#practical site functionality

[crackinglamb]

Everything Clicks!

A how-to for AO3

We’ve had a lot of refugees from other fanfic sites come to our beloved AO3 in recent times, plus an entire generation that’s never known anything else. And I’ve seen a lot of posts about fandom etiquette when it comes to tagging, what the ratings mean, what the warnings mean and all that. But what I haven’t seen is a post about how the site actually functions. Like, in a practical sense. So here we are.

Did you read something by an author and you want more? Or you know you read something by them and now you can’t find it? Or you just don’t want to scroll for hours through pages because you can’t remember when it was posted? You can go to any personal archive by clicking on the pseud. And then you can then filter by fandom by clicking from the list at the top of the page. It will bring up everything an author has written for that particular fandom. Some people have more than one pseud, too. Going to their personal page is also how you can find those alternates (assuming they’re linked by email address).

(Looks different on mobile, but all those pages are still accessible)

Want a specific pairing? Or rating? Or warning? Once you’re on one of the selectable pages, pull up the filters. They work just like they do in the broader archive. Include will give you everything that has that in it. Exclude will give you everything BUT that one thing. (Or two, or more, however many you’ve selected.) And there’s a filter for everything in both lists. Rating, warnings, ships, even additional characters and tags.

You can put works in order by kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. just like fandom archives. You can see how many are completed, or are still in progress. You can see their public bookmarks if you’re curious about what your faves read. And do all that filtering again if you want.

In short, everything clicks. Everything selectable or underlined is a hyperlink. Play with them. Your reading experience will be better, I guarantee it. If you’ve all read this and feel like ‘well, duh, obviously’, this post wasn’t for you. It was for those who DIDN’T know. Reblog it for them and be kind to each other.

Now go forth to read well.

[lavender-town-radio]

If you only want to avoid things showing up on your dash or fyp, you do have to filter their username.

However, blocking people who post content you aren't interested in or think is annoying does have a practical purpose. It prevents their content from showing up when you search tags, and its much less annoying to remove someone from the results conpletely rather than have to scroll past their posts.

Blocking people prevents them from interacting with your stuff. Which is good if that's what you want annoying people not to do. But sometimes I find someone's posts annoying as hell and I don't want to see them. I'm pretty sure blocking doesn't make that happen. I want people to know that the way to make that happen is to put their username in the "filtered content" section of your settings. And you don't even have to block them if they're a person who like you actually don't mind if they interact with your posts but you just don't want to have to see their shit. You CAN block them. I'm just saying these are two different mechanisms you can mix and match to curate your experience. Do with that what you will.

[syrinq]

sick of this shit

[rebeccathenaturalist]

I am absolutely fascinated by the ecological recovery of the immediate blast zone around Mt. St. Helens. It was wiped clean of almost all life during the 1980 eruption, and in the aftermath it was decided that this area would be allowed to recover on its own, rather than being deliberately replanted by timber companies with a monoculture of Douglas fir, or by conservationists with a biodiverse array of native plants. This means the area is giving scientists an unprecedented close-up look at how an ecosystem recovers from such a massive natural disturbance.

This isn't to say there haven't been a few nudges by human activity. Rumor has it that local fishing clubs sneaked up to Spirit Lake and illegally stocked it with trout, though I've also heard claims that they arrived from a nearby stream, possibly originating from the higher elevation St. Helens Lake (which may itself have been restocked by humans.)

But the single day--two years after the eruption--that a batch of northern pocket gophers spent on the mountain made a big difference in the recovery of plant communities. (By the way, the picture in the article appears to be a ground squirrel, not a gopher.) Over forty years after their sojourn, the sites they were temporarily introduced to show much better plant growth due to the mixing of the soil microbiome, to include mycorrhizal fungi, bacteria, and other microbes. This microbial jump-start was caused by the gophers' digging, demonstrating why fossorial (burrowing) animals are so important to ecosystems. Without them, soil microbial communities can stagnate, and in the case of areas damaged by massive disasters, a lack of fossorial species can make recovery take much longer.

Speaking of disasters, scientists also found that forests that had been clearcut prior to the eruption had poorer, less diverse microbial communities than areas that had been more mature or old-growth forests, even when both areas were given the gopher treatment. This is yet more evidence that clearcutting forests is terrible for local ecology, because it not only removes entire ecosystems above ground, but below ground as well. And it shows that mature and old-growth forests are better equipped to weather disasters, with their higher biodiversity overall.

If we've learned anything ecologically from the 1980 eruption, it's that nature is incredibly resilient if we just give it the space to recover. The problem is that we keep poking at the wounds we create, not allowing them to heal over properly. By using more sustainable forestry practices, using resources more wisely, and preserving mature and old-growth forests, we increase the likelihood that the deeply intertwined life-support systems the planet provides (and which we, and all life, rely on) will remain functional in spite of our efforts to tear them apart in the name of resource extraction.

[communistkenobi]

Would you be willing to dunk on speak more on mainstream feminist theory you're reading? And/or share some of the non-juvenile feminist theory you've read?

(Note: I will try to link to open access versions of articles as much as possible, but some of them are paywalled. if the links dont work just type the titles into google and add pdf at the end, i found them all that way)

If there’s any one singular issue with mainstream feminist thought that can be generalized to "The Problem With Mainstream Feminism" (and by mainstream I mean white, cishet, bourgeois feminism, the “canonical feminism” that is taught in western universities) it’s that gender is treated as something that can stand by itself, by which I mean, “gender” is a complete unit of analysis from which to understand social inequality. You can “add” race, class, ability, national origin, religion, sexuality, and so on to your analysis (each likewise treated as full, discrete categories of the social world), but that gender itself provides a comprehensive (or at the very least “good enough”) view of a given social problem. (RW Connell, who wrote the canonical text Masculinities (1995) and is one of the feminist scholars who coined/popularized the term hegemonic masculinity, is a fantastic example of this.)

Black feminists have for many decades pointed out how fucking ridiculous this is, especially vis a vis race and class, because Black women do not experience misogyny and racism as two discrete forms of oppression in their lives, they are inextricably linked. The separation of gender and race is not merely an analytical error on the part of white feminists - it is a continuation of the long white supremacist tradition of bounding gender in exclusively white terms. Patricia Hill Collins in Black Feminist Thought (2000) engages with this via a speech by Sojourner Truth, the most famous line from her speech being “ain’t I a woman?” as she describes all the aspects of womanhood she experiences but is still denied the position of woman by white women because she is Black. Lugones in Coloniality of Gender (2008) likewise brings up the example of segregationist movements in the USAmerican South, where towns would put up banners saying things like “Protect Southern Women” as a rationale for segregation, making it very clear who they viewed as women. Sylvia Wynter in 1492: A New World View likewise points out that colonized women and men were treated like cattle by Spanish colonizers in South America, often counted in population measures as "heads of Indian men and women," as in heads of cattle. They were treated as colonial resources, not as gendered subjects capable of rational thought.

To treat the category of “woman” as something that stands by itself is a white supremacist understanding of gender, because “woman” always just means white woman - the fact that white is left implied is part of white supremacy, because who is granted subjecthood, the ability to be seen as human and therefore a gendered subject, is a function of race (see Quijano, 2000). Crenshaw (1991) operationalizes this through the term intersectionality, pointing out that law treats gender and race as separate social sites of discrimination, and the practical effect of this is that Black women have limited/no legal recourse when they face discrimination because they experience it as misogynoir, as the multiplicative effect of their position as Black women, not as sexism on the one hand and racism on the other.

Transfeminist theory has further problematized the category of gender by pointing out that "woman" always just means cis woman (and more often than not also means heterosexual woman). The most famous of these critiques comes from Judith Butler - I’m less familiar with their work, but there is a great example in the beginning of Bodies That Matter (1993) where they demonstrate that personhood itself is a gendered social position. They ask (and I’m paraphrasing) “when does a fetus stop becoming an ‘it’? When its gender is declared by a doctor or nurse via ultrasound.” Sex assignment is not merely a social practice of patriarchal division, it is the medium through which the human subject is created (and recall that gender is fundamentally racialized & race is fundamentally gendered, which I will come back to).

And the work of transfeminists demonstrate this by showing transgender people are treated as non-human, non-citizens. Heath Fogg Davis in Sex-Classification Policies as Transgender Discrimination (2014) recounts the story of an African American transgender woman in Pennsylvania being denied use of public transit, because her bus pass had an F gender marker on it (as all buss passes in the state required gender markers until 2013) and the bus driver refused her service because she “didn’t look like a woman.” She was denied access to transit again when she got her marker changed to M, as she “didn’t look like a man.” Transgender people are thus denied access to basic public services by being constructed as “administratively impossible” - gender markers are a component of citizenship because they appear on all citizenship documents, as well as a variety of civil and public documents (such as a bus pass). Gender markers, even when changed by trans people (an arduous, difficult process in most places on earth, if not outright impossible), are seen as fraudulent & used as a basis to deny us citizenship rights. Toby Beauchamp in Going Stealth: Transgender Politics & US Surveillance Practices (2019) talks about anti-trans bathroom bills as a form of citizenship denial to trans people - anti-trans bathroom laws are impossible to actually enforce because nobody is doing genital inspections of everyone who enters bathrooms (and genitals are not proof of transgenderism!), but that’s actually not the point. The point of these bills is to embolden members of the cissexual public to deputize themselves on behalf of the state to police access to public space, directing their cissexual gaze towards anyone who “looks transgender.” Beauchamp points out that transvestigators don’t need to be accurate most of the time, because again, the point is terrorizing transgender people out of public life. He connects this with racial segregation, and argues that we shouldn’t view gender segregation as “a new form of” racial segregation (this is a duplication of white supremacist feminism) but a continuation of it, because public access is a citizenship right and citizenship is fundamentally racially mediated (see Glenn's (2002) Unequal Freedom)

Susan Stryker & Nikki Sullivan further drives this home in The King’s Member, The Queen’s Body, where they explain the history of the crime of mayhem. Originating in feudal Europe (I don’t remember off the dome the exact time/place so forgive the generalization lol), mayhem is the crime of self-mutilation for the purposes of avoiding military conscription, but what is interesting is that its not actually legally treated as “self” mutilation, but a mutilation of the state and its capacity to exercise its own power. They link the concept of mayhem to the contemporary hysteria around transgender people receiving bottom surgery - we are not in fact self mutilating, we are mutilating the state’s ability to reproduce its own population by permanently destroying (in the eyes of the cissexual public) our capacity to form the foundational social unit of the nuclear family. Our bodies are not our own, they are a component of the state. Situating this in the context of reproductive rights makes this even clearer. Abortion access is not actually about the individual, it is the state mediating its own reproductive capacity via the restriction of abortion (premised on the cissexual logic of binary reproductive capacity systematized through sex assignment). Returning to Hill Collins, she points out that in the US, white cis women are restricted access to abortion while Black and Indigenous cis women are routinely forcibly sterilized, their children aborted, and pumped with birth control by the state. This is not a contradiction or point of “hypocrisy” on the part of conservatives, this is a fully comprehensive plan of white supremacist population management.

To treat "gender" as its own category, as much of mainstream feminism does (see Acker (1990) and England (2010) for two hilarious examples of this, both widely cited feminists), is to forward a white supremacist notion of gender. That white supremacy is fundamentally cissexual and heterosexual is not an accident - it is a central organizing logic that allows for the systematization of the fear of declining white birthrates (the conspiracy of "white genocide" is illegible without the base belief that there are two kinds of bodies, one that gets pregnant and one that does the impregnating, and that these two types of bodies are universal sources of evidence of the superiority of men over women - and im using those terms in the most loaded possible sense).

I realize that most of these readings are US centric, which is an unfortunate limitation of my own education. I have been really trying to branch into literature outside the Global North, but doctoral degree constraints + time constraints + my own research requires continual engagement with it. I also realize that most of the transfeminist readings I've cited are by white scholars! This is a continual systemic problem in academic literature and I'm not exempt from it, even as I sit here and lay out the problem. Which is to say, this is nowhere near the final word on this subject, and having to devote so much time to reading mainstream feminist theory as someone who is in western academia is part of my own limited education + perspective on this topic

[ramp-it-up]

Show Off

Ties That Bind | Next Part

Summary: Steve likes to show you off.

Word Count: 3K

Pairing: Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Dancer!Reader (Peach); Ari Levinson x Reader

A/N: This fic is a Peach Fic and is connected to the Bucky Barnes fic Make It So in the Knock You Down AU, and comes after the events in Ties That Bind and the Bucky fic Make It So. Interaction is life! Let me know if you like it by commenting & reblogging. This is inspired by @avengers-assemble-bingo. #KinkyBingo. This fulfills the square: Exhibitionism. Also, @fenixstar asked for it. 😘

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Ari Levinson (he's a warning), Jealous, possessive Steve, hints of violent Steve, exhibitionism kink (sex in public), marking, fingering, raw p in v, praise kink, rough sex, creampie.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

The party was elegant as hell, the kind of event where art changed hands over $30,000 bottles of wine and million-dollar glances.

Jazz curled through the air amid the sounds of laughter, clinking glassware, and whispered secrets.

Security was present, but invisible. Steve and Bucky had seen to it.

You and your cousin were due a night out after all that happened, but there would be no risk of danger for you two, at least not the physical kind.

You were watching your cousin be wooed by Bucky, who already had his ring on her finger, but was whispering Romanian in her ear like he’d just fallen in love. You knew that he was going to get what he wanted when she and Bucky left the function early.

She deserved. 

You were low key bored, but you were dressed for excitement and intrigue.

Your gown was decadent. It was made of rich, heavy fabric that glimmered in the light with a back that dipped scandalously low.

The skirt revealed a slit that dared anyone to look, and most did. The neckline framed your collarbones like art, but it was your legs and ass that made the room lose its mind. 

Those body parts once earned you money under neon lights and mirrored ceilings; your thigh spins damn near caused heart attacks back at Regine.

Hell, Steve even built you a studio in the penthouse so he could get private lap dances you could continue to practice your craft.

You were unapologetically lethal in the dress and heels, and your confidence was all you. Steve had zipped the dress for you that evening. And when he did, his fingers ghosted down your spine. 

“You’re gonna kill me in this, Peach.”

His deep voice was even deeper when he whispered that to you, but you two still managed to make it out of the penthouse.

From the moment you arrived at the event, Steve hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

His drink was untouched.

His jaw was tight.

And every time you laughed, his fingers twitched around the crystal.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It was worship.

Hunger, just barely contained by discipline.

He was well aware that both men and women sometimes forgot themselves around you. 

Steve said it was because of your beauty, but you insisted it was your confidence. 

And your crazy. You never tried to steal the spotlight; it just happened that you were the spotlight.

It was why he fell in love with you at first sight at that strip club in Atlanta. He just had to get your attention. And he’d been successful. 

Steve loved your wild side. But that didn’t mean he liked seeing other people get ideas. 

Especially men like Ari Levinson.

Steve saw the moment Levinson spotted you. Recognized the exact second the art collector clocked your legs, your ass, your presence, your smile.

Steve had seen that look before, on men who wanted to buy what they couldn’t afford.

You felt Steve’s stare before you saw it, a promise and a threat, all wrapped in one look.

And it occurred precisely when Ari Levinson appeared.

-----

Ari had never walked into a room and lost track of every million-dollar painting on the walls just because of a woman.

But then he saw you, absolutely stunning and unimpressed by your surroundings.

Just like a great work of art.

Ari licked his lips slowly, taking you in like a man who had acquired beauty for a living and just found something rare. He didn't know who you were, but he knew he had to find out.

Your legs deserved a warning sign. That ass was perfection. And your mouth... it looked like it screamed prayers into satin sheets effective enough to make the most notorious sinner ascend to heaven.

Ari's cock twitched when you turned your head and caught him staring.

You knew exactly what he was thinking.

He adjusted the cuff of his jacket, let himself drift toward you like a man casually approaching something he didn’t already have plans to devour.

Ari wanted you. Bad. And he didn’t give a damn that you wore a ring. Or whose ring you wore.

Lots of people wore rings, but not everyone wore them well.

He guessed that whoever gave you that ring was probably under your spell.

Ari could give a damn who it was.

-----

Steve wasn’t the kind of man who made scenes anymore.

That part of his life, the rough edges, the quiet threats, the kind of acts that made people disappear, was behind him.

These days, he wore custom suits, drank old wine, and spoke in carefully measured words. His world was oil on canvas, not blood on pavement.

But some instincts didn’t die.

Steve watched Ari make his move toward you and bided his time, not wanting to make too much of a scene too soon. He was the former gangster, but you were dangerous in your own way.

Memories of your threat to shoot his balls off made Steve smile and watch the show.

—-----

“You’re not part of the installation, are you?”

It was an opening line that usually always worked, especially in Ari’s voice, the kind that usually had people ready to fall to their knees for him. 

But you weren’t just anyone. You were Steve Rogers' wife.

Levinson looked at you like you were a masterpiece that had just caught him off-guard. And he had no idea that the vitamin D that Steve prescribed every day gave you immunity to him.

“...Because I swear, you look like the centerpiece of the whole night.”

You sipped your champagne and smiled, slightly amused at his line. But mostly annoyed. You played along.

“And what kind of art would I be, Mr. Levinson?”

“The kind that gets stolen,” he said, his voice dipping, “and starts wars.”

He stepped closer. You didn’t move back. You didn’t need to.

“You used to dance,” he added, more sure now. “Didn’t you?”

You tilted your head, wondering if he were trying to take liberties because of the kind of dance you used to do.

“I did.”

Ari grinned, eyes flicking to your legs.

“Yeah. I figured. You don’t get a body like that unless you earn it.”

He let the compliment hang.

You offered a polite smile, but your gaze wandered, looking for your husband. You could feel him, Steve’s attention slicing through the room like a live wire.

“I take my craft seriously,” you said. “Always have.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ari chuckled, gaze dragging down to your thigh, where the slit was working it's magic.

“You’re doing more than that. You should be up on a pedestal.”

Your laugh was soft. But Ari Levinson was definitely not subtle. You lifted a brow.

“You do that with all the art you want? Put it up high where you can’t reach it?”

Ari’s eyes darkened. 

“Only the pieces I know I shouldn’t touch.”

And that’s when the air shifted.

You didn’t see Steve move, but you felt it.

—---

For a brief moment, that old part of Steve Rogers, the one that used to snap fingers and have a guy thrown into the East River, woke up.

And while Steve didn’t make scenes anymore, he still kept track. Of tone. Of body language. Of intention.

Ari’s intention was obvious. His gaze crawled down your legs like a goddamn snake. Then he had the nerve to step closer and say something about pedestals.

Goddamn pedestals.

Steve downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass down with care.

Ari was lucky Steve wasn’t twenty-five and stupid, or there’d be a broken jaw on the floor and some very uncomfortable rich people pretending not to stare.

Instead, Steve moved.

—---

And that was when Ari felt it.

The shift. Like the air dropped ten degrees.

He didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. Steve Rogers. The human embodiment of quiet violence in a designer suit.

Ari didn’t flinch. But inside, he grinned.

Because Steve’s jealousy wasn’t weakness; it was confirmation.

You weren’t just sexy. You belonged to Rogers.

And that made this so much more interesting.

-----

By the time you turned your head, Steve was nearly on you, eyes locked on Ari like he was deciding whether or not he was worth the trouble.

And god, Steve looked like he wanted to ruin something.

Maybe the dress.

Maybe Ari.

Maybe both.

Your body reacted before your brain had time to catch up.

You were soaking wet.

Ari followed your gaze and let out a low chuckle.

“Oh I see. Now comes the fun part. You're Rogers' new wife.”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, smiling as you twirled the rock on your left hand around your finger.

“And he’s probably two seconds from throwing me off the balcony.”

You smiled.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed again, laughing quietly.

Ari raised a brow at you, full of heat.

“Can’t blame him. I’d lose my mind too.”

—------

Steve didn’t speak at first. His eyes burned into Levinson, assessing him and making a decision.

Then he was beside you, a hand slipping to the small of your back, his thumb brushing your skin with the kind of quiet, controlled touch that made your stomach flip.

You leaned into him without hesitation, breath catching at the contact, and ruining him.

“Levinson,” Steve said coolly, like he was trying very hard to be civil. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Ari smiled, knowing he’d stirred something up. 

“Wouldn’t miss it. Especially not with the kind of company you’re keeping.”

He looked at you appreciatively.

Steve’s voice dipped.  “She’s taken.”

“Of course she is, she's your wife.”

Ari said with a casual shrug.

“Didn’t mean anything by what I said.”

Steve gave a slow, tight-lipped smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. 

“No offense taken. Just thought I’d remind you. Sometimes collectors get a little carried away. Start thinking everything in a gallery is for sale. Just causes heartbreak when they find it isn't. Or a break of some other kind.”

Ari's brows lifted.

“That a threat?”

Steve leaned in slightly, voice dropping so only Ari could hear. 

“No,” he said, tone velvet-smooth, “That’s a favor. Because if it were a threat, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

Your breath caught. Steve’s fingers flexed subtly on your hip.

Ari’s mouth twitched into something that might have been a smirk. 

“Duly noted,” he muttered, and with a stiff nod, he turned and walked away.

Steve watched him go, his jaw clenched. You laid a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating steady and strong.

“You alright?” you asked softly.

He turned to you, some of the fire in his eyes still flickering.

“I’m fine,” he said, brushing a thumb along your cheek. 

“He won’t try that shit again.”

You raised an eyebrow. That made Steve even harder than he already was.

“You didn’t have to scare him.”

Steve’s lips twitched into a crooked grin. 

“But I wanted to. Better than the alternative."

Then, quieter, against your ear:

“You’re mine, Peach. I’ve killed for less than the way he looked at you, nevermind what he said.”

Your eyes widened as he smiled at you dangerously.

“Don’t worry about him Peach. I’m not going back there.”

You searched your husband’s beautiful blazing blue eyes.

“But do you think Ari Levinson was the only one watching you tonight? I’ve counted six men, and three women, who looked at you like a goddamn invitation.”

Your breath caught.

“And every one of them,” he continued, his fingers tightening slightly, “will go home and dream about something they’ll never have. But I’m about to have you, right under their noses. They will hear you some apart for me, even if they don’t quite know what they are listening to.”

Steve read your face, leaned in close, and whispered low against your ear.

“Come with me. Now.”

—--

Steve pulled you onto the balcony. He was controlled, but burning at the edges. The city glittered behind him, but his world had narrowed down to you. 

He didn’t look at the skyline. He looked at your mouth.

Your body.

Your eyes.

Like a starving man deciding which part of the feast to devour first.

His control was a tight thread, stretched thin, and you could feel it in the way his eyes burned into you like he needed to prove something.

Not to Levinson. But to himself. 

To you.

To prove that no one could look at you the way Ari did. That you were his. His alone. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and rough.

Your stomach fluttered. The look in his eyes wasn’t just hunger, it was laced through it was the kind of darkness you’d only seen when someone threatened what was his. 

Like in Atlanta.

“You feel that, Peach?” he murmured, voice thick with hunger. 

You thought he meant his hard cock pressed against you. But he didn’t.

“The air. The view. The way I’m about five seconds from fucking you stupid against this wall?”

Your breath hitched. Your body leaned into his instinctively, the cool stone of the wall behind you, and heat radiating from the wall of muscle in front of you making a heady contraction.

He didn’t wait for permission. One hand gripped your jaw, tilting your face toward him roughly while the other slid beneath the high slit of your dress, calloused fingertips ghosting along your inner thigh until they met your soaked lace.

“God damn, sweetheart,” he growled, nostrils flaring. 

“You’re already soaked. Is this for me, or Levinson?

Your eyes flashed at him.

"Steven..."

Steve laughed, confident of your devotion.

"I'm kidding, Peach. You get off on me being weak for you, don’t you? On being mine?”

“Yes,” you whispered, shameless about it.

“Say it again,” he demanded, slipping your panties aside and dragging a single thick finger through your slick folds.

“Oh, fuck," you choked. "I’m yours. Only yours.”

Steve Rogers didn’t ease into anything, from chasing you, to marriage. He jumped right into the deep end of you.

One powerful motion and your legs were around his waist, back pressed to the wall, his hips grinding against your core.

“You want everyone to hear it?” he asked, cock sliding against your slick pussy, his thick mushroom head catching on your clit and teasing you until your toes curled.

“I want you,” you gasped, voice breaking. 

“Show them. Show me.”

Steve swiveled his hips, and then he was inside you.

Not gently. Not sweetly. But deeply, completely, fucking you like his sanity depended on it.

Every thrust was brutal affection, devotion turned into rhythm. 

The sound of your bodies slapping together echoed off stone and glass. His lips were at your throat, teeth scraping skin, leaving marks that would be unmistakeable to anyone who saw them. Neither of you cared.

He gripped your thigh, his thumb circling your clit and devastating you.

“You were made for this,” he growled. “Made to take me. Look how perfect you are when you’re full of me. Dripping for me. Squeezing the shit out of me.”

Steve pumped and the sounds were obscene as his cock sleeked in and out of your sopping wet channel. Your wetness dripped down your thighs and his balls and you didn't care as long as he kept hitting that special spot.

You couldn’t speak. You could only moan, clinging to his broad shoulders while he shattered every ounce of restraint you had left.

“You wanna cum?” he whispered against your lips.

“God, yes…please….Steve....”

He slowed, grinding into you deep, keeping you on the edge while you whimpered. Begged.

“Right here at the party like this? With me buried inside you, showing everyone who the fuck you belong to?”

“Yes, please….I can’t…. I need….”

“Then do it, baby. Let go. Cum for me.”

You shattered on command. 

Lights danced behind your eyes as your orgasm ripped through you, his name a chant falling from your lips. He followed with a moan, hips jerking as his hot cum spilled into you, claiming you all over again.

And when it was over, when your bodies were still pressed together, trembling from the aftershocks, he kissed your forehead with a tenderness that ruined you as your combined fluids ran down your legs.

RIP to his pocket square, because that’s what he used to kneel and clean you up. 

You felt owned, treasured, and marked.

And safe. Always safe.

“You did so good for me, Baby.” 

Steve stood back up and murmured it against your lips tenderly, disposing the expensive, ruined piece of fabric in the nearest receptacle.

“So fucking good. You’re everything, Peach,” he whispered.

“And I want the whole fucking world to know.”

Your legs wobbled, your pulse was wild, but his hands were right there again, steadying you like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just fucked you against the wall with the city’s elite in the next room.

He leaned in, lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, “You good, Peach?”

Your cheeks flushed.

“I don’t think I remember how to walk.”

Steve chuckled smugly and kissed the top of your head. 

“You don’t have to. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

You rolled your eyes, but he was already taking your hand, tugging you toward the door with that cool, collected gait he wore so well.

“Show off.”

He smiled angelically as his other hand slipped easily into his pocket. Steve Rogers looked to be the epitome of cool as he held the door for you, letting you step in first.

Murmured conversation resumed around you along with laughter and the clink of crystal. It was as if nothing had happened out there.

You were breathless. Floating. Smiling. And yes, proud.

But you froze when you saw Nico standing just a few feet from the balcony entrance, half-tucked in the shadow of a tall plant, arms loosely crossed. His posture was relaxed, his gaze scanning the room, alert and cool as ever. But you knew that he’d been there.

The whole time, standing watch while you and Steve had done the deed on the balcony.

Your mouth went dry.

Steve must’ve felt your body tense, because he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“He didn’t see anything. He was just doing his job.”

You looked back at Nico again, half-expecting judgment or amusement, but he didn’t even meet your eyes. His face was impassive. Professional. Not a flicker of reaction.

Still, your cheeks burned.

------

Ari's head was on a swivel ever since he watched you and Steve disappear out to the balcony. And he knew, he fucking knew what was happening.

He had to hand it to Rogers, he knew how to handle you. And how to brag without saying a word. Lucky sonofabitch.

When you came back into the party, your skin was flushed and you walked a gait that hadn’t wasn't present before. Your glow wasn’t just expensive highlighter, it was the kind of post-fuck radiance that could’ve lit up half the damn city.

Ari caught your eye and smirked. His gaze dragged slowly down your frame before flicking toward Steve. 

He raised his glass, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Everything alright out there?”

Steve didn’t blink.

“Peach needed some air.”

Ari’s gaze lingered, and you saw Steve’s jaw tense just a fraction. His fingers brushed your lower back, subtle, but firm.

Mine.

You felt the wetness still between your thighs, the slight ache in your hips, and the delicious throb of where his mouth had left proof of his devotion on your neck.

You reached for a champagne flute from a passing tray.

“You’re glowing, Mrs. Rogers,” Ari said with a knowing smirk. 

“I hope you weren’t out there dancing without music.”

Before you could answer, Steve’s hand slid from your back to your hip, resting there with deliberate weight. 

“She doesn’t need music to dance.”

Ari’s brows lifted and his eyes flicked to your legs and lingered. 

You felt Steve stiffen slightly, and you slid closer, letting your hand settle on his chest in a silent reassurance. He relaxed a little under your touch, but his possessiveness was still there.

Ari took another sip of his wine and turned away, disappearing into a knot of collectors and critics.

The conversation shifted, the moment passed, but the electricity between you and Steve didn’t.

He leaned in, his lips brushing your temple. 

“You’re mine, Peach. Every single inch of you.”

“I know,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed. “And I love it.”

“I want them all to know it.”

You tilted your head back, eyes gleaming. 

“Then maybe you should dance with me.”

Steve raised a brow. 

“Out here, or back on that balcony?”

You smirked. “Both.”

His laugh was loud.

“Goddamn, I love being married to you.”

He offered you his hand again this time not to steal you away to the dark again, but to show you off under the lights.

And as he led you onto the dance floor, every guest including Ari Levinson, was left wondering what the hell kind of magic it was between you and Steve Rogers.

[soaraes]

thinking about gooner!art / hypersexual!art,,

mdni — ageless blogs included.

💬 warning: holy shit, he’s DISGUSTING and a LOSER. but that’s the point.

genuinely became a problem once he reached college.

no parents around, GOD FORBID he has an apartment style dorm + some money on him.

he’s going to town A LOT (obviously). but more than he would if he had a roomate for sure.

since it’s the early 2000s, he doesn’t use the internet to get off sometimes.

classic magazines, not a playboy kinda guy though.

definitely whimpers n’ whines, gets kinda shaky when he’s about to cum.

often fantasizes about getting dominated since he genuinely believes he doesn’t stand a chance with the lack of confidence he has in bagging some of his favorite girls.

YES, he has favorite girls.

jerk off rate per day? on average? probably like five-six times.

one when he wakes up, one before he falls asleep (him cumming usually causes him to go to sleep because he’s just tuckered out for the most part), one after practice (if he feels like it), and always after an exam. (he’s stressed), and pretty much any other time he might randomly get hard.

even if that’s just his shorts coming up a bit too much, moving his dick through his underwear a bit too much.

he mostly does when he “can’t sleep”. (which is most nights.)

goes multiple rounds if he can.

a pillow humper!! sometimes he gets really tired of using his hand so sometimes he’ll just use his pillow and rub his dick on it over and over. (he uses a towel, sometimes multiple to cover up where he MIGHT cum.)

has definitely done the walk of shame to the laundry room a few times just because he accidentally came on his sheets.

he has definitely had a fantasy about some of his favorite professors from time to time.

he’s a good student, so whenever he gets praise from them, he often gets a hard on and then has to either get one off when he gets to the dorm or in the nearest bathroom.

sometimes he pees a little after he cums because he’s just trying to drain his balls and sometimes does a little too much but he kinda likes it so he keeps doing it.

when the internet starts to become a bit more functional and people start making porn sites, it’s actually over.

getting off daily, FOR SURE.

favorite category? probably into creampies or breeding. facefucking lover + loves facial finishes.

he also finds his favorite girls on the internet too.

likes to sometimes watch those videos where the couples are like passionate with it because it makes him feel some sense of love in his life because he’s just such a degenerate.

whenever he goes home for a weekend, it’s actually torture. he tries not to do it once he’s there in his bedroom, but most times it’s just fucking impossible.

loves cam girls to death once he finds out they exist.

it’s like endless goonery for him, it’s great.

like i said earlier, god forbid he has money. — getting sex toys + donating to said cam girls for special requests.

LOVESSSS it whenever the cam girls say his name because it feels like he’s actually receiving the touch of a woman.

loves phrases like “your cock is so deep” and “your dick is so big”

post nut clarity? absolutely deadly and dreadful.

knows he won’t ever be successful with a woman in bed because porn + cam girls have rotted his brain and ruined his reception of sex for a while, probably.

premature cummer when he actually gets inside of a woman in his sophmore year.

it’s like his dick gets absolutely freaked out at the warm and wetness of it all because it’s just so overstimulating to his cock.

so used to the hand and the toy that when he experiences the real thing, it’s absolutely foreign to him.

first blowjob? same thing. extremely nervous.

shakes when overstimulated. (when he’s with an actual woman, it’s like 10x worse.)

jerks off to the thought of some attractive women he sees on campus that he’ll never see again because of his disgusting imagination with some depraved part of his brain.

imagines how they look naked and what it be like to fuck them, even if it was just five minutes of what he likes describe as pure heaven.

loves getting off in his car, has a fantasy about getting caught by someone and them joining him (because of his porn rotted brain).

too pussy to actually park it somewhere where there’s a risk that some people might actually see him.

tells himself that he’ll eventually stop jerking off so much. (he won’t because he has no self-control. <3)

has cum so hard that he’s cried a few times and then just kept going because it felt so so good to be at the peak and to feel so euphoric for so so long.

hisses a little whenever he sticks his cock in his fleshlight after not using it for a while. his favorite nonexistent pussy in the world.

“ffffuck. god, i’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

yes, he talks to his toys like they’re actually women. let a man dream, yeah?

gooner!art with his first girlfriend.

moodboard !

enjoy you filthy people ! okay bye. <3

[mxjackparker]

Sweden, creator of the "Nordic Model" response to sex work which criminalizes the purchase of sex and puts sex workers in more danger by doing so, has updated their laws to make them even worse.

From July 1st onwards, it will be illegal to purchase sexual services online in Sweden, such as cam shows or custom videos.

"Sweden's parliament has passed a law banning the purchase of sexual performances for viewing online, including those on platforms like OnlyFans, marking a major update to the country’s sex purchase legislation. Under the new law, it is illegal to pay someone to perform a sexual act remotely – such as via live video – for the specific purpose of the act being viewed by the buyer. It also criminalises profiting from or promoting others who perform such acts for payment on demand."

The reality of this law is that it will now be illegal to pay sex workers directly for their labour when the service is "on demand", but it will still be legal to record porn and sell videos. In practice, this will not impact porn studios but will limit independent sex workers in Sweden... making them more reliant on third parties, just like the Nordic Model does with the purchase of sex.

Services like OnlyFans will have to ban all Swedish creators and users, because of the functionality of their sites, meaning these sex workers will suddenly lose their subscribers who pay their bills. They'll be forced to rebuild using few services which allow only pre-made content (making a lot less money) and when that isn't viable this will make them go to studios and managers where they'll have less control over their content.

Do not let anyone convince you that laws like this are for sex workers' benefit. These measures take away our ability to control our work and push us into exploitative agreements with studios and managers instead.

[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 9)

I hope you all enjoy this part 💛

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 10

Warnings: Feelings of anger, confusion, jealousy, brief mentions of death/being killed/being shot, arguments, shouting, mentions of knives

Your sleep was restless. 

Your mind, unable to comprehend what had happened the previous evening. 

Phillips defensiveness and avoidance. 

Simon’s admission to a question that you’d always yearned an answer from. 

You were sure you had fallen asleep at some point from pure exhaustion; but you gained very little rest from it. 

Mainly you just spent the night staring up at the ceiling, scenarios running through your mind like a movie. 

Scenarios you shouldn’t have been thinking of, where John had told you the truth instead of just breaking up with you; where you all remained together. 

Happy. 

Blissfully so. 

Today was meant to be your first day off of work, but you couldn’t bear it. 

Couldn’t bear pretending to be happy when everything in your life was turning into such a mess. 

So you did something you very rarely did; you called in sick. 

You felt a little guilty, that feeling only getting worse when you heard genuine concern in your manager's voice. 

Thankfully, your manager did press the situation too much and just told you to text her to let her know if you’d be in tomorrow. 

You hoped you would be; craving for a sense of normalcy within the chaos that was surrounding you. 

You made yourself a coffee; stronger than normal, in the hopes that that would keep you at least semi functional throughout the day. 

You tried to distract yourself, picking up the book that had been left on the coffee table from the previous night. 

That didn’t work. 

You tried watching tv. 

That didn’t work either. 

You'd even tried doing chores with your headphones blaring your favourite songs in your ears, songs that you usually couldn’t help but sing along to.

But even that didn’t work. 

You decided that maybe what you needed to do was get out of the house and go for a walk. 

You weren’t really sure what Phillip was doing today, seeing as you hadn’t heard from him since he abruptly left after your argument. 

Part of you was worried about him. 

Part of you was relieved that he wasn’t home yet; it meant that you could work out what you were going to say to him. 

How you were going to say the very thing you’d been so excited to plan wasn’t going to be happening, not for now at least. 

You quickly scribbled a message on a piece of paper, leaving it on top of the table in the hallway where the key bowl sat. 

Your message was simple, ‘Needed to clear my head, gone out for a walk. Text/call me when you’re ready to talk x’

You considered writing ‘I love you’ on the bottom of the note, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, so you simply left the note as it was, grabbing your keys and walking out of the door. 

You didn’t really know where you were walking to, there was no particular place you were heading to, you just put your headphones in and started walking. 

~~~~~~~

“You did fucking what?” John practically shouted at Simon, evidently pissed off by what his lieutenant had just said so casually over breakfast in the kitchen. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

Neither could Johnny and Kyle; however they were certainly more calmer than the Captain was at Simons revelation.

He'd just told them all that not only did he see you last night; he also kissed you on the cheek and told you that the only reason they broke up with you was to keep you safe. 

“How could you do that, Si?” Kyle asked; his voice softer than what John’s was previously; knowing that he, Johnny and the table, were the only things separating John and Simon. 

“Do what?” Simon responded gruffly, leaning against the counter, his mug in hand. 

“Kiss her, tell her the truth…how could you confuse her like that?”

Simon mulled over Kyle’s words for a second; pondering his reply. 

In his eyes; he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

He kissed you on the cheek, a comforting gesture more so than anything else because what else could he do? 

You were in pain, he knew you were, was he just meant to ignore that? 

He did that once before and hated himself for months after, he couldn’t do it. 

Not again.

And he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true about their current feelings; they all still loved her. 

He didn’t  go into detail about why John had ended things with her; he was intentionally vague knowing that that wasn’t for him to talk about. 

“Do you know how shit it was, seeing her in pain again?” Simon retorted, “I kissed her cheek to give her some form of comfort ‘cos she needed it.”

Then he turned his attention to John. 

“She wanted the truth last night, I wasn’t about to lie to her, not about that.”

John’s jaw tightened slightly at Simon’s words. 

“You had no right to do that!” John snapped back; taking a few steps towards Simon, but quickly being grabbed on the hand by Kyle. 

“No right to do what?” Simon challenged, pushing himself off of the counter, “We should've told her the truth when we came back. ”

Johnny, who’d been unusually quiet during this time, rose to his feet, and stood by Simon’s side. 

A united front. 

“He's right, John,” the Scotsman calmly said; making John's eyes flick between him and Simon. 

Johnny's words only made the divide between them all evident; John and Kyle believed keeping you in the dark was for the best, Simon and Johnny believed telling you the truth was better.

“You all know how dangerous telling her the truth is, yet you’d willingly just put her in danger like that?"

“None of us want her hurt, John” Kyle reasoned, squeezing John's hand briefly; hating the look of betrayal that was forming in his blue eyes as they met his own, “And we have no idea where-”

Kyle’s words were cut off when he heard the front door of their house open. 

He looked around at Johnny and Simon before his eyes finally landed back on Johns; each one of them clearly wondering the same thing. 

‘Who the fuck just got into our house?’

Simon grabbed the knife block, placing it in the centre of the table before grabbing a knife from it; the others doing the same. 

John went first; slowly moving towards the archway of the kitchen; before freezing when he heard footsteps walking through the hallway.

He was ready. 

Ready to kill whoever it was that had just let themselves into his and his partners home. 

That was until he saw you.

And you saw him.  

“Pretty rude way to welcome a guest,” You stated, slightly terrified at the sight in front of you; John holding a very large kitchen knife.

“You didn’t think to knock, Y/n?” The captain scolded; perplexed by why and how you even got in here in the first place.

“I did knock; multiple times, no one was answering and I heard shouting,” you explained, your voice portraying that you were calm despite the fact you weren’t entirely so. 

“So you thought you’d just let yourself in?” John asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you. 

“Well the spare key was in the same place, so yeah…” you shrugged, blinking at between John and the knife in his hand, “didn’t think you were gonna come at me with a knife though.”

John didn’t say anything; he just sighed, horrified that had he been more hasty, he could’ve stabbed you before lowering the knife and walking back into the kitchen. 

You took his silence to mean you were allowed in, so followed him. 

“It’s alright guys,” he said, placing the he’d been holding back into the knife block.

“Y/n?!” you heard Kyle’s voice first; shock evident in his voice and face. 

“Fuckin’ Hell Bon,” Johnny sighed, putting his own knife into the block before walking over to you; his eyes instantly noticing how tired you looked.

“Scared the shit outta us,” he continued, pulling you into his arms, expecting for you to try and push him away and being unable to not be shocked when you didn’t. 

You didn’t hug him back. 

But he didn’t care. 

He just cared that you were here and that John hadn’t killed you in the hallway. 

He could’ve stayed like that, with you in his arms, it felt right; felt like part of home. 

A part of his home that’d been missing.

“Let her breathe, Johnny,” Simon said, moving his hand to Johnny's shoulder. 

Johnny let you go pretty much instantly at Simon’s words, his lieutenant snapping him out of the thoughts that were rushing through his mind. 

He kept waiting for you to say something about the hug, but you didn’t. 

You just smiled at him. 

It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless and a real one, not a fake or forced one. 

God he’d missed that. 

They all had. 

“Why’re you here?” John asked; already knowing the reason for your visit, without you saying anything. 

“Think we’ve all got some things we need to talk about,”

John shot Simon a glare at your words. 

An action that didn’t go unnoticed by you. 

You knew it was the two of them that you’d heard shouting; and you could take an educated guess what it was about. 

“Don’t be mad at him for telling me the truth,” you defended Simon; watching as John turned his attention towards you; his eyes softening slightly as his eyes met yours. 

“Best you take a seat then,” the captain said as Simon pulled out the closest seat to you, allowing you to sit down. 

You were all sitting around the table; like old times.

You felt a familiar ache in your heart as you braced yourself for whatever it was that you were going to be told; knowing the impact the truth could have on you; on them and your relationship with them.

Tagging:

@sunrise-willarive @imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @euriiverse @eternallyvenus @s-void @rivwritesiguess @lilyalone @salemlovespies @z-wantstowrite @maryrhodalouandted @uraeus56 @skipping-throughlife @backalleytimetravel @fruitymoonbeams-blog @alejandro-vargass-wife @moon-on-the-crest @dasphinxone @magicwriterinspo @lilylovesliterature @tabbslouuformer @disasterofastory @famouspoetrydinosaur @yearninglustfully @therapyneeds @beautifuleaglealpaca @mischievousprincess01 @rite-te-suli-kireysi-ite @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @ontopofthefridge @rosecastiello @bookworm1767 @harrys-ravioli @hypertail @hahaifolded @felinegaymerl0ver @little-mini-me-world @elita1 @noheadcanons-juststories @nocturnal-nyx @myamazingnerdyness @ilovesoapandnotthebar

[auren-zagarra]

Trey Clover: A Psychological Analysis

Disclaimer: Although this post is written by a professional psychologist, it is not intended to serve as a formal diagnosis. Rather, it is a character analysis of Trey Clover, created out of personal interest and passion for world-building. In psychological practice, accurate assessment should never be based solely on external observation.

Trey Clover is portrayed as a calm, conscientious “big brother” figure. He is described on the wiki site as “mild-mannered” and essentially a parental figure for Heartslabyul’s students, often smoothing over conflicts caused by the strict leader Riddle Rosehearts. In personality terms he comes across as laid-back and agreeable. He carries out his vice-dorm-leader duties patiently – for example, a game scene shows him calmly checking on injured RSA students and apologizing for their attackers’ behavior (book 5, chapter 55). Under pressure Trey likes to think things through and have backup plans, which suggests high conscientiousness and composure. He generally avoids drawing attention, downplays achievements, and even hides his face when people make a fuss over him (Deuce’s Wish Upon a Star vignette). Altogether this profile matches a highly introverted, dutiful personality (analysts note he aligns with an ISFJ-type in MBTI: supportive, reliable, community-minded), with high Agreeableness and Conscientiousness in Big Five terms.

Despite this gentle exterior, Trey’s behavior also hints at underlying conflict: If pushed, Trey can flip to a surprisingly harsh side. A canonical example is his “sadistic front” when angry: after being injured, he threatened the whole dorm of Savanaclaw to suffer after he was injured by Ruggie. More generally, the profile notes he often has to “smooth things over” when Riddle “gets out of hand”, implying Trey suppresses frustration to keep the peace. In sum, Trey’s persona is one of a self-effacing caretaker – composed, thoughtful, and conflict-averse – with occasional flashes of hidden anger when his calm facade cracks.

Emotional Expression and Coping Mechanisms

Trey frequently suppresses his own emotions. In dialogue he rarely shows strong upset or excitement; like when peers mock an outfit he hides behind a pillar and quietly admits embarrassment. This indicates he is sensitive to others’ opinions and prone to anxiety about standing out. His low-key smile often masks stress, and he downplays praise. Psychologically, he embodies a “false self” in Winnicott’s sense: a compliant facade created to meet others’ expectations. Trey’s genial niceness is not always “genuine good will” but rather a strategy to keep life calm and conflict-free: As one source notes, he’ll help others mainly to avoid emergencies or because “he knows he’ll get something of equal value in return”. This suggests his amiability functions more as self-protection than pure altruism – a classic sign of a false-self coping style, where the individual’s own needs and spontaneity are subordinated to pleasing others.

When stress does break through, Trey handles it with careful control. He plans and rationalizes, rather than venting impulsively. For instance, during sports and club activities he calmly scouts for problems, and when the dorm’s reputation is at stake he quietly rises to the occasion just to not discredit them. In crises he often mediates or stays level-headed rather than lashing out. This suggests high-functioning anxiety: outwardly composed and dependable, but internally vigilant and anxious about outcomes. Evidence of inner anxiety appears in his backstory and behavior – he seems prone to worry about responsibility and avoids risk-taking. He even exemplifies classic caretaker burnout patterns: always tending to others’ needs while neglecting his own emotional expression.

Family Background and Upbringing

Trey’s childhood set the stage for his caretaker role. His family runs the Clover family bakery, Patisserie Clover, and he spent his youth working there with his younger siblings. As the oldest child, Trey routinely assumed a parental role, even ensuring his little siblings performed tasks like brushing their teeth nightly. These details show he was parentified early on – effectively serving as a co-parent in his own family. Clinically, this kind of parentification imposes heavy psychological costs on a child, as they shoulder adults’ responsibilities. In fact, research on parentified children notes that they often “incur a cost to their own psychic stability and development” when asked to care for others without reciprocity. Trey’s upbringing fits this pattern: he learned from childhood to prioritize others’ welfare (family and friends) above his own, shaping him into a natural caretaker.

This background influenced Trey’s personality. Growing up in a large family bakery likely made him responsible and service-oriented. His mastery of baking may stem from early training. However, constant caretaking may also have stunted his ability to express personal needs. For example, a childhood incident underscores this: when Trey and Che’nya got Riddle into trouble, Trey's family was heavily scolded for his irresponsibility. The canon notes this event was “extremely formative”, causing Trey lasting anxiety about responsibility. Thus from an early age, Trey learned to be cautious and to shoulder blame quietly. His emotional development was framed by these expectations – putting others first and avoiding conflict – contributing to his current habit of emotional suppression and self-restraint.

Interpersonal Dynamics

Trey’s relationship with Riddle is particularly telling. He supports Riddle’s strict rule-following but is more lenient and pragmatic. Officially, he “always backs up the overly-strict Riddle”, yet he tempers Riddle’s actions to preserve harmony. At the same time, Riddle’s authoritarian style likely reinforces Trey’s role: Trey steps in as mediator when Riddle’s justice feels too harsh. Trey’s childhood with Riddle also shows loyalty: he and Che’nya taught Riddle to play and even brought him to their bakery. However, when Riddle’s mother found out, Trey was blamed and remained cautious around Riddle thereafter. This may help explain why he rarely stands up to Riddle boldly: he’s anxious about upsetting authority or causing conflict, perhaps, even carrying some kind of guilt due the fact he was “responsible” for his punishment.

Outside his own dorm, Trey is polite and measured. For instance, when meeting unfamiliar students (even perplexed dwarves from another school), he asks respectful questions without judgment. He apologizes easily and tries to smooth over misunderstandings. However, his efforts to please can mask inner fatigue; he tends not to share his personal worries. In sum, Trey’s interpersonal style is the classic diplomat/caregiver: humble, service-oriented, avoiding conflict unless absolutely needed. He interacts warmly but with an undercurrent of maintaining boundaries – consistent with someone who grew up managing others’ emotions.

Psychological Analysis and Frameworks

Several psychological concepts illuminate Trey’s mindset. First, his use of a “false self” is evident: he presents a friendly, accommodating front to protect himself. As Winnicott noted, a false self “is created as a defensive facade” when one’s true needs are suppressed. Trey’s true feelings are often hidden behind politeness. For example, the Twisted Wonderland Wiki comments that Trey’s courteous nature is driven “less from genuine good will, and more from a desire to maintain peace”. This reflects false-self behavior — he adapts to others’ expectations to feel safe, at the expense of spontaneity. The risk of this pattern is feeling “dead and empty” under the facade, which may explain why Trey sometimes seems quietly disconnected. His background (high responsibilities, reprimands for mistakes) would encourage forming such a facade: as a child he had to comply with parents and guardians, building over him an identity of caretaker rather than his own independent self.

Looking at clinical traits, Trey shows signs of emotional suppression and possible dysthymic mood. He rarely expresses sadness or frustration in canon material, yet his imposed responsibilities and anxiety (from the bakery incident) imply chronic low-grade stress. Persistent mild depression (dysthymia) could underlie his even-keel exterior; he may feel a dull sadness or fatigue without overt despair. He also demonstrates alexithymic tendencies – difficulty identifying or expressing emotions. He habitually brushes things off with humor or logic. For instance, even when upset about something, he might make a joke rather than a complaint. His inability to openly articulate feelings is consistent with alexithymia, which often co-occurs with heavy caretaking (people with high emotional labor roles sometimes shut down their own emotions).

Another relevant concept is high-functioning anxiety. Trey is never depicted as erratic or panic-stricken; instead, he looks composed while likely feeling anxious internally. His habit of planning ahead (“having a backup plan”) and his visible discomfort with confrontation suggest ongoing mild anxiety. This pattern – capable and calm on the surface, but self-doubting and worried underneath – fits high-functioning anxiety, which often comes with people-pleasing (trait Trey exhibits).

Finally, Trey’s upbringing induced a parentification trauma dynamic. Trey’s life story matches this: his self-sacrifice and responsibility likely hindered exploring his own identity or desires. He still carries the habit of prioritizing family/dorm needs and may feel guilty if he considers acting on personal impulses. For example, we have seen Trey remark that he isn’t a top student and tends to do only what’s expected academically, perhaps because he was conditioned to focus on practical responsibilities (helping in bakery, caring for siblings) rather than personal ambition.

Signs of Repression and Subclinical Struggles

Trey’s profile hints at subtle mental health strains. He has never been diagnosed with any disorder in-canon, but his pattern suggests some subclinical issues. His pervasive cheerfulness is a form of masking; such people sometimes experience chronic inner tension or exhaustion. The “sadistic front” suggests he bottles anger until it erupts dramatically, which is a sign of long-term repression. His consistent fear of failure or upsetting others (as when he keeps Riddle in check to avoid a dorm scandal) shows he may be driven by anxiety about making mistakes. This fits a profile of someone who might suffer from persistent anxiety or mild depression if taken literally – akin to dysthymia or Generalized Anxiety Disorder, but not so severe as to be outwardly crippling. Instead, Trey appears adaptive: he’s developed coping skills to function normally (even excel in time of need), hence he could be described as “high-functioning anxious”.

In terms of identity, Trey may experience a slight diffusion. He defines himself largely through roles – “Big Brother,” “Vice-Dorm Leader,” “bakery helper” – rather than through personal passions or uniqueness. The false-self construct implies he might not be fully aware of his own independent feelings. However, he does have personal interests (like science club and baking skills), which he keeps somewhat hidden. There is no clear evidence of deeper identity confusion (as one might see in adolescence), but the emphasis on duty over self hints that Trey’s personal identity might be somewhat underdeveloped. He seems content staying within his supportive role, which could indicate he never forged a strong separate identity outside his family/dorm contexts.

Symptoms: Excessive worry, perfectionism, over-preparation, people-pleasing, difficulty relaxing despite appearing calm.

Summary of Possible Diagnoses or Subclinical Conditions 

High-Functioning Anxiety (Speculative)

Supporting Traits: Constant responsibility, conflict avoidance, calm facade under pressure.

Persistent Depressive Disorder (Dysthymia – Subclinical)

Symptoms: Low-grade, chronic depressive mood, emotional blunting, fatigue, feelings of inadequacy.

Supporting Traits: Downplaying his own needs, low emotional expressiveness, subtle signs of inner exhaustion.

Alexithymia (Emotion Suppression)

Symptoms: Difficulty identifying and expressing emotions, over-reliance on logic or routines.

Supporting Traits: Rarely displays strong emotion, masks discomfort with humor or rationality.

Parentification Trauma (Role-Based Stress Response)

Not a formal DSM diagnosis, but recognized in clinical psychology as a developmental issue.

Symptoms: Taking on adult responsibilities too early, chronic guilt, neglect of self-needs, caretaking behavior.

Supporting Traits: Oldest sibling role, caring for younger siblings, acting as mediator in dorm.

False Self Syndrome (Based on Winnicott’s Theory)

Not a formal diagnosis, but a psychoanalytic concept.

Symptoms: Chronic compliance, emotional detachment, masking true self to gain acceptance.

Supporting Traits: Trey often does things to keep peace, not necessarily from genuine joy or self-interest.

Avoidant Personality Features (Mild)

Symptoms: Social inhibition, low self-esteem, avoidance of attention or conflict.

Supporting Traits: Shyness about being complimented, discomfort with spotlight, preference for staying in the background.

[aphrogeneia]

Altars in Ancient Greece

A disclaimer before we get into it: this is a brief explanation of how altars functioned in ancient Greece. I am not telling you how you should set up your own personal altar(s). Rather, I hope this can serve as foundational knowledge for you to consider while figuring out what works best for you and your practice.

Pentelic marble altar from the ancient agora of Athens. Dedicated by the Athenian Boule to Aphrodite and the Graces. c. 194-193 BCE.

The purpose of the altar is to receive offerings for the deity. It is the sacred place where worshipers pour their libations of wine, deposit their gifts of fruit, honey, or cakes, and burn a portion of the sacrificial animal. Offerings in ancient Greece were a key component of religious life; it is how mortals express their honor and build χάρις (kharis, favor). The altar is a highly important point of contact with the divine, and is an essential physical element for any cult to be established.

In fact, we can determine whether or not a deity was worshiped in ancient Greece based on if there were any altars dedicated to them. A god or daimon with no altars was very likely only part of the mythological or literary tradition and did not receive any sacrifices or worship. Altars were generally dedicated to one god or a group of related deities. In rarer cases, they may be dedicated to the whole pantheon (example: the Altar of the Twelve Gods in the Athenian Agora).

An altar for a heavenly (ouranic) god would be a raised surface or pedestal, and it would be oriented towards the East. The typical Greek altar consisted of bricks which were white-washed with lime, or it was carved from stone such as marble or limestone. They could be plain, or they could be decorated with volutes and narrative scenes. They often had the name of the deity inscribed into them. Altars could also come in a variety of shapes, the only real requirement being that the surface on top was flat so it could hold the offerings.

More prominent cult sanctuaries may feature a large, elevated altar with steps leading up to it. There were also natural rock altars, or in very rustic sanctuaries, a collection of stones was grouped to form an altar. If one was worshiping a khthonic god who dwells on or within the earth, they would provide sacrifices at a low-lying altar such as an eschara, or a simple open pit called a bothros.

Indoor altars were very uncommon. At sanctuaries, the altar would be outside of the gods temple, often in front of the entrance. Though a sanctuary could contain several altars and sacrificial sites. Households would have had one in their courtyard for private worship. Other altars were located outside of public buildings or in community gathering places like an agora.

The reason for being outdoors was so that the gods who reside in the sky could observe the sacrifices being made and enjoy the rising smoke of the incense. Meanwhile, a libation poured directly onto the bare earth would seep down below to the khthonic gods. Every altar was ceremonially sanctified when its first sacrifice was performed; from then on, it was considered part of the property of the deity.

Below are my sources. I'll likely make a part two of this post where I go over some ideas for how we can construct our modern altars. Thank you for reading!

Ancient Greek Religion, Jon D. Mikalson

Greek Religion, Walter Burkert

Ancient Greek Cults, Jennifer Larson

[lennadanvers]

What he can take

Simon Riley x Reader

Simon is deeply touch starved. He is in desperate need of some human closeness. Of course, he would rather shoot himself than ask for it. Plus, he isn’t sure he would be able to stand it. So, instead, he settles for something he knows he can handle. After all, punches involve contact, right? He asks you to spar.

A/N: Hiii I hope everyone is having a good week! I haven't written anything new in a while, so let's all just pretend this isn't a repost from AO3. I remember saying in the a/n there that I have as much audacity as I have a lack of knowledge on archeology, so just know that I'm aware that this is probably wrong in many levels. I'm so burnt out that I don't care. Also this would look a lot better with a divider, might add it later if I feel like it (I won't). Enjoy. Hopefully. Consider sending an ask to this poor author so I get the impression someone reads these. Tell me about your day or ask for a fic, any interaction is welcome.

Simon is deeply touch starved. He’s empty, a vessel waiting to be filled with something- fresh, nourishing, relieving. The inside of his walls is made of ceramic, the old kind that cracks if it is not watered. He burns- the cold inside him burns- for a spark of warmth. A drop of softness, the little explosion of contact.

Ghost would rather shoot himself than ask for it. Not that he knows how. Not that he would be able to stand it. Just like ancient ceramic, he’s been buried for too long. He’s not functional anymore. The second an unknowing naked hand touches him, he’ll dissolve. Dust to dust. He feels like that already. He’s broken, disassembled. It’s just that all of his pieces are still leaning against each other, seamless, waiting for the next person who touches him to crumble into a pile of sharp edges. Something impossible to glue back. The moment a finger grazes his skin, moving him out of the comfortable grave cocoon he has let form around him, he’ll disappear.

But archeologists find centuries old ceramics every day. Some of them are even fine. Good enough to be displayed at the British Museum. Whole enough to be recognizable. They never touch ancient objects without gloves, though. Noting fragile can handle a gentle touch. Greater, harsher forces, though? Those ceramics have survived earthquakes. They have been stepped on and covered in debris of history; and they are still good enough to be displayed. They still work as a sample of the real thing, the original one, the one that was used daily, that actually worked.

Simon is an archeology site. Under the Ghost thick layer of dirt, there’s history. His remnants. And they’re made of ceramic. Ceramic that is deteriorating rather quickly. He isn’t able to handle a gentle touch- he craves it too much.

He goes for the kind of touch he cand stand. The one he understands. The safe one. Too strong to get to him, too harsh.

Ghost can’t stand caresses. So he settles for punches instead. After all, they involve contact too, don’t they? Skin is skin; hands are hands. That’s the only way he can find. The only touch he is familiarized with. And there is only one being capable of the earthquake he needs. So he asks you to spar.

When he feels close to crumbling, when he can practically see the dust particles leaving his body, he finds you. Under the mask, he’s seconds away from dissolving. He keeps it hidden, of course. Simon would hate asking for something he needs. His solution is to turn the tables.

“Gotta work on your CQC. It was a miracle you won your last fight. C’mere.”

You always say yes, even though it’s never a question. Your smile- sharp, blinding, steady- is the opposite of him. Not like old ceramic, at all. It glimmers with the daily use, strong to the extent of bearing soft things. He envies you a little. What use has being able to endure torture if he can’t take a kiss?

So it’s your hands he asks for. He can’t afford the silky, open palms, but he’ll get the prickly knuckles. He’ll take the kicks if he can’t have warm legs hugging him; and he’ll gladly accept suffocating arms around his neck instead of your little, angelic embrace.

He might have gone extinct a long time ago, but his ruins are still there. And it’s your earth-shattering force the only one that gets deep enough to reach them. He doesn’t really mind it does that through blows. He knows how to take them. He’s thankful, even. They prove there can still be movement as deep down as he lays.

He asks you to spar, and after you’ve hit him all you can, he feels less fragile.

Your fists secure all the layers between his ceramic corpse and the surface. You stomp on the dirt, heavy boots covering him in a dark, comfortable numbness.

Ghost doesn’t know anything sweeter than your blows. They are calculated, vibrant, careful. Never cold. You’re always so full of life. Your knuckles let out whatever you’re feeling: frustration, happiness, need to prove yourself. He, on the other hand, feels like a vampire, feeding on whatever you have to offer. Sometimes, even though he doesn’t even admit it to himself, he lets you connect a punch to his jaw. Just to know how it’d be like. If he closes his eyes, Simon is almost certain he can feel your open fingers splayed across his naked face.

It lasts less than a second, and it’s blatantly false, but it’s enough for him.

Enough to keep the ruins together, cracks invisible- even if they are still there, even if he feels them. Enough to breathe and feel the oxygen lighting his sore muscles up. Enough to relax his body a tiny bit, just enough so that he isn’t on the edge anymore after your sparring sessions.

When you get too tired of fighting him (it’s always you; he would never put an end to your touch), he watches you stretch. His eyes drill into your body. He makes sure you do everything right, that you don’t hurt yourself. That’s what he makes you think, anyway. What he wants to believe himself.

It’s not because he’s wondering how far around his body your arms can stretch. He’s not trying to figure out the texture of your hair, or how it would slide against his naked cheek. It is definitely not because he’s picturing your silhouette, relaxed and vulnerable, under his sheets in the dark of the night. Not at all.

If he did, it’d be like wielding a shovel. Like stabbing Ghost’s chest, like taking him apart, layer by layer of crumbled debris. Like brushing away the dust, the years of history. Like uncovering Simon, cracked and stuck, and trying to get him out of his grave. No, he doesn’t look at you for any other reason, because, if he did, it’d be like exposing whatever is left preserved of him to the abrasive air that leaves your heaving chest, letting the burning sun of your smile turn to dust the poor remnants of him.

And he can’t take that.

So he takes what he can, and lets the cold inside him be warmed up by your smile, distant enough not to burn him.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: 5 Symbols

for your next poem/story (pt. 5)

EGG

The egg is as powerful in its symbolism as it is potent as a life-force.

The World Egg is a ubiquitous symbol for the egg from which the Universe is said to have hatched, an idea that appears in creation myths from all parts of the world: The Celts, Hindus, Egyptians, Greeks, Phoenicians, and many more all agree about this idea.

The form this cosmic hatching takes is variable though:

Often, the egg rises from primeval waters and is incubated by a bird; in Hindu belief, this is the Hamsa, a goose.

When the egg hatches, the yolk and the white become Heaven and Earth.

The Shinto tradition says that the Universe resembled a giant hen’s egg that broke open, with the heavier parts becoming the Earth and the lighter, the Heavens.

There is also a theory that the entire Universe is contained in a huge egg that stands upright.

The egg is a symbol of new life, and this idea is borne out with chocolate eggs at Easter, which in itself is a celebration of the pre-Christian fertility Goddess, Eostre, who also gives her name to the hormone estrogen.

The subsequent celebration of Christ’s death and resurrection meant that the egg kept its significance as a symbol of new life and hope.

Archeologists have found clay eggs in Russian burial sites, reinforcing the belief in the egg as a symbol of immortality and of rebirth.

In alchemy, the Philosopher’s Egg symbolizes the seed of spiritual life, and depicts the place wherein a great transformation takes place.

The ancient riddle of what came first, chicken or egg, was deftly if disappointingly answered by Angelus Silesius, who said: The chicken was in the egg and the egg was in the chicken.

FEATHER

The Egyptian Goddess of truth, Ma’at, has the ostrich feather as her attribute. There is a very specific reason for this:

Because the ostrich is a flightless bird, the design of its feathers is different to those of other birds where one side is larger than the other.

The ostrich feather, however, is perfectly balanced and symmetrical, and so is a fitting emblem of justice.

Its symbolism is closely aligned to that of wings and birds. They stand for ascendance, flight, communication with the spirit realms and the element of air.

Shamanistic use of feathers is for all these reasons;

the feathers enable the soul to become as light as the feather and transcend the boundaries of gravity, time, and space.

Shamans of all nationalities wear feathers as a part of their ritual apparel.

The eagle feather is the most valuable of all feathers:

In some parts of the world, this feather, synonymous with all the power of the bird, is considered so sacred that only card-carrying Native American tribal members may own them. Those found in the wrong hands are the cause of heavy fines.

The swan’s feather appears in the cloaks of druids; because the swan is the bird of poetry, its feathers magically confer these powers on the bard.

Used at the end of the arrow as a “flight,” feathers have a practical as well as symbolic use.

Additionally, feathers are a symbol of sacrifice:

This is because, when chickens and other birds were ritually slaughtered, all they left behind was a few feathers, fluttering to the ground.

The other major symbolic meaning of the feather associates it with vegetation and with hair, primarily because of a similarity in appearance.

HOURGLASS

The function of the hourglass is to mark the passing of time, as sand trickles through the narrow waist in the middle of the transparent glass container that is the same shape as a figure of eight.

Therefore, it is often used as a motif to show the inevitability of death.

However, the shape of the hourglass, as well as being a visual symbol and a word used to describe the figure of a shapely woman, is a lemniscate, or infinity sign.

That the hourglass can be turned upside down to start the cycle all over again makes it an optimistic symbol of rebirth.

PHURBA

This is a sacred knife, used only in ritual practices by Tibetan Buddhists.

Like the Athame of the Western tradition, it is employed to create the sacred spaces that are used for rites and ceremonies.

Its design is based on a stake used in ancient times to tether sacrificial animals, and it is used to describe a magic circle in the same way as a compass.

Can only be owned or handled by initiates.

THYRSUS

The thyrsus was a sacred implement used in rituals and festivals during the time of the Ancient Greeks.

It was a staff, standing about as high as its owner, made from a giant fennel stalk topped with a pine cone and wrapped with vine leaves.

As a phallic symbol, it was combined with a goblet or chalice, symbolic of female energy and used to counterbalance the staff.

As well as being a symbol of male energy, though, staffs or long poles of some description have a universal use as a sacred instrument to connect the Heavens to the Earth, a conductor for the divine spirit.

Source ⚜ More: On Symbols ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[littlemssam]

Mod Updates

As always delete old Mods Files and the localthumbcache, when updating my Mods!

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[smartgirrl]

math study techniques

i’m going to break down some of the most effective ways to study math. this subject definitely can feel overwhelming, but with the right strategies, you can build confidence and success.

this is how i got consistent As on my tests!

mistakes are valuable

go over your mistakes and learn from them – don't move on without fully understanding why something went wrong.

keep an error log – reviewing common errors helps you avoid them in the future.

ngl, sometimes i get disappointed when i don't make mistakes cuz then i don't have a reference point for studying 😭

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · .༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

use visual aids

in geometry or algebra, draw diagrams to visualize the problems.

i am a heavy visual learner so if I can, I will draw out every graph and shape.

here is a simple example of visual notes in math that i took a while ago

use graphing tools to understand functions or inequalities in a tangible way.

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · .༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

practice is key

math requires consistent practice – work through as many problems as you can, varying difficulty levels as you go.

don't rush – make sure you truly understand each problem before moving on.

time yourself during practice to build speed and accuracy for exams.

so important for testing! the tests i do best on i spend around 1-2 minutes per question, leaving me with almost an hour usually to review my work.

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · .༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

use online resources

platforms like Khan Academy or other math-focused sites can be super helpful for understanding difficult concepts.

personally i use resources like ChatGPT to give me extra problems that i can do before an exam

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · .༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

understand, don't memorize

break down formulas – know why and how formulas work to better apply them in different contexts.

if you're in more advanced math, try 'rediscovering' the formula

concepts over shortcuts – shortcuts can help, but deeper understanding will ensure long-term success.

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · .༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

ask for help when needed

study groups or tutors can provide new perspectives on tough problems.

don’t hesitate to ask your teacher for help if you’re stuck

trust me, teachers love questions. my teacher practically begs for them so don't be too afraid. spam office hours if you need to.

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · .༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

thank you for taking the time to read this. if you have any topics that you want me to cover, let me know!!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Brian Barrett at Wired (02.27.2025):

If you’ve felt overwhelmed by all the DOGE news, you’re not alone. You’d need too much cork board and yarn to keep track of which agencies it has occupied by now, much less what it’s doing there. Here’s a simple rubric, though, to help contextualize the DOGE updates you do have time and energy to process: It’s worse than you think. DOGE is hard to keep track of. This is by design; the only information about the group outside of its own mistake-ridden ledger of “savings” comes from media reports. So much for being “maximally transparent,” as Elon Musk has promised. The blurriness is also partly a function of the speed and breadth with which DOGE has operated. Keeping track of the destruction is like counting individual bricks scattered around a demolition site.

You may be aware, for instance, that a 19-year-old who goes by “Big Balls” online plays some role in all this. Seems bad. But you may have missed that Edward Coristine has since been installed at the nation’s top cybersecurity agency. And the State Department and the Small Business Administration. And he has a Department of Homeland Security email address and, by the way, also had a recent side gig selling AI Discord bots to Russians. See? Worse than you think. [...] Similarly, you’ve likely heard that the United States Agency for International Development has been gutted and the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau has been put on ice. All true, all bad. But here’s what that means in practice: Fewer people globally have access to vaccines than they did a month ago. More babies are being born with HIV/AIDS. From here on out, anyone who gets ripped off by payday loan companies—or, say, social media platforms moonlighting as payments services—has lost their most capable defender. Keep going. The thousands of so-called probationary employees DOGE has fired included a significant number of experienced workers who had just been promoted or transferred. National Science Foundation staffing cuts and proposed National Institutes of Health grant limits will combine to kneecap scientific research in the United States for a generation. Terminations at the US Department of Agriculture have sent programs designed to help farmers into disarray. On Wednesday, the Food and Drug Administration canceled a meeting that would have given guidance on this year’s flu vaccine composition. It hasn’t been rescheduled.

Don’t care about science or vaccines? The Social Security Administration is reportedly going to cut its staff in half. The Department of Housing and Urban Development is going to be cut by as much as 84 percent. Hundreds of workers who keep the power grid humming in the Pacific Northwest were fired before a scramble to rehire a few of them. The National Parks Service, the Internal Revenue Service, all hit hard. So don’t make any long-term bets on getting your checks on time, keeping your lights on, buying a home for the first time, or enjoying Yosemite. Don’t assume all the things that work now will still work tomorrow.

Speaking of which, let’s not forget that DOGE has fired people working to prevent bird flu and to safeguard the US nuclear arsenal. (The problem with throwing a chainsaw around is that you don’t make clean cuts.) The agencies in question have reportedly tried to hire those workers back. Fine. But even if they’re able to, the long-term question that hasn’t been answered yet is, Who would stay? Who would work under a regime so cocksure and incompetent that it would mistakenly fire the only handful of people who actually know how to take care of the nukes? According to a recent report from The Bulwark, that brain drain is already underway. And this is all before the real reductions in force begin, mass purges of civil servants that will soon be conducted, it seems, with an assist from DOGE-modified, automated software. The US government is about to lose decades of institutional knowledge across who knows how many agencies, including specialists that aren’t readily replaced by loyalists.

Wired has a solid article on how bad the DOGE-ificiation of government has gotten.