studies to find reliable results. A better rule of thumb is don't trust an AI that wasn't published with a peer reviewed article proving it works properly. Literally all AIs came from research labs and if they didn't test it that's like eating something that's not fda approved. (Also look for studies that have been duplicated as those are more reliable but depending on how new the AI it might not have that). And read it critically, ask questions like what was the sample size, what was their p value, did what the study actually prove back up their conclusion or did they take a jump.

For the love of god please stop spreading this anti intellectualism pretending like regular people cannot access scientific knowledge. READ RESEARCH PAPERS I'M BEGGING YOU. It's hard at first but having the knowledge of how research is done is a super important literacy skills (I'm so sorry they didn't teach it to you in high school)

AI is being pushes on is left right and centre but knowing how it works, knowing that not all AI is generative AI, knowing when you can and can't trust it, knowing when a biased AI uncovered the bias of humans and what to do is WAYYYY more empowering then sticking your heads in the sand PLEASE.

This is away from my main point of "please read research articles to properly decide on your opinion of an AI and not just if it seems like something a pidgeon could do" and more "AI is not a one dimensionally bad thing"

I'm majoring in cognitive science which means o get a fun mix of both psych classes and computer science classes and what I have overall learnt is thst both human minds and any algorithm based on output coming from a human mind will be biased.

Specifically I took a forensic psychology course that looked at the different ways of deciding if someone was safe to re-enter the community and the data showed that using and algorithm rather than a human clinical made the results much more accurate (not perfect but a considerable improvement [clinical judgement AUC=0.55, actuarial tools AUC=0.68-0.80]. note random chance sits at 0.5). The fact of the matter is this isn't a choice where you can choose human just because you feel like a pigeon shouldn't be doing it. If you don't let them out when you could have: a reformed person is being kept away from freedom, from their family, from possibly helping the world again, if you let them out when you shouldn't have: another person is being turned into a victim.

I understand the ethical issues that come with AI and how because of capitalism many corporations are using it as a swap out for humans. But the issue with that is capitalism, not AI

A good rule of thumb for AI is "would you trust a trained pigeon to do this?"

"We trained a pigeon to recognise cancerous cell clusters and somehow they're really good at it" okay great, that's something that could plausibly be a thing.

"We trained a pigeon to recognise good CV:s and left it in charge of sorting through all our job applications" uh perhaps consider not doing that.