#the property damage was also significant

[butchysterics]

americans imagining Land Back as a reverse colonization where your family is violently displaced from their home—just no, and there’s so much projection and anti-indigenous sentiment in that reaction that we need to unpack. in the same way abolishing private property does not equate to taking the personal property/housing from regular human beings, land back deserves your full attention in the actual demands and futurities that native people are calling for. this knee jerk resistance against land back needs to stop inventing hypotheticals instead of engaging with the reality of this which is A. a broader political call to rematriate land to indigenous communities, who currently have limited resources because this is a settler colonial state B. specific calls to return specific lands—often ‘public lands’ i.e. national parks, blm land etc—which often carry cultural significance and also very direct legacies of violence tied to the original displacement. C. a return to indigenous land management strategies, which are place-based and culture-based and offer paths to restoring/reclaiming/reconfiguring the ecologies and human communities most damaged by colonialism/capitalism/the world we currently live in D. land back is deeply tied to the movements protesting oil and gas pipelines, catastrophic mining, etc ongoing destruction of the environment that place indigenous communities on the frontlines yet threatens /everyone/ downstream who drinks water and has a body

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | sub!robert fischer x dominatrix!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you're a professional dominatrix, he's a restless heir in desperate need of being put in his place; you both know what this is. it's just your job, it's just his fetish. no reason to make it more complicated than that, right?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), bdsm dynamics, reward/punishment, orgasm denial, overstimulation, oral f and m receiving, cnc (meaning he says no but it's not literal, there's a safeword in place for that), angst and fluff at the end, presumably inaccurate depictions of sex work and dominatrix-ing, robert cries. a lot.

You weren’t expecting much when you met him, just another rich boy with daddy issues and an Italian suit. 

And… yeah, you were pretty much exactly on the money.  The very literal money— Robert was already paying almost double what anybody else was, in order to have a monopoly on your time.  But, that said, he still managed to surprise you.

First of all, you were surprised how little experience he really had with this.  People tend to ease into paying thousands of dollars for an on-call professional dominatrix; but Robert had the money and impulsive personality necessary to start at the top.  It’s like getting a Lambo for your first car… which, to be fair, he had also done.  He admitted to you that he’d only had one or two experiences with dominant women and the lifestyle in general: he credited it partially to a need for discretion, that he couldn’t just go to a club with the risk of the wrong people recognizing him and his business being affected.  Though that was a fair reason, you knew he was leaving out his own anxiety as a significant factor as well.

Secondly, he surprised you with how well he understood his own needs and limits for someone with such little experience.  He explained to you, in rather shameless detail, that he was looking for someone to relinquish emotional control to— that he didn’t need to be really physically tortured, just to be psychologically tormented.  In that way, he was less ‘hardcore’ than many of your clients, who had physical damage to show for their time with you by the end of the session, but he was absolutely no wimp.  A crybaby, yes, but not a wimp; big difference.

And, perhaps least importantly, he surprised you by being young, and hot.  Not, you know, too young, and still older than you, but closer to your age than any of your other clients.  As for him being hot, well… yes, he was probably the best-looking of your clients.  ‘Probably’ being a polite word for ‘definitely’.  Ironically, for being so submissive, he had a somewhat intimidating visage: sharp features, bright and icy eyes, quite tall as well.  That was probably what most people saw first, but you were lucky to be able to appreciate completely how delicate he really was: with that pleading wet gaze, his thick bottom lip between his teeth, an unexpected softness to his masculine features.

You were surprised he needed to pay someone for this, looking like that, but then again, his kinks were a bit specific and his need for privacy was understandable.  Maybe what all that money really was, was just hush money.  After all, truth be told, you probably wouldn't mind doing the rest of it for free.

A friend of yours in the business warned you that that was a sign you needed to stop working for this guy.  If you’re catching feelings, get out now, she warned.  You tried to assure her it wasn’t feelings— just an acknowledgement that he was absurdly beautiful— but she didn’t seem to buy it; you yourself were starting to doubt that excuse.

But, here you were: usual place, usual time.  A lot of your clients preferred hotels, but Robert Fischer found the most discreet method was just to have you come to his penthouse; he had a few properties, but apparently this one was the most secluded.  The private elevator certainly gave off that impression.

He’d given you your own key to use, to take you to his place whenever you wanted.  Obviously, you only went there when you had an appointment… but you did get a little giddy every time you used it.  You got the impression that some small part of him hoped you’d use that key on your own time one day, but that could’ve been you projecting: you tried to remind yourself that he, like all the other clients, probably didn’t think of you much when you were gone.

It was hard to hold up that narrative just a few minutes later, though, as you stood in his bedroom with him on his knees in front of you.

“Missed you so much, Mistress,” he mumbled against your skin as he pressed his face to your thigh.  “I swear, I haven’t thought about anything else since last time— can we move up to four times a week?  Three isn’t enough anymore.”

He was a little more desperate than usual because, even with three sessions a week, this one had been delayed by two days because of his work.  Still, he couldn’t quite justify being this worked up when you’d seen him four days ago…  “Do you want to talk business, or do you want to play?” you asked him quickly.  “Scheduling is best done before or after—”

“Sorry, sorry,” he sighed, looking up at you through his lashes.  “Sorry, I just— we can talk about that later.  I need you so fucking bad— and you look so pretty…”

You dressed a bit differently for him.  Most of your clients wanted latex, leather, chains, studs— you know, the usual.  Robert told you from the start he preferred soft things, pretty things.  He’d asked if he could buy you things to wear but you insisted on simply billing him for whatever you picked out: anything else was giving him too much power over you.  Thankfully, he’d never had an issue with your tastes.  

He liked seeing you in relatively ‘normal’ clothes.  Little black dresses with lacy pantyhose, silk robes— he actually went a little feral seeing you in a pinstriped three-piece suit once, but that’s another story.  Today, you were keeping it classic with a black skirt and blazer, plus stockings with garter belts (his favorite) and your tallest, sharpest heels.  Clearly it had the intended effect, since you hadn’t even told him to get on his knees when you walked in…

“Get up,” you told him, and he scrambled onto his feet and gave you a look that barely hid how impatient he was feeling inside.  “Actually, I have some business to discuss with you.  Take a seat on the bed, why don’t you?”

He tilted his head a bit but did as he was told.  He hadn’t even seemed to notice the briefcase you brought— maybe his life was just so full of briefcases he’d learned to ignore them.  But you certainly had his attention when you set it down between you and opened the clasps— though you didn’t lift it to reveal its contents yet.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” you informed him flatly.  He seemed thrown off— like he couldn’t tell if this was part of the scene or not.  

“I-I’m sorry,” he said first, then adding, “what did I do wrong?  I’ve been so good…”

“I saw you in the papers.”

Reaching inside, you pulled out the newspaper picture of him, walking along the Manhattan streets with a young woman by his side.  She was taller than him with her heels on, overwhelmingly blonde, annoyingly pretty.  His eyes went wide at the sight.  “Oh—” he began,  but you cut him off.

“It’s not right for you to be seeing me when you have a girlfriend,” you explained, pausing before you set down a magazine snapshot of him with a different model, “or two.”

“N-no, wait, I can explain that,” he rushed, but you shoved the pictures aside and leaned forward, sneering at him.

“Is that what you are, huh?  Just a slut?” you snapped.  “Am I not enough for you?”

“No!  God, no— you’re everything,” he whined, “of course. Those are just—”

“Just what?  They seem like lovely young women, Mr. Fischer, you don’t need to insult them for my benefit.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” he pouted, looking down— already his cheeks were getting redder.  “You’re really mad at me?  For being seen with them?”

You knew he was upset you weren’t calling him a pet name, the last thing he wanted to be when you were here was Mr. Fischer— he wanted to be your good boy, your baby, your puppy, your pet.  “I’m more concerned about what you did that nobody else saw, Robert,” you admitted.

The last thing you wanted to do was appear jealous— that was never what you would do, or at least, not your character.  But one of your rules for Robert was that he was required to be celibate outside of your sessions with him.  It was always about control— and he loved the humiliation of being reminded that you worked with other men and slept with whoever you wanted, but that he was doomed to only be yours.  He asked you to remind him all the time, whispering in his ear about how he belonged to you, that nobody but you could touch him, that he was just Mistress’ good boy.

“It’s not like that, I swear,” he whined, “they— it was just publicity.  For both of us— I mean, for the girls and for me.  It’s business!”

“Right,” you returned, not acting especially convinced.  One of those photos in the magazine was pretty deliberate— his arm around her waist, whispering something in her ear with a smirk.  It certainly didn’t seem like business.

“Please, Mistress, you know I’d never—”

“Do I?” you interrupted sharply.  “I mean, after you were so naughty last time—”

“I didn’t mean to come so fast, I was just—”

“How dare you speak over me?” you hissed, and he clamped his mouth shut as his shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry, ma’am…” he whispered with defeat.

“I’m starting to wonder, what’s stopping you from breaking any of the rules?  How do I know you’re really behaving?”

“Y-you know, because…!” he trailed off, eyes darting wildly as he looked for a response.  “Because you know how bad I need you.  How important you are to me.”

When your heart beat a little faster, you told yourself that he really meant how important these sessions are to me.  

Going back to what seemed like his default state, Robert dropped to the floor again, kneeling in front of where you had your legs crossed tensely.  Twice now he’d done that without you asking, but you weren’t going to correct him this time because, well… some men were just meant to be on their knees.  “I swear, I swear it wasn’t real, was all just for the pictures… I’d never break your rules, Mistress, I wanna be good for you.”

“Want to, yes,” you smirked, “but it takes a lot of willpower, when you could afford as many little playthings as your heart desires.”

You leaned back on your hands as he got more and more desperate, and you fought the urge to smile proudly seeing him panic a bit.  He knew that with your hands holding your weight, you wouldn’t be running your fingers through his hair or stroking his cheek… he was getting antsy, still not having been touched by you ten minutes into the session.  “Let me show you,” he pleaded, “I promise, I only want you— I-I’ve been waiting for this, for you to touch me again…”

Now, truthfully, you’d believed him when he said those girls were for show— for publicity, as he said.  But only now that he said it like that did you really believe how desperate he was.  Unfortunately for him, it just made you want to tease him more.  “Touch you?” you repeated, egging on his begging.

"Please, touch me," he whined, "please, I'll be so good… I need you, Mistress."

"I know you do, baby, but I don't think you've earned me yet."

“Yes, ma’am— I don’t deserve you,” he breathed.  “I know I don’t.”

He looked so sweet, so broken, looking up at you like that.  “Why should I touch you at all tonight, baby boy?” you asked sweetly; he rested his forehead on your knee, looking exhausted from his own desperation.

“I… I don’t know if you should,” he admitted, surprising you a bit.  “I just know that if you don’t, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

You said nothing, though you couldn’t fight your smile, and he continued softly under his breath.

“I swear, I only want you,” he whispered.  “I only ever wanted you.”

“Alright,” you shrugged, “show me how bad you want me.”

Uncrossing your legs, you let him see that your little outfit today didn’t include any panties; as he caught a glimpse up your skirt, his shoulders and chest sunk with a sigh.  “Mistress,” he breathed, but a second later he grabbed a tight hold of your legs and yanked you closer to the edge of the bed so he could push up your skirt and dive right in.

He was always ravenous when he did this.  It didn’t matter how long it had been since you saw him last, how long you teased him, or if you just walked right in and ordered him to his knees: he always, always ate you out like his life depended on it.  He was obsessed with serving you this way, moaning and whimpering against your skin, grabbing weakly at your hips or thighs and sometimes struggling to control his own arousal as his cock throbbed in his trousers.

You were already trying to temper your reactions; if you showed how much you liked it, you’d be surrendering a bit of your dominance, and that couldn’t be allowed.  Instead of gasping or moaning his name, you simply hummed and reached down to card your fingers through his hair; he whined against you, even louder when you tugged on it.

“Good boy,” you praised softly, making him shut his eyes tight as he sucked and licked at everything his mouth could reach.  He flicked his tongue over your clit and you fought not to let your hips buck against his face.  “Very good boy— how much do you like tasting Mistress’ cunt?”

“More than anything,” he answered, taking a break from the main task to kiss and bite hungrily all over your inner thighs.  “Fuck, I could taste you forever— you’re so perfect— should I keep going?”

“Of course, baby, just keep looking up at me.”

God, those eyes; sometimes you thought he could look right through you with those.  Could he see how hard you were fighting not to lose it right there, not to lay back and order him to fuck you?  You wondered if he would— it had never gone that far with him, he was obsessed with the denial, the inequity, the deprivation.  To be fair, you didn’t have sex with any of your clients… but you also never thought about sex with any of your clients, other than him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” you decided after a few moments, causing him to look up at you with concern like he’d done something wrong.

“I’m not allowed to make you come?” he pouted.

“Not yet,” you said simply.  “Get up.”

He popped right up, ready to serve— as always.

“Why don’t you take off your shoes for me?” you encouraged, and he certainly wasted no time; but as he toed his shoes off, he shirked off his jacket, loosening his tie and getting a few buttons of his shirt undone.  You raised your eyebrows, frowning at his eagerness.  “Stop.  I didn’t say all that.”

He slowed to a stop.  “S-sorry,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Lay on the bed.”

You watched patiently as he did, sitting up beside him but not getting too close.  He looked nice mostly-dressed, his suit half-removed and a bit disheveled.  You’d made him strip completely before, adding to his vulnerability, but you thought there were benefits to this too: by wearing his work clothes, you were reminding him of the man he was supposed to be while treating him like the needy boy he really was.  Whether or not he noticed that irony, he shuddered when you gently brushed your hand over his bulge, which flexed as if trying to ask for more itself.

“Look how hard you got for me, just from eating me out,” you noticed proudly.

“Tastes so good,” he whimpered his excuse, biting his lip when you started to open his belt and trousers.  “Y-you’re sure I deserve it?”

“No,” you admitted, “but I think it might be fun to touch you a little.  You want me to, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, of course,” he rushed, just as emphatic as ever.

He keened and bucked up into your hand when you just barely touched his cock; you pulled away, giving him a stern look as a reminder not to move too much.  When he settled down, you gently reached into his boxers again and freed his aching cock.  There was a little precum at the tip already, and he was looking at you with fascination as you delicately touched him, but never properly gripped or stroked it just to keep him on edge a little more.

“How long has it been since anyone but me touched you like this, baby boy?” you wondered.

“Y-years,” he choked, “years— I don’t even touch myself anymore, I swear.”

You gently ran your fingers over the ridge of the head, making him shudder and writhe on the bed.  “Are you sure?  You didn't even jerk off after feeling up that lovely young lady in the magazine?"

"No— and I didn't— c'mon, Mistress, don't you believe me?" he choked.  "I'm your good boy, you know I am— love being yours…"

“So you really don’t touch yourself?”

“No!” he snapped, correcting his tone a moment later.  “No, I… I stopped when you told me to.”

"Well, how about you show me how you used to do it?" you encouraged with a grin, taking your hand away from him.  "Stroke your cock for me, puppy."

"No, please," he gasped, "I want you to— please, I'm sorry—"

"Stop fucking whining and do what I tell you," you sneered.  "Not such a good boy after all, are you?"

He suddenly scrambled to get his hand around his cock when you put it like that, groaning and biting his lip as he gripped himself tightly.  "Like this, Mistress?" he panted proudly.

"Mm, something like that," you cooed.  "But go a little slower, baby boy, we've got plenty of time."

His eyes got wide with fear— fear that you would really make him edge himself the whole time.  You had much bigger plans, though.

He found a rhythm: not horribly slow, but careful and precise.  His cheeks kept getting pinker as you watched him, and he once reached out to touch your thigh with his free hand, but you moved away.

“C’mon,” he begged quickly, “can I just… can I at least see…?”

“See what?”

“Y-your tits, maybe,” he asked shyly, stroking his cock faster already at just the thought.

“I don’t think you need to see my tits,” you accused, noticing that his cock was already flexing in his grip.  He really had been worked up, if he was this sensitive to just his own hand.  “You’re doing just fine, baby.”

He grunted but went on, shifting around on the bed slightly.

“A little faster now,” you told him.  “When you used to jerk off like this, before you met me, did you imagine while you did it?  Did you watch porn?”

“Yes— I mean, imagine, always; porn sometimes,” he answered.

“What kind of porn?”

“Uh… this kind,” he admitted with a small laugh.  When you heard that laugh, saw the self-effacing smile on his face, you suddenly thought again about what your friend said: if you’re catching feelings, get out now.  But you shook the thought from your mind.

“Do you miss it?  Being able to get yourself off?” you pressed.

“Fuck no,” he grunted, and you caught the way his cock bobbed in his hand— he was getting even closer, poor thing.  “Don’t even— don’t want to now, but… but I’m trying so hard to be good for you…”

“I know,” you offered with a sympathetic, yet condescending, pout as you leaned in and caressed his face for a second.  Just that seemed to push him even closer, and he struggled to keep his hips down again.  

“I— fuck, I’m close,” he finally admitted.  “I’ll come…”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

"Oh, please, please don't make me come," he whimpered.  "I— I don't wanna come like this…"

You tilted your head.  "Like what, puppy?" 

"I want… I want you to touch me…" he pouted, eyes welling up a bit.

"We agreed you don't deserve that, Robert," you said sternly.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sobbed— and there were real tears, he was obviously devastated that he had let you down so much.  "I'll do anything, I swear— let me be your good boy, your puppy— Mistress, I just wanna be yours again…"

You slapped him hard on the thigh when you saw his hand start to falter.  "Don't slow down," you snapped.  "I want you to keep going— keep stroking your poor cock, don't fucking stop until I tell you."

"But I— I'm so close," he choked.

"That's not my fault," you chuckled.  "You're a pathetic whiny baby who comes too quick, that's not really my problem."

He bit his shaking lip and blinked through his tears, hips beginning to buck up into his own hand.  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said over and over, "I didn't mean to be bad, I promise… only ever wanted t-to be your good boy…"

Feeling just a little sympathetic, you leaned in closer to speak beside his ear.  "Is my good boy gonna come if I tell him to?"

Though he hesitated, he nodded.

"But you don't want to?"

He shook his head.

"Because you want me to touch you when you come, right?" you pressed, your voice just as soft as your touch while you gently ran your hand up his leg.  He whimpered and squirmed, his eyes getting a bit wide.  "You want me to make you come?"

"Yes! Please, fuck, please, Mistress…" he gasped.  

You rubbed his inner thigh as he stroked himself faster; you could see his cock flexing, and you knew he was trying so hard not to come right then.  Deciding to test him further, you let your fingers run over his swollen balls, and he choked on his own throat.  "Bet these are so full of come for me," you purred.

"Yes, Mistress," he hissed.

"Stop moving your hand," you ordered suddenly, and for a man who'd been begging you to let him stop, he took a second to do it— his hand faltered a little as he slowed down, and he ended up holding his cock much too tight… surely trying to hold himself back from coming still.  "You wanted me to touch you, didn't you?"

"Yes," he gasped, eyes getting wide with hope.  "Yes! Please, Mistress!  I swear I'll be good…"

"Then let go of your cock and let me take care of you, baby," you cooed.  Again, he took a second to do it— still trying to make sure he wouldn't come when he wasn't choking the life out of it.  Hissing as he let go, he dropped his head back with the sweetest moan as you gave him one slow stroke from the base to the tip.  "Good job, baby," you whispered to him, "you're my good boy, aren't you?"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his exposed neck, and nodded hastily.

When his cock twitched in your hand, you figured it was just because he was so sensitive— but then, halfway into your second stroke, he gasped and suddenly began to come.  You noticed it in his face first, the way he scrunched his nose and let out a low groan; then there was hot, sticky come shooting over his chest and stomach— and ruining that nice white shirt.

You pulled your hand away instantly, giving his face the hardest slap you could; he cried out in pain, but he just kept coming and bucking his hips into nothing.  

"You pathetic, stupid boy!" you scolded, and he groaned.  "I gave you one stroke, and you came?!”

You said it in past tense, but he was still coming, whining through his teeth and blinking quickly with those long lashes of his.  He looked so sweet— but you knew that he knew he was utterly fucked.  “I-I’m sorry,” he breathed, groaning one more time and going limp onto the bed beneath him as his cock gave one more weak flex.  “I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m sorry…”

You watched him pant for a moment, almost losing your train of thought when you saw just how pretty he was.

Unfortunately for him, it gave you an interesting idea.

Loosening his tie, you slipped it off around his head; he blinked his eyes open and scrunched up his brows with confusion.  “What are you…?” he asked, though he seemed to figure it out when you gave him a certain look: he instantly held out his wrists for you, and you smiled proudly.

You didn’t just tie them together, though— you tied them to the headboard, keeping his hands bound above his head as you grinned and leaned down over him.  “What am I gonna do with you, puppy?” you cooed in a sweet-but-concerning way.

Chuckling nervously, he answered, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

You ran one finger over his cock, following the line a final drop of come had left down the shaft, and he hissed in a breath through his teeth.  “So sensitive,” you noticed; he tensed up, like he was catching on.

When you licked a stripe up his shaft with the tip of your tongue, his gaze darkened and his mouth went slack.  “I— I don’t—” he stammered, clearly conflicted with his desire for you and his fleeting logic telling him this was going to hurt.  “I don’t think I can… take it…”

You’d never done this to him before, but you couldn’t stop yourself: looking up at his flushed face to see his reaction, you enveloped his head with your lips.

He let out a high, desperate moan as you suckled his swollen tip; “M-Mistress, fuck, I— oh my god—”

You looked up at him, but his head was tilted back too far to see you.  You slid your mouth down further, stroking his base with your hand, until you were gagging on him and he was writhing beneath you wildly.

“Oh my god, fuck!  Fuck, fuck— I… god your mouth is warm…” 

You pulled off of him, partially to give him a bit of a break and partially so you could keep talking to him.  Then again, it wasn’t much of a break since you kept stroking him, letting your spit and his come smooth your movements, sure to focus on that poor overstimulated tip.  “It’s not too much for you, is it?  My good boy can take it, right?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he promised, though he didn’t sound that confident.  It sounded like what he really meant was I’m gonna try my best to take it.

“And aren’t you so thankful that Mistress is so nice to you, sucking your cock even though you don’t deserve it?”

“Fuck, of course,” he panted, “thank yo—oh fuck, fuck—”

You threw him off by taking him down as far as you could in the middle of his sentence, but he still had his manners.

“Thank you!” he yelped, starting to shudder more violently.  “Th-thank you, so much, fuck, you’re perfect—”

When you pulled off again, he sighed with relief yet followed your mouth with a buck of his hips.  “Does it hurt, or does it feel good?” you wondered.

“I— it’s— both,” he choked.

“I bet you wished I would suck your cock someday, didn’t you?” you pressed, and he instantly nodded and whined through his teeth as you licked all over the tip with a wide tongue.  He gasped as you licked right over the slit.

“Fuck, I did— god, I— oh…”

Poor thing couldn’t get many words out in a row, he kept losing it every time you hollowed out your cheeks and swirled your tongue.  And then you gave his balls a firm squeeze, and he made a sound you thought you might’ve never heard him make before.

“Mistress, please, please,” he begged breathlessly, moaning louder as you bobbed your head up and down.  You couldn’t tell if he was begging for more or for relief, and honestly, you expected he didn’t know either.

You kept going for a few more minutes of that before his cries of pain got a little too intense— then you pulled away, and replaced your mouth with a hand stroking him as fast as you could.  He still sobbed, of course, and dropped his head back again between his restrained arms.

“Fuck, s’too much,” he breathed, “just slow down…”

“I can’t, sweet boy— I need you to come again for me,” you encouraged. 

“I— fuck, Mistress— I—” he stammered, and you could tell he was trying to stop himself from saying I can’t.  He couldn’t bear to disappoint you twice.

“Can you do that for me, baby?” you cooed, making him look at you with the widest, wettest eyes.  “Can you show me you’re still my good boy?”

“F-fuck, yes, okay,” he panted, “I’ll… I’ll come for you, just don’t stop, please…”

“I won’t stop, puppy, not until we’ve got every drop of come out of you,” you promised.

He should’ve known you took ‘every drop’ very seriously.  Though he came after just another minute of stroking him like this, you still didn’t stop.  When he cried out and tugged on his own tie holding him down, you didn’t stop.  “Fuck!” he yelped.  “Please, I can’t— I can’t!”

“Shh, yes you can,” you encouraged, though your free hand holding him down by the neck did more to keep him in place.  “C’mon, be my good boy, gimme one more.”

He kept trying to squirm away, though, and his wrists were pulling hard on that necktie— he was probably going to ruin it.

“Stop fighting so much,” you warned him firmly.  “Just be my good boy and fucking take it, come on— the fuck are you good for if you can’t do what I tell you to?”

“S-sorry,” he barely managed to get out, you almost didn’t hear it over the sound of his feet kicking all over the satin sheets.

“You don’t wanna get in trouble, do you?  Don’t you wanna show me you know how to do what you’re told?” you kept taunting him, glancing down and seeing how red and weepy his cock was getting— you knew he wasn’t much further off from coming again.

“Yes, yes, fuck, I’m sorry,” he spoke hoarsely through the pressure you were putting on his neck.

“The sooner you come, the sooner it stops, puppy,” you informed him, gripping his cock even tighter as he hissed in breaths through his teeth.  “Just come for me one more time…”

All he could do was lick his lips and nod; you let go of his neck, wanting to hear every broken moan he made.  With his eyes shut tight and his nose scrunched up, he finally came with a long and wavering grunt— that was what you were waiting for, the sound of total relief.  You slowed your movements down to a stop, smiling as you watched his cock give just two small pumps of come that dripped onto the ends of his shirt… it flexed weakly a few more times after that, but clearly he was beyond spent.

“Good job,” you praised softly, “you did so good for me… look what a mess you made…”

If you were feeling really mean you’d make him clean that all up, but something told you it was best to stop now… that ‘something’ being your watch.  You’d stayed twenty minutes late and you were probably going to piss off your next client by being significantly tardy, especially considering you had to change first; you hoped you could chalk it up to some mindfuck dominance thing, walk in and say Mistress is never late, I always get here when I want to, if you were sitting around waiting for me that just shows how pathetic you are or something.

As you thought about that, you reached up and released the tie around Robert’s hands; he didn’t jump to rub his wrists, or flex his fingers into fists to bring some feeling back.  He just let them fall limply at either side of him.

Though it was a small difference, it worried you— as did his silence.  Normally he was all over you with praises by now, thanking you for everything, telling you he couldn’t wait to see you again.  

“Was it a good session?” you asked him gently, letting him know it was over— he didn’t need to ‘perform’ anymore.  You still felt like you needed to, though.

He worried you with the continued silence, though, just catching his breath and keeping his eyes shut; just when you thought you might check again that he was okay, he nodded quickly and hoarsely insisted, “Yeah, m’fine.”

“Not too much for you?” you asked nervously, watching him shake his head— but his lip was shaking, too.  He was still crying, and you could tell it wasn’t like the whiny tears from before: he was holding back from bursting into sobs.  You interrupted the silence with a whispered Robert? and he collapsed; folding in on himself, he curled into a ball on the bed and shook as he cried.  Your eyes went wide as you realized you were absolutely in over your head.

Aftercare was generally not part of the deal.  Most of your clients didn’t want it— they preferred to process whatever they needed to alone, after you left— and the rest just had to suck it up, though they never made much of a fuss.  This felt like a real situation, and you felt guilty leaving now, but worried you’d only make it worse or break your own rules if you intervened somehow.

“I’m gonna give you some time,” you offered as you sat up— like ditching him now was a courtesy.  Of course, as you expected (from him, specifically), he reached out for you.

“Please stay,” he begged— still heavily in his submissive mindset, it seemed, and sniffling pathetically.  “Please, please—”

“Your time’s up,” you informed him flatly.

“Anything,” he whimpered, “name your price.”

“It’s— it’s not about the money, Robert,” you sighed.  “It’s just unprofessional.”

“But I need you,” he breathed, and your heart twisted.  “You can’t leave me like this, I just— I just need you to—”

Relenting, you sat back down on the bed; he instantly wrapped his arms around you, buried his face in your chest, and pulled you down with him.

Though it took you a moment, you went ahead and wrapped your arms around him in return, hoping to soothe him.  “I’m sorry,” he said, though you struggled to make it out at first until he kept repeating it.

“It’s okay,” you replied softly, rubbing his back and looking down at the mess of brown hair shaking with each sob.  “It’s okay, baby, you did really good… I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to go very hard on you, I mean, I’ve made you come a lot more than that before.”

“Not that,” he choked, finally pulling his face up to let you see and hear him better.  Your heart broke seeing how overwhelmed he really was.  “I just… I really don’t wanna disappoint you…”

In retrospect, maybe you should’ve known it would be too much for him— or maybe it was something about today, it just hit the wrong way, you couldn’t be sure.  It didn’t really matter, in the end.  

You sat up a bit, and he followed you, as you sighed and held his face.

“Robert, I was just— that wasn’t real,” you promised.  “I needed something, you know, to work with.  I just wanted you to prove your loyalty— I was never angry with you.”

“I know,” he croaked, though he was calming a bit already, “I know that, but I— it felt like it.  Nobody else tells me what I’m supposed to do, you know— only you do that.  I need that.  Then I can know I’m doing what I’m supposed to… you’re the only person I can’t let down.”

Biting your lip for a second, you reached out to touch his chest through the half-unbuttoned shirt, but he pulled away suddenly.

“I know what this is,” he said, suddenly sounding a bit more normal again— almost clinical, actually.  “I know this is your job.”

“Well… yeah,” you mumbled; obviously he knew that.  You tried to understand what he was really saying to you.

“I know… none of it’s real,” he added, looking away.  

Gently, you turned his face back to yours, wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb.  “I really am proud of you,” you whispered, moving closer to him on the bed.

He held your face, then, too; and he put his other hand on your waist, moving even closer to you.  “Please…” he began, and though the word was overwhelmingly familiar, you were sure you’d never heard him say it like that before.  “Please, let me kiss you.”

You kissed him first, feeling one more tear roll down his face as he pulled you closer and pressed your body to his.

The kiss was soft at first, still a little teary; the way he held you was incredibly tender but with a lightly-suppressed neediness behind it… his fingers would tighten at your waist sometimes and you could tell he wanted to just force you against him.  You’d let him, if he wanted to, but he was probably too weak after all that.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, reaching to hold onto his shoulders and squeeze them.  “I’m so sorry, baby—”

“No,” he breathed against your lips, barely stopping the kiss to speak, “no— no, you’re perfect—”

“Stop it,” you mumbled, pushing him away slightly.  “I’m not.  I fucked up.  I went too hard on you.”

“I— I could’ve safeworded, I just didn’t… I don’t know,” he shook his head before leaning it onto your shoulder.  “You must think I’m pathetic.”

You laughed a little as you combed your fingers through his hair, letting your nails gently scratch his scalp.  “No, I just get paid to call you pathetic.  You’re so strong…”

“No, I’m not,” he promised, his voice oddly firm and stable for how weepy the words could’ve come off.  “I’m not— not even strong enough to… to end this.”

You froze up, looking at him with wide eyes as he pulled his face up close to yours.

“It’s not right anymore,” he whispered to you, cradling your cheek in his palm; god, his hands were warm.  “You know it, don’t you?  You can tell.  You can tell I broke the fucking rules.”

“Don’t tell me, after all this bullshit,” you managed to laugh bitterly, “you really are dating one of those fucking models— or both—”

“Not that rule, fuck,” he coughed, “no— I fucking fell for you.”

You blinked quickly, forcing yourself to believe you misheard him.  “You—?”

“I fell in love with you.”

“No— Robert, you don’t even know me,” you insisted, looking away.

“I want to!  God, I want to,” he groaned, “it’s all I think about: what you must be like when you’re not, you know, on the clock.  What turns you on, what ticks you off, what… fuck, what you eat for breakfast!  Anything.”

“Then you don’t love me,” you informed him, “you love the idea.  You love the… mystery.  You don’t really want to know me, I promise.”

“You don’t love a mystery because you want it to stay that way,” he laughed, rubbing your shoulders— only then did you notice your own eyes were getting teary.  You really didn’t want him to see you that way, but you didn’t have much choice now.  “You love a mystery because you can’t wait to get to the ending and figure it all out!  I just wanna know you— you’re a page-turner.”

“Okay, the metaphor is a little tired now,” you rolled your eyes, but you sniffled and tried to hide your face.

“Hey,” he whispered, petting your head, toying with your hair for a moment with his fingers.  “I know you can’t keep going on with me, now that I said that.  I know this is gonna have to be goodbye.  But I… I think goodbye is still less painful than having to be this close to you but so far away.  I’m sorry… I thought I was strong enough for this.”

Get out now.  Get out now.  The advice echoed in your head.  If you’re catching feelings, get out now and definitely do not tell him you’re falling for him too— no don’t you fucking dare bitch— “It’s not goodbye,” you blurted out.  “I’m not strong enough for that.”

When you dared to look at him, his eyes were full of hope.

“God, you look fucked up,” you noticed with a laugh, your eyes scanning his ruined suit.  “C’mon, let’s get you in the bath.”

~

There was plenty of room in this bathtub, more than any one person could need— plenty for you to have your own space.  But, of course, Robert kept you close to him, your chest against his back as he ran his hands over your skin under the water.

“For breakfast?  I don’t know, I guess I have toast a lot, if I remember it,” you chuckled.  “My mornings are pretty busy.”

“Any pet peeves?” he asked.

“Uh, people who don’t use earbuds on public transport,” you decided.

“Ah,” he nodded.  “That sounds irritating.  I, um, haven’t been on public transport…”

You rolled your eyes, but you giggled, too.

“If you could only wear one color for the rest of your life, what would it be?” he prompted.

You turned over, splashing the water a bit, so you could look up at him.  “Is this interrogation ever gonna end?  The water’s getting cold.”

“Well, so far, the more I know, the more I wanna know, so…” he trailed off.  “Guess we’re gonna be in here ‘til I solve the mystery, hm?”

You laughed, but he pulled you into another kiss— more energetic than before, but still sweet, still a little hungry.  When you pulled back, he leaned in and kissed your neck instead.  “I think we could be here all night and still have a lot left to cover,” you warned him.

“I can afford all night,” he shrugged.

As tempted as you were to take him up on that, you had to accept that that element of the arrangement was over now.  “I’m not gonna charge you,” you admitted, making him break away from your skin to look up at you.  “You wanted to learn what I’m like off the clock, right?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling you a little closer until you straddled his lap in the water.  “I wanna learn whatever I can.”

“Well, here’s something you should’ve figured out a lot sooner,” you offered, running your fingers over his jaw until you gently held his chin, making him look up at you with this sweet, pouty, needy look on his face.  “I fell for you, too.”

[1moreff-creator]

DRDT Rulebreakers!

It has come to my attention that MonoTV seems to be lacking in its responsibilities as a killing game host, in particular regarding the punishment of vile, despicable rulebreakers. Apparently, it’s willing to let breaches of rules go if they’re, quote, “funny.” This is unacceptable.

So, since I was rewatching DRDT for other purposes anyways, I decided to make a list of every participant who’s broken a rule so far. You’d be surprised at how many there are, given there are only three rules they can break. “No violence against MonoTV”, “no sleeping outside the dorms during nighttime,” and “no significant property damage outside of murder.” And yet, all of them have been broken at least once. Here are all the instances of this happening.

Rule Number 5: “Nighttime” is from 10 pm to 8 am. During nighttime, sleeping outside of the dorms is prohibited.

Rulebreaker: Rose

To the surprise of no one, I imagine. If I’d given you three guesses as to who broke this one, your guesses should have been “Rose, Rose and Rose a third time.” Indeed, Ms Lacroix takes the dubious honor of being the first person to break a rule after the students were given their monopads. As in, she literally breaks the rule in the scene the rules are handed out, in CH1 EP2. Right after the nighttime announcement, she falls asleep while standing. For shame.

Thin Ice: Ace

(Ignore the numbers)

I mean. Top right does say nighttime, and he is in fact sleeping. I feel like we could forgive him for this one given the situation, but I suppose it’s up to the jury.

Rule Number 6: Violence towards MonoTV is prohibited.

Rulebreakers: Levi, Arei

Levi is the only person who actually got punished for breaking a rule, and that’s especially funny considering he is the only one who did it before the rules were actually presented to the students lol.

Arei, meanwhile, has no excuse. While strangling a robot that doesn’t require air to breathe is a generally unadvisable as a genuine method of inflicting harm, it’s still very much violence against MonoTV. I actually can see no reason why she wouldn’t be punished for this. I guess she must be the mastermind! /j

Thin Ice: Nico, Charles, J

Nico holding MonoTV by the tail wasn’t an inherently violent act, but it still could cause harm.

Charles, in a twist of fate, got jumped by MonoTV, which isn’t a violation in itself. However, if he fought back at all… it’s curtains. Unconfirmed, but possible violation, hence he’s on thin ice.

Finally, J didn’t actually attack MonoTV in a way that matters, but she basically attempted to murder it with her remote. Watch it, young lady.

Rule Number 7: Significant property damage is prohibited. This rule may be waived in the case of committing a murder.

Rulebreakers: Teruko, Xander, Whit

Teruko: Could anyone use this to commit a murder? The materials these things are made out of are really cheap. This hammer is plastic. Oops. I already broke it...

Whit: Jeez, you trip and faceplant into the wall once and [Charles] will never let you forget it.

Whit is the latest student to be confirmed a vile rulebreaker, and as you might expect, the reason this post exists. He admitted to face-planting on the computer lab wall, and MonoTV admitted it only let it slide because it was funny. This implies the rule was broken, meaning even small things like that count as “significant” property damage.

And with that, we can confirm Xander as a rulebreaker too. No surprise, he’s the Ultimate Rebel for a reason. He actually has multiple counts of breaking this rule, with the elevator doors, but the most straightforward case is the table he broke while arm-wrestling Ace.

Finally, we have Teruko, who has broken this rule in more situations than just one. I chose her breaking the plastic hammer provided to everyone (CH1 EP1) because it’s the most straightforward, but there’s also the icing gun which breaks in her hands when baking cake in CH1, possibly a plate later in the same scene, and probably more. See, this is why Xander was in the righ-

Thin Ice: Ace's Attacker/Nico

(Aka whoever actually broke the fan)

(I could get images without numbers. I'm not going to)

This one's an interesting grey area. The property damage rule can be waived "in the case of committing a murder," but what about attempted murder? Since the murder wasn't successful, should the person who broke the fan be punished for it? Up to interpretation.

———

And that’s as far as it goes (unless I missed something which I most likely did). So, while Ace, J, Charles, Nico, and maybe the Ace attacker (if they’re not just Nico) are all on thin ice, Rose, Levi, Arei, Teruko, Xander, and Whit, are all rulebreakers! And are hereby BANNED from the DAYCA-

Wrong fandom sorry.

These six are all rulebreakers, and are thus liable for execution and/or mastermind allegations. Do with this information what you will.

[blueiscoool]

Archaeologists Unearth Remarkably Preserved Marble Statue of Hermes in Bulgaria

Archaeologists led by Prof. Dr. Ludmil Vagalinski have unearthed a remarkably well-preserved marble statue in the ancient city of Heraclea Sintika, near Petrich, Bulgaria. The discovery, announced by the municipality of Petrich, was found within the underground sewer known as "Cloaca Maxima". Efforts are underway to delicately excavate the statue without causing damage due to its exceptional state of preservation.

Standing over two meters tall, the statue is believed to depict Hermes, a prominent deity in the region during ancient times. Prof. Dr. Vagalinski, speaking to "Archaeologia Bulgarica," expressed cautious excitement about the find, noting its significance not only as the best-preserved statue discovered in Heraclea Sintika but also in all of Bulgaria. He suggests that the statue was likely buried by city inhabitants following a major earthquake in the 4th century AD, possibly to safeguard their religious heritage during the rise of Christianity.

Archaeologia Bulgarica shared updates on the excavation progress via Facebook, revealing that the statue, crafted from a single marble block in the 2nd century AD, remains partially encased in dirt. Archaeologists have noted its resemblance to other depictions of Hermes, placing it within a known iconographic type. Similar statues are rare globally, making this discovery particularly unique for Bulgaria.

Plans are underway to carefully extract the statue from the Cloaca Maxima and transport it to the museum in Petrich, where it will undergo necessary restoration before being displayed alongside other archaeological finds. Prof. Vagalinski emphasized the challenges of preserving the ancient city's structures, especially those located on private property, where permanent conservation measures are limited. He highlighted the unexpected nature of the discovery, which came to light during routine inspections of the canal's condition.

The excavation team, which first uncovered ancient structures in the area six years ago, had placed protective barriers to secure the site. Upon closer examination, marble remnants were noticed, leading to the gradual unveiling of the statue of Hermes. Work on fully exposing and documenting the statue will continue in the coming days, offering new insights into the religious and artistic practices of ancient Heraclea Sintika.

[deadmotelsusa]

This dome has been decaying in the woods of Massachusetts for the last 22 years.

The Dome Restaurant and the adjacent Nautilus Motor Inn were built in 1953. The Dome was designed by architect and visionary Buckminster Fuller, known for his lattice shell structures and geodesic dome buildings. When it was built, the community did not initially welcome the new addition as they felt it stuck out from the other traditionally styled buildings in town. 

But they were proven wrong when it opened and became one of the most popular dining spots in the area. Guests enjoyed good food, nightly entertainment and dancing under the glass paneled restaurant for the next 40 years. Over time, the glass proved to be problematic and was eventually replaced with fiberglass in an attempt to stop frequent leaks. This was not only ineffective at stopping leaks but also blocked views of the nearby oceanfront.

The Dome closed in 2002 and has since suffered from advanced decay, mold, and water damage. In 2016, the property was sold for 2.85 million to a local developer. The motel, which had been abandoned for more than a decade, was demolished. It has been replaced by brand new townhouses called Lighthouse Station at Woods Hole, pictured.

Today, the Dome is recognized as having historical and architectural significance. At a town meeting, it was ruled that, in order to build on that land, developers must keep and restore the infamous structure. The current owners hope to do just that.

[lambentplume]

Maui Fires & How to Support Relief Efforts

(Posted on 8/10/23) Hi, I'm Jae and my family is from Lāhainā. I watched my hometown burn down this week. The fires caused immeasurable loss in my community so I'd like to spread awareness of the situation as well as provide links to support local organizations directly assisting survivors. I'm pretty sure most of my following is Not local so I'm writing with intent to inform people outside the situation, but if you're reading this and happen to have family in the affected area that isn't accounted for, message me and I can send you the links to the missing persons tracking docs + more localized info!! If you'd like to skip down to how to help and follow community organizations, scroll to the bottom of the post after the image.

Earlier this week, Hurricane Dora passed south of the Hawaiian Islands, bringing strong wind gusts that caused property damage across the islands. On Tuesday August 8, high winds caused sparks to fly in the middle of Lāhainā town, knocking out power lines and immediately igniting drought-ridden grasses. The fire spread quickly and destroyed the entire center of town, the harbor, and multiple neighborhoods including Hawaiian Homes (housing specifically for Native Hawaiians), parts of Lahainaluna, basically all of Front Street, and low-income housing units. There is only one public road in and out of town, and after a very hectic evacuation period that road has been mostly closed off except to emergency responders, thus it is extremely difficult for anyone to leave town to get help. The nearest hospital is 20 miles away in Wailuku, and most grocery stores in town have burnt down.

As of Thursday, August 10, over 1,000 acres have been burned and 271 structures (including homes, schools, and other community gathering places) have been destroyed. Cell service is still extremely spotty, many of the surrounding neighborhoods deemed safe for evacuees are still without utilities. There are currently confirmed 53 deaths but that number is expected to increase as search-and-rescue efforts continue. Countless families have been displaced and many have lost the homes they lived in for generations. Places of deep historical significance have been reduced to ash, including the gravesites of Hawaiian royalty, the old Lāhainā courthouse where items of cultural significance were stored, and Na ‘Aikane o Maui Cultural Center. To add further context: Lāhainā has a population of about 13,000 residents. EVERYONE I know has been impacted in some way--at best forced to evacuate, at worst their house was burnt to the foundation, they cannot find a loved one, etc. I'm still trying to track down family members and it's been over two days. My neighbors down the street had homes last week and now many don't have ANYTHING. The hotels are taking in residents (tourists are also being STRONGLY urged to leave so that locals can recover). Without open access to the rest of the island, Lāhainā residents are now dependent on whatever people had in their homes already as well as disaster relief efforts coming in, but it's been difficult to organize and mobilize due to the location + conditions. People who have made it out are in shelters where no blankets or medicine were provided. Friends and acquaintances from neighbor islands are preparing aid to send over. Community response has been incredible, but the toll on the town has been immeasurable. My parents were desperately walking through town yesterday, my mom sounded absolutely hollow talking about it on the phone with me. It's horrifying. Below is a satellite map with data from the NASA Fire Information for Resource Management System showing the impacted areas from the past week; all of the red blotches were on fire at some point in the last three days.

Here are ways you can help:

If you have the means to donate:

Here are three donation sites verified by Maui Rapid Response, which also lists FAQs for people who are wondering about next steps.

Hawaiʻi Community Foundation - Maui Strong Fund accepts international credit cards. Maui United Way

Maui Mutual Aid Non-monetary ways to support:

If you know anyone who is planning to travel to ANY Hawaiian island, not just Maui, tell them to cancel their trip. Resources are extremely limited as is. Advocate for climate change mitigation efforts locally, wherever that is for you. The fire was exacerbated by drought conditions that have worsened due to climate change.

Lastly, remember that these are people's HOMES that burned, and Native Hawaiian cultural artifacts that have been lost. Stop thinking of Hawaiʻi (or any "tourist destination" location, really) as an "escape" or a "paradise." If that's the only way you recognized my home... I'm glad I got your attention somehow, but I would ask that you challenge that perspective and prioritize local and native voices. For transparency, I don't currently live in Lāhainā, I've been following efforts from Honolulu. My parents and brother have been updating me and I've been following friends and family who are doing immediate response work. I'm doing my best to find reliable and current sources, but if I need to update something, please let me know. If you're going to try to convince me that tourism is necessary for our recovery, news flash ***IT'S NOT***!

Thanks for reading.

[cenorii]

Can't he be killed? (generalized theory)

All info about why Wesker is not dead is now compiled in one place with new info. Each chapter is important to the overall meaning, so don't skip a chapter.

1. Body 2. Cutscene detailing 3. End credits re5 4. Umbrella Corps 5. Suspicious mentions 6. Photo on the wall 7. Weapons 8. Conclusion

I think we should start with the most important fact on which all theories hold - his body. So first we will talk about the properties of Wesker's body.

Chapter 1. Body

Let's start with the infection. The virus in Wesker's body is a single virus called Prototype, which he got from Birkin. According to Birkin's note (Virus Memo from Umbrella Chronicles), Prototype must be injected a few minutes before the "envisioned contingency". This is an obvious hint that the virus only activates after an "envisioned contingency", i.e. after stress (physical). But let's answer the question, what is stress, scientifically speaking? That's right, stress is hormones. When a person is injured, their body releases cortisol, the stress hormone, adrenaline, and a host of others. It's these substances that activate the Prototype virus in the body.

When Wesker injected himself with this virus, he needed to receive any conditions of increased stress, in simple words - to cause the very "envisioned contingency", to increase the influence of the virus, helping the body to initiate synthesis. When Tyrant wounded him, Wesker went into anabiosis (according to Virus Memo), and the virus was instantly activated because the wounding caused a huge amount of hormones to be released into the bloodstream. Because of Wesker's original compatibility with the Prototype, he is the perfect host for the virus and the effect he got is the maximum of what the Prototype is capable of.

During his anabiosis, the virus regenerated tissues in Wesker's body, repairing his fatal injury, and continued to slowly alter his body, fusing and invading RNA into his. When Wesker woke up, he didn't have any special abilities at first, though his eyes could glow for a brief moment. The glow in his eyes is closely related to emotion (also hormones), but I'll talk about that later. He felt the lightness of his movements, felt that he could move faster than before (Umbrella Chronicles), because he didn't know what he was really capable of yet, and the virus hadn't had time to change his body completely (we can tell that from his eyes, which were still blue).

Three months after this event, Wesker was able to mutate permanently. His eyes are the only external evidence that the mutation is complete and the virus has changed his body (Code: Veronica).

He has gained a number of abilities: his speed, thanks to the improved structure of his body tissues, can now rival that of a bullet. When he moves quickly, it looks like teleportation to normal people, because the human eye can't keep track of such fast movement. His body is solid, making it painful to damage him in melee combat (in re5, Chris's fists hurt and his face contorts into a grimace after he punches Wesker in the face). His regeneration is capable of healing injuries of any severity. He also has increased strength, but its limits are unknown because Wesker hasn't used it on anything significant. However, he can punch through dense metal with his hand, as well as lift a heavy rocket.

And all of these abilities are closely related to hormones.

Remember how his eyes is glowing in Umbrella Chronicles when he got mad at the RED QUEEN? Now remember every battle against him in re5, as well as the Spencer death scene. Every time, before using the abilities, Wesker's eyes would glow. His eyes are the truest indicator of his emotions. If his eyes are glowing - he is annoyed about something, angry, and all these emotions are the result of hormones.

Hormones are not only the element that activated the virus inside Wesker in re1, but also the tool he uses to control his abilities.

Wesker, provoking his emotions, unconsciously causes bioluminescence in his eyes. By experiencing emotions and making his eyes glow because of it, he can change the density of his body, increase his speed, strength.

Further evidence of this is the scene where Excella pierces his skin with a needle and injects the serum without obstruction. Wesker is calm, his eyes are not glowing, his body density is normal. If he were angry - the needle would break against his skin.

And now we come to the most interesting part of this chapter... What happens if you piss him off to the max? Can he become even stronger than he was in re5? I won't keep you in suspense, the answer to these questions already exists officially - Lost in Nightmares (re5 DLC).

During the events of re5, Wesker's powers are restrained by two factors at once - he wants to test what Chris can do, so he deliberately restrains his powers, and he's also not angry, just annoyed. Because of these two factors, all the fights with him in re5 are only a fraction of what he is capable of.

But in Lost in Nightmares nothing holds him back, for here he is truly angry, he is enraged. He has learned the humiliating truth about himself and his life. And feeling unthinkable irritation that some decrepit old man has the nerve to do this to him and then proclaim his old body as God, Wesker can't contain his emotions. For 10 whole years of living with this power, he kept emotions under control and learned to control them so that his abilities were as effective as possible, which is why such a big shock removed all restrictions from his consciousness and everything that was being held back came out.

In a fight with him he would spare no one, any blow he threw could prove fatal. One simple push with his hand is a long stun. Missed a qte? You're dead. Even in a normal comparison, he's much stronger here than in re5. And that's thanks to the fact that his power is fueled by his anger and frustration, which is a huge amount of hormones.

In the final battle re5 (volcano), Wesker is very angry, but there's a factor that keeps him from using his powers the same way he did in Lost in Nightmares - it's the serum (PG67A/W). But what did this serum do to him? Did it take away his powers? No.

PG67A/W does not take away Wesker's powers, but instead stabilizes them (if administered under the right conditions, when the virus inside him destabilizes over time). If an excessive dose of PG67A/W is administered and causes an overdose, his body becomes severely stressed, as hinted by his headache. After an overdose of PG67A/W, his body tries to cope with the strain and his strength increases even more, making it hard to control. When Chris injected him with another extra dose of PG67A/W, his strength became impossible to control and he gave up speed altogether. This can be seen in the airplane fight: Wesker gradually loses the "grace" of his attacks, they become chaotic, and he loses the ability to move quickly, and with each "teleportation" his jerks become shorter and shorter, and eventually he loses control of this ability altogether.

However, his strength and regeneration aren't something need special control over, nor are they something can "just not use" like high speed. Those are his passive skills, if I may say so, but they too are made more effective by his emotions.

When Wesker impaled the rocket with his hand, he proved that he still had his strength. But strength alone is not enough to stab a rocket. Even the strongest man risks breaking his fingers if he tries to do the same. Wesker's body density is off the charts in this situation. He's so durable that this is the only battle where he can't be stunned (even with a rocket launcher).

He's incredibly angry, and he's also overdosed on Uroboros and all his previous powers are aggravated due to PG67A/W. In that situation, he's invulnerable. And if such a creature falls into the lava, its body density and regeneration won't allow the volcano's temperature to critically harm it.

At the end of re5, Wesker has all the conditions to survive.

Sorry for the lack of gifs with all the moments when Wesker's eyes start to glow… I felt lazy.

Chapter 2. Cutscene detailing

The cutscenes in re5 are incredibly dynamic and directed. The detailing is also their key element, which gives such an aesthetic effect to the overall picture. The game had enough budget to make the cutscenes top-notch, and the developers were up to the task. Or not?

Wesker is a character that is no small part of RE. Not only did he appear in re1, Code: Veronica, and re4, but he was also a major character in Umbrella Chronicles. He had a big impact on lore, other characters, and perhaps even helped boost the popularity of the franchise. If such an important character is destined to die at the end of re5, shouldn't he have a detailed cutscene showing his death? Nemesis had a death animation shown in re3 (1999), even Saddler had a death animation in re4 (2005). Even Sergei Vladimir had a death cutscene in Umbrella Chronicles (2007), but not Wesker in the 2009 game.

In the scene where his death, the final act of his life, is supposed to be shown, all the attention was given to rocket launchers. Don't you find that strange? And then the main characters fly away without even checking (at least from afar) if there will be any activity in the volcano after their shot or not. Isn't Chris used to the fact that after taking critical damage, his enemies can mutate a lot? Flying away like that right away is stupid.

I find the "understatement" in his "death" a brilliant decision - it's a bridge to the future that will serve as an excuse for "why he's alive" if they bring him back, or an excuse for "why he's dead" if Capcom doesn't want to use him again.

Now let's turn our attention to the death of Alex Wesker in Revelations 2:

Her death is final, which is why it has such a detailed cutscene. Her current consciousness is now in a new body (Natalia), so it's necessary to show that the old Alex is finished.

Chapter 3. End credits re5

Toward the end of the song in the credits, you can see a dark object appear below the surface of the water, slowly floating to the left. It's hard to see, so I brightened the video so everyone can see it.

This object appears to be shrouded in tentacles, and also floats from the side of the volcano where Wesker "died". There are no other creatures created with Uroboros in the vicinity. So it can't be anyone else but him.

It could be considered an official hint that he's alive.

Chapter 4. Umbrella Corps

The 2015 game (Umbrella Corps) contains straightforward hints that Wesker is alive. This game is officially declared canon, so ignore its poor ratings. Despite being a bad game, there is some good information in it, but not much at all. So...

The plot: the main character is an unnamed mercenary nicknamed 3A-7. He is part of the Umbrella Corps, a secret corps that belongs to Blue Umbrella, an organization that "reformed and got on the right path". Didn't it seem like a lie back in re7, right? The purpose of this corps is to search for bioweapon samples in quarantined areas that the BSAA has failed to sterilize well. The main character is involved in an operation called "The Experiment" but survives every step of the way due to his combat experience. The plot glimpses an unknown Corps Leader (Executive) who even his subordinates know nothing about. One man who sent 3A-7 on missions once wondered why this Executive was so feared, why he was so intimidating, and why he knew so much about the events in re4, as if he had been to that island himself. But only two men survived the events in re4 - Leon and Wesker. A male subordinate attempted to get the Executive's DNA, but disappeared in the process. He was killed for wanting to know the truth and was replaced by a woman who also knew nothing about her boss. At the end of the story, the main character survives even after the most difficult challenge and is contacted by this mysterious Executive and told that he has plans for 3A-7. The main character is voiced by D.C. Douglas, just like the Executive, whose voice can be heard in co-op mode at the end of the missions.

His phrases: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pe7LEaA7em8.

Wesker is also voiced by Douglas. So why would Capcom use such a recognizable voice on a random character? Why voice two characters at the same time with that voice? It can only make sense if the Leader turns out to be Wesker, who survived the volcano.

It's all very suspicious and ambiguous.

Chapter 5. Suspicious mentions

In re6, everyone suddenly learned that all this time Wesker had a son he didn't even know about - Jake Muller.

The note Jake's mother left him before she died reads:

"My beloved son, Jake. Please forgive your mother for leaving you alone so soon. And please don't hate your father. Your father surely still loves you from the bottom of his heart. Stay strong and know that you will meet him one day."

Don't you find Ms. Muller's certainty that Jake will one day meet Wesker suspicious? It certainly could have been a dramatic element, telling the viewer that Jake will not meet him because his father has died and he is now all alone. However, now, knowing all the facts telling us otherwise, Jake's mother's words sound different. They sound like a prophecy. Why was she sure that Jake and Wesker would meet? How deep is this iceberg?

Chapter 6. Photo on the wall

On Karl Heisenberg's (re8) wall are many pictures that are intertwined with red line - it's his board for investigating Miranda and everyone involved in the Village. Chris is one of those involved, Karl is aware that he is here. However, if you use the free camera to get closer to Chris' photo... you can see that there is a red line running from him to some small gray photo that is hard to see from a distance.

At first it appears to be a photo of Karl, however the person in the photo is older than him. I believe this character is intentionally made to look like Karl to confuse the players and not give too direct hints. The other people from the photo are easily recognizable, even references to re1 are present. However, this person from the photo is unknown. The only thing that is known is that he is somehow related to Chris.

If you superimpose Wesker's face from re4r over this photo, you get a perfect match of facial features. If you doubt it's him, just look closely at the shape of the nose, the distance between the nose and mouth, and then look at the shape of the face and chin. They are identical. Considering that the rumors of re4r development came out in 2021 (the year re8 was released), it's not surprising if Wesker's new face could have been used here as a reference... or a hint.

When comparing, it's obvious that this is an aged version of Wesker's new appearance from re4r. In 2021, at the time of the re8 storyline, he is 61 years old. Judging by the fact that Chris's photo is recent, that means Wesker's photo is fresh too. What is unusual is that he now has long hair. However, this could be a very logical outcome, as he chose to go into hiding after re5.

Here's my little edit where I only added different clothes and long hair.

Chapter 7. Weapons

In re7 that it is revealed that the Blue Umbrella are using Wesker's designs to create weapons effective against biological threats. Various firearms signed as "Albert W." are now being used by BSAA soldiers. Isn't that strange? No matter how good these weapons are, naming them after a bioterrorist and enemy of humanity is a strange move, isn't it? Someone secretly respects him.

Chapter 8: Conclusion

Keeping all the previous points in mind, it's hard to seriously argue that Wesker is dead. There are too many hints that he can't be killed. There are also hints that he has a clone (two different characters with Wesker's voice in Umbrella Corps).

Once again, the "understatement" in his "death" is a brilliant decision, it's a bridge to the future that will serve as an excuse for "why he's alive" if they bring him back, or an excuse for "why he's dead" if Capcom don't want to use him again. But considering how often we see mentions of him and hints of being alive, Capcom really want back him as soon as possible.

[mittch22]

Prison in the world of Cars

So Im currently in the process of writing chapter 8 of Behind Blue Eyes and said chapters' content has got me thinking about the various minutiae of prison systems within this universe. Here is my take on it.

Speed restrictors - In order to prevent any kind of escape attempt, speed restrictors would be fitted to inmates with a high flight risk to prevent any speed being reached above about thirty miles per hour. In some cases, it could be deemed necessary to decrease speed potential even further for the most dangerous offenders. But the use of these devices comes with a significant quantity of government regulation to prevent their misuse. The fitting of restrictors can cause engine issues in the long run and shouldn't be used without prior approval from a court.

Parking boots - Wheel cuffs. I needn't say much more than that. No moving for you! They can be used on both front wheels, both back wheels or all four wheels depending on requirement. But one or three parking boots should never be utilised as this can cause serious damage to the detainee if they were to try and drive.

Extension restraints - For particulary strong and violent offenders, axle extension restraints can be applied. Parking boots are the go-to for prisoner transport, which are heavy and cumbersome. But for strong vehicles who want to get a few punches in, the use of parking boots can be particularly hazardous to police officers. So these restraints can be utilised to prevent any damage to other vehicles or property that could be caused by the detainee.

Deep tread tyres - It would be damaging to a vehicle to force them to roll around on tyres with deliberately low pressure. So to increase drag for inmates, a thicker tyre tread is used. This has the added bonus of reducing the amount of replacements required during sentence duration, thus cutting down on costs. Although the tyres used increase the vehicles ability to grip into the floor and push or pull, the officers that respond to any issues with the prisoners within their care are usually able to subue them rapidly and effectively. Prison tyres are ugly and not comfortable to drive on.

Chemically engineered paint - With technological advancements and genius chemical engineering, the paint used on inmates is very specific and can be picked up from quite a distance away with the use of police scanners. It holds its own unique chemical formula that lights up like a christmas tree when scanned with the appropriate digital equipment. The colour is also utilised as a tell-tale sign as it is a highly distinctive and vibrant orange; the only orange paint of its kind. This paint can only be purchased for prisons, by prisons. To be in possession of this paint without the appropriate licensing carries both a hefty fine and a prison sentence. So if an unlicensed vehicle is caught with it, they will very quickly be wearing it. The chemical does, however, hold the unfortunate capacity to seep into and embed itself into the surface of metal through layers of paint, meaning that, even if a vehicle is released and repainted (repainted on the offenders dime might I add), they will still be picked up on police scanners. This leads them to be regularly stopped and questioned by police officers. This can be incredibly irritating to both parties, however it does allow officers to keep an eye on offenders that are on probation. Vehicles that are permitted to be external to the prison whilst on remand are sprayed with just the traceable chemical component of the paint, which is invisible to the naked eye. A small stencil is utilised in the form of the sigil of the police force that made the arrest. This makes them traceable to police, but prevents civilians from seeing that said vehicle could be facing criminal charges. For those that can afford the expensive procedure, this chemical is removeable by removing all layers of paint and primer and grinding down the surface layer of the bare metal. This can be painful, so a general anaesthetic is provided.

Fuel quantity control - As previously displayed in the first cars movie, fuel quantity is important when you want to try and escape from the cruel clutches of community service. The same principal can apply in prisons. Fuel intake is heavily regulated and no inmate is usually permitted any more than 1/8 to 1/6 of a tank at any time. There are exceptions to this in regards to specific jobs that inmates perform as some will require larger quantities to perform their duties. Which is usually met with seething envy.

GPS locators - This method is even more heavily restricted than the use of speed restrictors as it violates multiple data protection laws and vehicle rights legislation. However, in the correct circumstances, it can be very useful. This is only ever used for vehicles that are both incredibly dangerous and have a high flight risk.

Remote engine inhibition - A vehicles engine can be shut down at the push of a button after modifications to the programming of the ECU have been made. This method of inmate control is incredibly new and still in its theoretical stages and thus it is still being debated whether or not it is viable and vehmane. Considering its highly intrusive nature and possibly damaging consequences to both the escapee and the general public, if it were ever to pass into legislation, its useage would be very rare indeed.

Medical care - Each vehicle within the prison system must have a three monthly check up with a desigated mechanic and all new inmates must be checked once a week for the duration of three months. Considering high depression rates within prison systems, a lot of vehicles, especially first time offenders, will stop consuming oil due to stress. This can lead to sickness and fever/overheating, which causes severe issues in the long run.

Not all of the above restraint/tracking methods will be used in all cases as it will depend highly on sentencing requirements for specific individuals and the type of prison that they end up in.

I might update this at a later date if I think of anything else to add. But so far, this is all I've got.

In a nutshell, its INSANELY difficult for any vehicle to escape a prison. So Miles Axelrod is pretty fucked.

[spoonienation]

The Far-Right – And Some Democrats – Are Criminalizing Masks.

We Must Act Now to Keep Each Other Safe.

Politicians across the US are pushing for mask bans. We all have a responsibility to fight this attack on our rights, our bodily autonomy, our privacy and our health. If you stopped masking, now is a good time to reengage with this practice in public spaces, and particularly in political gatherings. If you are organizing an event, please require and distribute high quality masks as visible expression of solidarity.

Please Forward this message widely to your community groups.

What’s Happening: Politicians are pushing mask bans

New York Governor Kathy Horchul just announced in a CNN interview that she is considering a ban on masking in New York State, following New York City Mayor Eric Adams’s suggestion that protesters should no longer be allowed to protect themselves and others by masking. Hochul’s remark alluded to masked pro-Palestine protesters – marking a new direct connection between anti-public health repression and repression of Palestine solidarity work. This comes just as North Carolina is nearly finished supercharging its law against masking, setting a precedent that is likely to have far-reaching implications for people trying to take care of their health across the United States.

The state of North Carolina has had a law on the books for years that criminalizes mask wearing. In 2020, they correctly amended their rule to include an exemption for “any person wearing a mask for the purpose of ensuring the physical health or safety of others.” However, this exemption is currently being undone. In mid-May, North Carolina’s Senate tried to pass a bill to remove this exemption. In the face of significant public opposition, North Carolina’s House of Representatives rejected the Senate’s version. On June 12, a “compromise” bill that included language ”to ensure that individuals who have legitimate health concerns can wear a surgical or medical-grade mask in public” was passed by both legislatures.

This “compromise” is a bad bill.The changes it introduces do not go far enough to protect individuals’ interest in masking for their health. Other changes actually make this version worse than the previous Senate version of the bill.

The earlier bill entirely removed exemption #6, which protected “any person wearing a mask for the purpose of ensuring the physical health or safety of the wearer or others.” As a “compromise,” the current bill includes exemption #6 but has removed the phrase “for the purpose of ensuring the physical health or safety of the wearer or others.” In its place, the exemption will be for “preventing the spread of contagious disease.” As noted by North Carolina’s legislative counsel, the earlier bill meant that “individuals would no longer be able to wear masks in public for health or safety reasons.” Yet, the new bill, by also removing the “physical health and safety” language, is effectively the same as the earlier bill: individuals will have a more limited ability to wear masks in public.

This is a negation of an important individual right. People have a right to self defense, including a right to protect their health. Such a right is significantly broader than an interest in “preventing the spread of contagious disease.” For example, breathing wildfire smoke is damaging to your health but has nothing to do with contagious disease.

Moreover, the new bill proposes to give every person in North Carolina the legal right to ask those around them to unmask—something we haven’t seen anywhere in the US to-date. Under the 2020 version of North Carolina’s anti-mask law, law enforcement officers could request that people remove their masks in certain situations, even if they were relying on the health and safety exemption. The new bill extends that power, allowing “the owner or occupant of public or private property where the wearer is present” to request that the wearer “temporarily remove” their mask. This rule threatens to amplify the practice of “mask shaming” by giving employers, colleagues, and “occupants of public property” a legal basis for demanding that people wearing medical masks show them their faces. In fact, before the law was even signed, a stage 4 cancer patient at a gas station was intentionally coughed on by another customer, who told her that wearing a mask in public was illegal.

Not only does this rule provide a dangerous ground for harassment, it makes public spaces unsafe for people trying to avoid COVID and other viruses, particularly medically vulnerable people. There is no safe amount of time to unmask, particularly as ventilation conditions and viral load can vary. People may be asked to unmask multiple times, further increasing risk.

As the North Carolina bill is one signature away from becoming law, mask restrictions are now being pushed elsewhere and across party lines, like New York state. Last month, the Ohio Attorney General advised public universities that student protestors who wear masks could be charged with felonies under an archaic anti-mask law. And of course, just this week, the Governor of New York told CNN she was looking into whether the state could reinstate its own 200-year-old anti-masking law, which it had repealed in 2020. Across the country, police have been harassing people wearing masks on campus using a variety of legal justifications.

These legislations and legislative attempts aim to set a new precedent for the right-wing agenda, as evidenced by their attention to ban mask mandates in healthcare in the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 document co-signed/supported by hundreds of far-right and Trump-allied organizations. These same repressive forces have made inroads in dismantling reproductive and gender-affirming healthcare options. Their attention is now also focusing on those practicing community care and bodily autonomy by wearing masks.

How did we get here?

Although these fascistic mask ban policies have been kick-started by the far-right, many police officials and some elected Democrats, too, are joining team “Far Right” to sacrifice public health at the altar of increased surveillance. Democratic New York City mayor Eric Adams has been urging business owners to require customers to lower their protective medical masks upon entry as a crime-prevention technique, claiming that refusal to unmask “should cause … alarm” and now suggests he favors outright bans on masking in some situations as well. And Democratic Alderman Raymond Lopez of Chicago’s 15th Ward has now submitted a proposal with similar language to the North Caroline bill, to increase penalties on any protesters arrested while wearing a mask. His staff told us that there is no plan to exempt medical masks. Many other Democrats – through silence on this issue and through broader inaction on public health – have helped to institutionalize an anti-public health agenda, reinforce structural ableism, and further isolate anyone who wants to avoid a preventable, still deadly, and often disabling virus.

Not only a terrifying threat to all our health and safety as well as our rights to privacy, mask bans violate our Constitutional rights and the Americans with Disabilities Act. They are an egregious overstep on behalf of right wing forces to erase and to criminalize our efforts to care for ourselves and others. It’s no coincidence that these bans began in the US South, specifically targeting, intimidating, and harming Black, Brown, and Indigenous peoples.

Mask bans also serve short-term corporate interests, which center profits over the lives of workers and consumers. In-N-Out burger publicly banned its employees from wearing masks, seemingly because an inability to "service with a smile" due to mask-wearing meant revenue loss. Hospital chains dangerously removed mask mandates in part due to slowdown in elective procedures caused by COVID testing requirements and mask-wearing policies.

But there is a lot we can do

We all have a responsibility to fight this right-wing agenda, to protect everyone’s right to participate in public life without making ourselves and our community sick. If you have stopped masking, now is a good time to reengage with this practice in public spaces, and particularly in political gatherings. If you are organizing an event, please require and distribute high quality masks for all as visible expression of solidarity.

We must protect our right to health, bodily autonomy, privacy, and political expression.

Take Action:

Wear a mask. To prevent COVID and Long COVID, EVERYONE should be masking in public with good-filtering, close-fitting respirator masks. We are all at risk ourselves, and we all pose risks to other people. So, wear an N95 mask in public spaces. If you are organizing an event – particularly a political event – require and distribute high quality masks for all. If you have stopped masking in public, this is a great time to re-engage the practice. Our opposition to this fascism must be made visible. There is safety in numbers. We keep us safe.

If you live in North Carolina, call your state representatives and state senators and use NC Megaphone’s tool to email all the State House and Senate representatives at once. Tell them mask bans are dangerous and unconstitutional.

If you live outside North Carolina, call the Raleigh, Durham, and Chapel Hill Chambers of Commerce. Tell them you will not be traveling to North Carolina so long as they continue to consider mask bans. You can use the NC Megaphone tool above to do the same.

If you live in Chicago, call and email Alderman Lopez who proposed the mask ban there, and your own alderman and tell them that you oppose it in its entirety.

If you live in or frequent New York State, call 518-474-8390 (press 1 to leave a message, 2 to speak with a person) and email Governor Hochul to express your opposition to mask bans. If you live in or visit New York City, call and email Mayor Adams to say the same and express why his comments on masking are harmful. Follow @covidadvocacyny for more details

In every state, call your own elected officials. Ask if they have heard of any plans to introduce mask bans in your state, and register your dissent. Tell them: “mask bans are a dangerous violation of our rights. We need mask requirements in healthcare, not mask bans which will make public space even more unsafe and inaccessible.”

Connect with your local mask blocs or other local groups supporting COVID prevention.

Forward this message to your community groups and discuss mask bans with your family, friends, and community. Email us at info@peoplescdc.org if you would like more materials.

[munchkinmarauder]

Seen this floating around twitter and I think we need to property address the MCU fans insistence that comic Wanda is only revenant because of the MCU.

Like MCU fans really double down hard on the MCU version brining wanda out of comic obscurity but

(1) Wanda had been active on comics since Children's crusade in 2010 and had her own solo which in ballsy move emphasised her Romani heritage at the time Age of Ultron and the MCU version came out. She was very much active and thriving at the time of the comics. She had also already redeemed herself for HoM in events like the children's crusade and Avengers Vs X-Men. Her redemption and the return of the mad women trope came after Axis and the MCU version which walked all this development back to coincide with MCU Scarlet Witch being more villianous and the bringing of mutants into the MCU.

(2) Wanda has been an Avenger for over 59 years of her history. She was the second ever woman to join the avengers and was on its second roster (arguably in terms of memorability the Kooky Quartet eclipses the original team and is what helped the Avengers cement themselves as one of the big leagues). At the time of the AOU movie she was a core member of the first iteration of the Uncanny Avengers team

(2) Wanda and Pietro were such significant and popular characters that two movie studios were fighting to have them in their movies. Something that they would not have bothered with if they were obscure characters. The comics themselves made fun of this in a Scotty Young illustrated comic. The twins might have actually been amongst some of the most mainstream on their debut. How many would have had even a passing knowledge of them from the cartoons or of their connection to Magneto? Certainly more than many would have to Black widow or Hawkeye or even Iron Man to an extent!

(3) the MCU is the reason she was retconned into not being a mutant and thus made her fair game to be referred to as the pretender. This if anything is an example of how the MCU really damaged her in the comics because once she stopped being part of the mutants she became one of the "oppressors" (nevermind the implications of attaching that to a Romani Jewish woman) and so was opened up to being demonised more by X writers.

(4) the character is called a real life slur by the actress and the studios which is worse

(5) the bad castings conversations were opened up about the twins race leading to more ernest attempts at representation and conversations about the twins heritage down the line but it shouldn't have happened in the first place and those conversations likely would have happened if they cast Romani actors. The MCU would have also gotten props for actually committing to it's promises of diversity.

Yes the popularity of the MCU version gave the character a boost, opened up some conversations and brought new fans in for good and for ill. However to attribute all Wanda's success to the MCU version is a fallacy and exaggeration. Ultimately I feel the MCU did more to hurt rather than help the character.

[anisohtropy]

Kavetham constellation brainrot

we, collectively, don't talk about Kaveh and Alhaitham's constellations enough.

Looking at Alhaitham's first, Vultur Volans was the roman term for the constellation Aquila (the eagle). But why are we referencing its symbolism as a vulture instead of an eagle? That feels deliberate even though everyone assumes Alhaitham's meant to be an eagle. I contend that it's meant to be three things, an eagle, a vulture, and a falcon (just like the interpretations of the real constellation.) The eagle is obviously the well-trodden path of the divine symbol of Zeus/Jupiter. But what we kind of ignore is that the eagle was said to hold onto Zeus's lightning bolts, y'know his method of smiting people. Vultures and falcons have similarly death-related divinity. In an ancient desert environment, vultures are very useful as scavengers for getting rid of bodies to prevent the spread of disease and the general unpleasantness of rotting flesh. Falcons are very clearly associated with Egyptian gods, but particularly Horus, who was famously born/created from the dismembered body parts of his father. Interesting.

Now let's look at Kaveh. Paradisaeidae refers to birds of paradise, which are a real kind of bird, but the name is based on a kind of bird from Persian myth called the Huma bird. These things are wild. They're supposedly always flying and never lands on the ground. Some myths depict them like phoenixes, burning up every few hundred years to be reborn from the ashes. It's supposed to bring good fortune to people it flies over or who touch it. In some traditions it cannot be caught alive and whoever kills it will die within 40 days. It overall symbolizes unreachable highness and divinity. Obviously, it's a fake bird, but it's theorized that it's based on bearded vultures (meaning if we interpret it as a real bird that's gained divine properties, it would've probably done so via literally starving itself out of an unwillingness to bring or benefit from harming another creature).

They're the same kind of bird, fundamentally, but associated with opposing kinds of divinity. One brings destruction and the other brings fortune. One is self-sustaining, comfortable as the right hand of the true divine, but it is outcast due to its nature to survive using tragedy that befalls other creatures. The other cannot ever come down to be a normal bird, it sacrifices itself on an altar of being able to continue to bring joy to people it will never be close to. Change, decay, and cold rationality vs burning compassion and altruism and perfection. The burning bird can never be a meal for the vulture, as its death means only ash, and it is thus the only kind of misfortune of another creature the vulture can truly understand and care about. The Huma can never understand why the eagle is content as a messenger for the gods, why the vulture feels no guilt for the death it scavenges, why the falcon is content with a normal life when it was born with the potential for unimaginable greatness. The eagle, vulture, and falcon cannot understand the Huma's lack of pride or its willingness to damage itself for the sake of humans who would catch and kill it in their ignorance.

Also relevant is the fact that Deshret is clearly meant to be an analog of Horus or Ra. Both are associated with falcons and the sun, and their eyes are both significant in mythology (Deshret is symbolized by an eye in a sun in the lore). Nabu Malikata also has a massive pattern of sacrifice and she famously made a daughter-bird that was destined to die in the cataclysm.

There's a lot to unpack here but by god someone's gotta do it. The reincarnation, entangled souls, two sides of a coin vibes are SO STRONG with them. They're soulmates and the constellations only reinforce this when you pull back the hood on them. AAAAAA

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

If you are a "disability advocate" be normal about emotional support animals. I am not asking. Do it.

The only time I ever see ESAs brought up by non-handlers in disability circles is to complain about them. Mainly, to complain about people who bring them into public spaces. This is fine, they're not supposed to be in public and it does cause issues for service animal handlers, but the problem is when the criticism extends to criticizing the concept of ESAs, which happens quite often. I've recently seen more disabled people and allies advocate for more restrictions on ESAs, or for them to stop being protected altogether, and I need to emphasize that this is an incredibly dangerous, ableist stance.

First and foremost, ESAs are a real thing in the U.S. If you're from outside the U.S. feel free to chime in about how they work where you're from, but I'm from the U.S. so I can only offer my experience. ESAs are recognized by the federal government under the Fair Housing Act (FHA). The category that includes service animals and ESAs is called "assistance animals".

ESAs are not legally pets. They have fewer rights than service animals, but they have more rights than pets. ESAs are not subject to "no pet" rules in housing, nor are they subject to pet fees or pet security deposits. They are also generally exempt from breed and animal type restrictions. The law has some caveats about this like not causing undue financial stress to the housing provider or damage to the property. These rules also exist for physical accessibility (i.e. wheelchair accessibility), they're generally to protect against significant damage or alterations to the property without the permission of the housing provider. If the presence of an animal doesn't cause a health and safety risk, doesn't cause excessive damage to the property, and is necessary to afford a disabled person equal use of the property, then landlords and other housing organizations pretty much have to act like the ESA isn't there.

ESAs can be any animal. Most are dogs or cats but birds, rodents, snakes, pretty much any animal that's legal to own can be an ESA. Of course, just because it's legal doesn't mean it's ethical. Unfortunately, sometimes animals that can't reasonably be kept in a home by a private keeper, like primates and alligators, are claimed as ESAs. This is an obvious abuse of the system but it's difficult to prevent without harming legitimate handlers. In my opinion, focusing on tighter restrictions and more bans for exotic pets would do more for animal welfare than focusing on being weird about ESAs.

One of the common statements I see non-handlers make about ESAs is that they're just pets and don't serve any special purpose. This isn't the case. ESAs must help with at least one effect of a person's disability in order to qualify as an ESA. One of the main purposes of ESAs is suicide prevention. Keeping up spirits can be very difficult for people with mental and physical illnesses, we might sometimes feel that we're not contributing anything to the world, that things would be better off without us, or that the distress we experience isn't worth pushing through. Having an animal that relies on you gives a sense of importance and responsibility. If you die, your ESA will have to adjust to a new environment and go through the stress of change. There's also a possibility that they could be alone without care if no one realizes you're gone, which unfortunately does happen with people who live alone sometimes. ESAs also motivate us to care for ourselves. Many severely mentally ill people, as well as many physically disabled people, struggle to motivate ourselves to get out of bed and live life. It can be easier to do nothing than to deal with the pain and fatigue associated with moving around, even if our health suffers as a result. Caring for an animal requires us to get up and move around our living space, sometimes doing things for ourselves in the process. ESAs can also help encourage us to take medications, stay off of addictive substances, go to doctor's appointments, and do other things to stay healthy in order to be able to continue caring for our ESAs. Basically that Simpsons "do it for her" meme.

ESAs are disability aids. They're important. They keep disabled people alive and healthy. Questioning their right to legal protection is ableism.

[riddle-me-ri]

A/N: my first shot at the spot lets gooo. I’m sure this idea may have been done before, but the idea wouldn’t leave my mind as I imagined what it must be for Jon’s significant other to realize what he’s become when he tries to reach out after the incident, so here’s my take on it! It has been about 3-4 weeks since I’ve seen the film so sorry for any ooc-ness, I tried to stay true to his awkward, quirky, dorkiness though.

Trigger Warning: none

Word Count: 907

Jonathan Ohnn/The Spot x Reader - Welcome Home

After living in New York City for a while, you figured you've seen just about everything. 

Robberies, arson, colossal property damage, and even the usual Spider-Man swinging around or the occasional fracturing of reality as you know it…

You know, the usual. 

However even with all of that…it didn't prepare you for what or who waited for you at your apartment. 

You opened the door and began kicking off your shoes when you looked up and saw…it.

There stood a tall white figure that had its back bent against the ceiling. The figure had no face, just an endless black hole with various shaped holes littered all along its body. 

Your back hit the door as you jumped back in shock. "W-who-Wh-what are you?" 

The figure also jumped. "Ah! Hey-hey I-I know this is weir-AH!"

You came barreling towards the figure with a baseball bat you kept by the door, but the figure quickly shuffled behind the sofa. 

"What-Who-What're you doing here?! Who are you?" You shouted as you tried to get closer to him and make contact with your bat. 

"Hey! Hey-Sweetheart! Listen! I-Its me Jonny! I-I know I look-WHOA!" He ducked as you swung the bat again. “No, no, stop! It’s okay!”

The figure was on his back now, slowly scooting along the wooden floor with his arms out in defense.

The voice made you pause. It…it sounded familiar. C-could it be? 

"Jonny?" You slowly lowered the bat. 

Once you lowered your bat, a black portal appeared at your side and a white hand emerged and snatched your bat.

"Hey!" 

The figure in front of you, claiming to be Jon, now held your bat. 

"Sorry, sweetie…but you-we don't need this…just let me explain. Please." 

Your eyes scanned vigorously across the figure. Where were you supposed to look? His head had no facial features at all, you suppose the voice came from the black abyss where his face would be…

You couldn't deny the voice though and the warm comforting feeling that resonated in you when he called you sweetie. 

Plus you weren't sure how to explain to the cops that a large figure with spots broke into your home. 

"O-Okay…" You sighed, crossing your arms, having no other choice but to hear him out. 

At first, it was beyond difficult to comprehend. Super-Collider, radioactive spiders, dark matter, different dimensions and a bagel? 

"When the Super Collider was destroyed…I-I got mutated into this…this thing…I…I'm still getting used to the whole…portal..hole…spot stuff." He explained sheepishly. 

"I tried to go home..to my family but they shunned me away immediately, I-I was so nervous about coming here, but…I had nowhere else…no one else to turn to…I-I'm so sorry for scaring you, sweetie…if…if you still want me to leave or-or-" 

You finally spoke up. "No. No I-I don't want..I mean…yeah you did freak me out…a little…" 

Jonathan chuckled nervously, "uhh..yeah." 

"I mean…I-I don't quite understand the science behind it all, but it makes sense…it's just a lot."

He nodded. "I-I understand, t-thank you for letting me speak…I couldn't get a word in back home." 

"I missed you." You blurted out. "I-I didn't believe you when you said you were you, but…your voice…there's no mistaking it…and I missed it." 

"Oh, sweetheart…I-I'm so sorry." Jonathan got up on his knees and was able to get eye level to you. 

You couldn't deny how unnerving it was to stare into the pitch black abyss of his face. Did it go somewhere? Were his features sucked away into it? Or are they permanently erased? 

You gasped softly when you felt a heavy hand with long fingers touch the side of your face. 

A stray tear had fallen down and his thumb gently swiped it away. 

"I..know it's a little unsettling..my appearance. But I promise I'm still here…" He murmured. 

You gulped the lump in your throat as you experimentally reached your hand out. The tips of your fingers tracing the side of his oblong face, before nestling his cheek (or atleast where it would be) into your palm. 

Jonathan may not look like the Jonathan you knew, but you couldn't deny the warm loving feeling of being whole. To finally have that missing piece back where it belonged. 

"Is…is it safe to hug you?" You whispered softly. 

Jonathan pekred up. “Oh, uh, I mean…yeah, i-it should be, I-I won’t try and send you to another dimension or anything,” he chuckled nervously. 

“Yeah, please don’t do that, I just got you back.” You giggled half-heartedly, trying to keep the mood light. 

He nodded as he experimentally opened his arms up to you. You glanced all around his torso, shoulder, and arms. The spots stared back at you, as if tempting, daring you.

You closed your eyes and sighed before wrapping your arms around Jonathan’s waist…

Soon a pair of long lanky arms followed and returned your embrace. Jonathan rested his chin on top of your head.

“Wow…so, so, glad that worked out.” His arms squeezed tighter around you. 

You couldn’t help but smile as you relished in his close proximity. “Yeah, me too…”

“I-I know…I don’t look like me-but–”

You shushed him as you looked up at him. “It’s okay…it’ll be an adjustment but…I’m just so glad to have you back…regardless. We can..make it work, right?” 

You leaned in and pecked a patch of white skin on his cheek that wasn’t obscured by a spot. “Welcome home, Jonny.”

[somedaylazysomeday]

Hooked

Billy Butcher x fem!reader

You're called to tow Butcher's truck. He's unsurprisingly offended by that. (Takes place before the pilot of The Boys)

Rating: Mature. Minors DNI

Word Count: 4,600

Warnings: Swearing, veiled threats, feelings of helplessness, mentions of alcohol, descriptions of injuries from a fight, insults, and frank discussions of sexuality. (Butcher is his own warning, tbh)

Next | Masterlist

---

When most people said they were on a run, it meant that they were getting some exercise. Or going to the store. Or maybe fleeing from enemies. 

For you, a ‘run’ meant that you were out to tow a car from an illegal space. Honestly, it felt like fleeing from enemies sometimes, but that was only because the customers of your Uncle Bo’s tow service and impound lot didn’t want his product. Like any customer service job, you had your share of unpleasant interactions. 

This particular one was an easy pickup. Some guy had parked on private property and the owners were having his car towed. Simple, quick, legal. Those were the best jobs, at least in your opinion. Bo tended to favor jobs where he could get a little extra for helping or inconveniencing the right people.

You didn’t need to pay attention to the familiar motions of placing the lift under the car’s front wheels. It was an older car with significant damage to the paint and body, so you didn’t have to worry that you and Bo would be sued for scratches or dents. In fact, there were good odds that the car had been abandoned on the property. 

Still, you kept an eye on the surrounding neighborhood as you worked. This wasn’t a good part of the city. Just because you could take care of yourself in a nasty situation didn’t mean you wanted to get in one. 

“Hold on, love,” an accented voice called. “That’s mine.”

You turned, already dreading the conversation. You had been helping your Uncle Bo long enough to not be cowed by many people, but that didn’t mean confrontations with angry vehicle owners were fun. 

Fortunately, this vehicle owner - dark-haired and wearing a long coat - didn’t seem to be angry… yet. He also didn’t seem to need any input from you to keep the conversation going. “I’ll need you to lower my car back down. I’m on official business. Agent Butcher, CIA.”

The skepticism was clear on your face, you were sure of it. “Do you have some kind of identification?” 

His eyebrows lifted, but not in disbelief. No, it was like he took your words as a challenge, one that he relished. He fished inside his black leather duster and retrieved a wallet. He flashed a shining badge at you, making sure you could see the identification card displayed in the opposite panel. “That all you needed?” 

“Yeah,” you agreed, climbing back into the bed of the truck you drove to pick up tows across the city. The parking brake was already locked, so engaging the lift mechanism only took the press of a few buttons. 

Your new friend was finally displeased. With a face like thunder, he stood outside of the truck and frowned up at your open window. You had already locked the doors, of course, but you were ready to start rolling up the window if needed. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d had a pickup get violent.

“Last chance, love,” he growled, accent thicker than ever. “Let me car down or I’ll have you charged with obstruction of justice and inconveniencing a federal officer.” 

That surprised a laugh out of you. The man looked equally surprised, though with a lot more displeasure than you felt. “It’s not a crime to inconvenience a federal officer.” 

“C’mon,” he urged, leaning heavily against the outside of your door. It was hard to claim that he was breaching your personal space through a truck door, especially when his expression changed to one of pleading. “Do me one favor. Just one.” 

“Fine,” you conceded with a sigh. The triumphant smile that flashed over his handsome face convinced you that you were doing the right thing. “Here’s your favor: get a new forger.” 

“Pardon?” he asked, frowning. 

“The CIA doesn’t carry badges,” you told him. 

He tilted his head at you, pulling out the wallet once more. He flipped it open to display the badge. “Hate to argue with a beautiful bird, but what would you call this?” 

“I would call that an FBI badge with ‘CIA’ written across the top.” You reached out through the window to tap on the identification badge with his face on it. “The CIA doesn’t carry badges to show the public. They just have these ID cards. Get a new forger or change your cover story.” 

You pulled your arm back into the truck for just long enough to retrieve a business card from the collection stored on top of the passenger sun visor. “Pick up your car here between six and ten pm, or anytime after nine tomorrow morning.” 

That face was darkening again, but you didn’t give him the chance to say more than a syllable or two before you were pulling away from the curb. His car on the back of the truck made it more difficult to weave through the heavy traffic of downtown, but you managed. You had been navigating these streets for most of your life. Nothing about this was any different than every other day. 

When you dropped the ragged car at the yard, Uncle Bo examined it with an expression of deep skepticism. “Tell me none’a those bumper scratches are from you.” 

You scoffed. “How long has it been since I scratched a bumper?” 

“Years,” Uncle Bo admitted readily. “You’re getting better.” 

“Admit it,” you jabbed, “you’re going to leave this business to me when you finally decide to retire.” 

Uncle Bo snorted loudly. “If you’re still around the tow yard when I decide to retire, sure. You’ll have earned it. But you better not hold your breath - I’ve got years of steam left in me.”

“I’ll remind you about that next time I catch you napping in the office.” You turned, patting him on the shoulder. “Speaking of, I’m going to go enter this in the books. The owner caught an attitude. We’ll probably hear from him again and I want to make sure all of our paperwork is in place.” 

“Good idea,” Uncle Bo agreed. “I’m heading out for the night, but I’ll have my phone if you need anything. And I don’t nap in the office. My poor old eyes need rest!”

You didn’t bother replying to the age-old argument. Bo was already gone, and you were working the late shift. The lot stayed open until ten most nights, and all of Bo’s other employees had the day off. All two of them. They were both mechanics, and since they had planned to service all of the company vehicles early the next morning, you were stuck at the yard alone that night. Bo would have to cover tomorrow night, his tired eyes be damned.

You weren’t proud to admit that you had zoned out while entering the crappy sedan’s information into the tow yard log. This wasn’t a bad job, but there had to be something more out there. Working a dead-end job at a towing company wasn’t how you wanted to spend your life. Maybe it was time to start job-hunting. Again. During a recession and a notable lack of jobs on the market. 

The groan you let out was slightly muffled when your forehead hit the log book. 

The rest of your shift was spent at the desk in the back room, scrolling through employment sites on your phone. Tragically, the shitty job market hadn’t improved in the week since you had last checked. It seemed like your options were to stay at the tow yard, work in another equally unfulfilling job, or go back to school and learn to do something useful. 

At two minutes past ten, you let your phone clatter loudly onto the table as you began to gather your things. You had chosen to wear a thicker jacket than normal that night. It wasn’t quite winter yet in the city, but it was close enough that the darker hours were unpleasantly chilly. The thick material was warm against your hand when you grabbed the jacket and started to put it on. 

And, of course, that was when the phone started to ring. 

You stared at it for a long moment, dismayed. It was almost five past ten by that point, which meant you were five minutes past any obligation to pick it up. But you couldn’t risk losing business for your uncle. And if he was happy with the work you had done, he would complain less when you left early the next day. 

Cursing your own work ethic, you picked up the phone. “Yeah?” 

“I’m here for my fuckin’ car.” 

You seriously debated hanging up immediately. It was close, but you managed to hold onto your temper. “We get a lot of that here. Wanna give me some details?” 

In a longsuffering tone, your charming caller gave you the license plate number. That information confirmed your suspicions: this was the same man whose car you had picked up earlier in the day. 

“I’ll meet you at the gate,” you told him. “Did you bring a form of payment to settle your bill?” 

“I’ve got your money,” he growled. 

“Great,” you said, then hung up. 

You were glowering as you stomped outside into the chilly night. Bo was going to have to pay your overtime. Family or not, you refused to work for free.

“Finally,” the man growled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Don’t wanna stand here all damn night.” 

You stopped, crossing your arms. “We’re closed.” 

“Now you tell me?” the man demanded. His accent was even thicker than it had been earlier, a rough British twang. His face was in shadows, but he was clearly irritated. “What the fuck are-?”

“I’ll help you get your car,” you interrupted tersely. “I’m just letting you know that I’m helping you when I don’t have to. Because I’m a great fucking person. You’re welcome. Now give me your ID and stop being an asshole or you can come back when we’re actually open.”

To your shock, he kept his mouth shut and held his ID out for you through the gaps in the chain-link fence. You took it, double checking the name against the one that the car had been registered to. An image labeled ‘Billy Butcher’ smirked up at you from the laminated card until you handed it back. 

“Give me your keys and the money. I’ll bring your car.”

Butcher huffed at that. “Not a chance. Let me in and I’ll get my own car.” 

“We’re closed,” you reminded, putting your hands on your hips. “I’m not letting you into the yard when I’m the only one here.” 

“Fine,” he gritted out, offering a wad of cash. A moment later, a set of keys was also slipped through the fence, dangling from his fingers. 

You frowned as you took the money and keys. Were his hands dirty? They looked dark around the knuckles… Quickly, you peeled off the correct number of bills and handed the rest back to him.

“Not taking a tip?” he asked, cocking a dark brow at you.

“I don’t need to steal your money.” With willpower, you managed to keep back a comment about how seeing idiots like him getting their cars towed was payment enough. 

“Be careful with her,” Butcher warned. “She’s temperamental.”

He stepped closer to the fence as he cautioned you, and you fought back a gasp. Butcher looked like he had gotten in a few fights in the few hours since you had picked up his car. One of his eyes was black, his lip was split, and one side of his face was beginning to swell. With that image in your head, you could see that his hand wasn’t dirty. His fingers were bruised, dried blood flaking at the joints of his knuckles.

“I’ll be right back.” 

Butcher didn’t say anything else as you walked off deeper into the lot, but it didn’t matter. You were lost in thought, trying to remember the signs of a concussion, and you were unlocking the door of his shitty sedan before you thought to wonder why you cared. 

Uncle Bo always liked to say that you were too soft-hearted to live in the city. You had always answered that with a snort and a rude comment, but you were starting to wonder if he may be right. 

A quick search on your phone brought up a list of symptoms, and you were keeping them fresh in your mind as you pulled the car up to the gate. As soon as you had thrown it into park, you slid from the stained seat and unlatched the chain. 

“No stupid moves.” You backed up slightly when Butcher stepped through the gates. “I’m armed.” 

Butcher looked you up and down, amusement on his face. “Whatever you say, love. ‘Sides, I don’t want nothing from you except my car.” 

You gestured invitingly toward his car. Butcher slid into the seat, caressing the steering wheel for a moment longer than you were comfortable with. He slammed the door, then rolled the window down. “See ya around.” 

Your reply - not that you intended to give one - was interrupted when he revved his engine and it promptly died. 

Butcher sat in shocked silence for a moment. He broke it almost immediately with a loud curse that he punctuated with a slam of his palm against the steering wheel. “Didn’t engage the battery disconnect, did you.” 

“Didn’t know you had one,” you said. “All the shit you said when I towed your car and you didn’t think to tell me you had a battery disconnect?” 

“Too busy findin’ out me badge is bullshit, weren’t I?” he hissed. 

“The disconnect couldn’t have been on when your car was towed,” you pointed out. “If it had been, it would have been on this whole time.” 

“I wasn’t planning to be away from my car that long.” Butcher whacked the dashboard for good measure. “Just needed to scope out the supes. Twenty minute job, then I was gonna be back in and driving away.” 

“The supes?” you repeated, frowning. “You were illegally parked in front of the Vought building. That’s why they called me to come tow you. You were spying on them?”

“Someone has to!” he snapped. “Everyone thinks those fuckers are up in their tower, waiting to protect the helpless and all of that shit. But they’re not. They’re a bunch of selfish cunts, and the only things they use their powers for is to get ahead or get off. And you’d better hope you’re never in their way for either of those, or you’ll be gone without anyone to ask what happened to you.”

The silence that fell after that was heavy and awkward. You nodded too many times, eventually finding the voice to say, “I need some coffee. Want some?” 

Butcher gave you a look so full of disbelief that you almost apologized outright, but he gave a slow nod. “Yeah.” 

You retreated to the office, filling two cheap paper cups with the pot of coffee you had unwisely brewed at eight thirty. Butcher hadn’t told you how he took his coffee, but he had answered one of your more pressing questions: he was definitely concussed.

Ultimately, that was none of your business, but it was still a little concerning. If you let him leave and he crashed his car, would it be your fault? Probably not in a legal sense. You could always claim that you hadn’t known he was injured. But would you be able to handle the guilt if he died or killed someone else? 

The moral questions tumbling through your mind kept you so focused on your thoughts that you handed Butcher his cup in utter silence, staring at him. Eventually, he swallowed a sip of the black coffee and begrudgingly said, “Thanks.” 

You blinked. “No problem. So, dead battery?” 

Butcher scowled into the open hood of his car. “Yeah. Does this a lot.” 

“I can get you a replacement,” you suggested. “As long as yours is decent and just needs charged, I can switch it out for another one for free. Or I have jumper cables if it’ll hold a charge long enough for you to get where you’re going.” 

With a slow shake of his head, Butcher said, “Nah, the battery is shot. And the alternator was holding on by a thread. This will’ve bumped it off for good. I’ll need a full replacement for both before I can drive this thing more than a mile or two.” 

Well. You sighed. “I can’t help you with a full replacement for either. I know a mechanic around the corner, but he’s not gonna be open this late. Best he’ll be able to do is tomorrow morning. At least it’ll be easy to get over there.” 

Butcher gave you a sidelong glance. “Suspiciously helpful for someone working after hours.” 

“I get paid overtime,” you replied, not missing a beat. “Besides, maybe I’m trying to earn a place in heaven.” 

“I know a faster way.” Butcher took another sip of coffee while you waited, brows lifted. “Get a drink with me.” 

The non sequitur made you blink. “What?” 

“A drink,” he repeated, exaggeratedly slowly. “Something better than shitty coffee. With me. In a bar - I’m not going to a fucking dance club.”

“How did we get from you threatening me to wanting us to get a drink?” you asked.

Butcher smirked, and you suddenly understood the expression ‘curl of the lips’. “I’ve never threatened you, love. Trust me, you’d remember. But it’s been a shit night. Shit week, actually. The only good part of it so far has been you. Best I can figure… you’re the only thing that can keep tonight from being a waste of my fuckin’ time.” 

“Flattering,” you said dryly. But you didn’t turn him down. You couldn’t claim to be interested in Billy Butcher. At least, not romantically. You thought he was interesting in a tragic comedy kind of way. More importantly, you thought - if you played your cards right - you might be able to convince him to see a doctor and make sure he didn’t have some kind of concussion-induced brain injury. 

“You know what?” you asked, watching Butcher brace for whatever horrible thing he thought you were going to say. “I could use a drink. But I get to choose the place.” 

He was quiet for much longer than you had expected, but he nodded at last. “Don’t choose somewhere shitty.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching the coffee cup from his hand. Despite his complaints, it was almost empty, and it sailed neatly into the trash can when you tossed it with an expert hand. “I’ll call my mechanic on the way.”

Butcher paused to lock his car before you left. It was a futile gesture since you would lock the yard’s gate behind you, but he insisted. Besides, it gave you a chance to call the mechanic. You even had time to find a route to your favorite bar that led past a 24-hour health clinic. All you had to do was make light conversation until you made it to the doors…

“Why do you work at a towing company?”

You blinked at the abruptness of the question, but gamely answered it: “My uncle owns it. I’ve been helping him since I was a teenager.” 

Butcher grunted. “Most people leave their first job.” 

“And what about you?” you asked, a hint of challenge in your voice. “Why do you do what you do? What do you do?” 

“I help keep supes from killing us all.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed awkwardly. “They seem like a real threat to society with all of the crime-fighting and donations to charity.” 

“Public relations, love,” Butcher told you, “nothing more.” 

“Of course they use public relations,” you replied, trying to ignore the little tingle that went through you at him using that pet name in that tone. “Most businesses have to do some kind of public relations. Especially big companies like Vought.” 

Butcher snorted. “They don’t use PR to neaten up their image; they use it to cover the mountain of shit their pet psychopaths get into. And that lot ain’t heroes. They’re a bunch of cunts with too much power and not enough people to tell ‘em to knock it off. They’re dangerous, and what makes ‘em that way is people like you who think they’re heroes.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, trying to decide between pacifying him by agreeing or antagonizing him so you could hear more of his ranting. It was fascinating and oddly entertaining, and you found yourself slowing down so you could keep talking before he got to the clinic. “But what about-?” 

“They ain’t good for society,” he insisted, interrupting you without seeming to notice. “You’re probably more of a hero than they are, and all you do is inconvenience good people.” 

“You were parked in a fire lane,” you reminded him, getting irritated. “If anyone was inconveniencing people-” 

“Have you ever thought about the people who are around for a supe fight?” Butcher asked, ignoring your excellent point. “Collateral damage, they say. Supes ruin a lot of lives, and it’s supposed to all be worth it.” 

“Sometimes,” you conceded. “But it all depends on the situation, right? If you’re just basing it off of lives saved versus lives lost, doesn’t it make more sense to sacrifice a few to save a lot of people?”

Butcher narrowed his eyes at you. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to see a kid crushed by a car or a couple cut in half by a laser beam.” 

“What are you doing about it, since you hate supes so much?” 

“Fuck-all,” Butcher told you. At your strange look, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Seems like it most days, anyway.” 

“And on the other days?” you pressed. 

“The other days…” He frowned, staring at the dirty sidewalk in front of you both, but he didn’t really seem to see it. “Some days, I help people. Help ‘em from being the next statistic Vought sweeps under the fuckin’ rug, you know?” 

You didn’t, not really. But something about the weariness in his voice was familiar, and you felt its echo in your chest. “Yeah, I know.” 

Both of you fell silent after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or stilted. You were at ease beside him as you walked. In fact, you were almost a little sad when you saw that you were rapidly approaching your secret destination.

Halfway up the block, a small medical clinic advertised its services with signs in multiple languages and a well-illuminated caduceus symbol. The automatic doors opened at odd intervals to let patients in or out, spilling light across the sidewalk every time. It was staffed and reliable without being crowded, and everything in the clinic was ruthlessly clean. It was the place you took Uncle Bo, your coworkers, and yourself if something happened at the tow yard, or if someone was feeling under the weather. They had always been good to you, and you knew they would be good to Billy Butcher, too. 

“Maybe we should stop here for a minute,” you suggested, pausing by the door.

Butcher glanced up at the sign, dark brows furrowing. The next instant, his eyes were roaming up and down your body and face. “You hurt?” 

“No, but you might be.” Butcher sighed and started walking again, but you didn’t budge. “I’m serious! You might have a concussion and that can end up ruining your life.” 

Butcher rounded, now several feet ahead of you. “You really think I don’t know what a concussion feels like? Just call me a pussy. It’s faster.”

You rolled your eyes, but caught up with him as he started walking away again. After a block of irritable silence, he glanced sidelong at you. “Are you actually interested in a drink? Or did you just want to get me to a doctor?” 

“Bit of both,” you answered after a moment of consideration.

“Makes one of us,” he muttered. “Don’t know how much I feel like having a drink now. You’ve ruined my appetite.”

“Wanting a drink doesn’t count as an appetite.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were still following Butcher down the sidewalk. 

“Is this what you do?” he demanded, stopping short and rounding on you. His face was all righteous fury, dark brows stabbing upward as his nostrils flared. His hands braced against his hips, splaying his coat until he looked like a big creature puffing itself bigger with rage. “Nag people to make yourself feel more important? It’s annoyin’ as fuck.” 

You had stopped short to keep from running into Butcher, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that you dropped your eyes to the bit of sidewalk between you. After a few breaths to get yourself back on an even keel, you met his eyes again. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized freely. “I didn’t realize I was bothering you so badly. I’ll have one fo the technicians call you tomorrow morning with details about your car.”

It was your turn to whip around and start walking in the opposite direction. You weren’t entirely shocked when a second set of footsteps began to echo yours. You glanced up at Butcher. “You don’t have to come back with me. I’ll make sure your car gets to the mechanic shop tomorrow.” 

“Not gonna let you walk back there alone, am I?” he asked. “There’s too many dumb fuckers about for that.” 

There was clearly no point in arguing with him, so you didn’t bother. You wrapped your arms around yourself, even though it made you walk like a duck. The evening was just tipping from cool to cold, especially with the wind picking up. And the lack of conversation between you and Butcher somehow managed to be colder than the autumn night.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you started, breaking the silence, “I don’t think that you’re concussed. Not anymore.”

“Yeah?” Butcher pressed when he had finished giving a loud snort. “What am I then, doctor?” 

You stared him full in the face as you replied, “A conspiracy nut with a vendetta against supes. But you’re pretty harmless, all things considered.” 

Butcher laughed at that, loud and sharp. The joy made him look more savage, his teeth flashing sharply white against the darkness of his facial hair, and you needed a moment before you could pull your eyes from his face. “Can’t argue with none of that, love. But if you think I’m anywhere near as dangerous as an uncontrolled supe, you haven’t been payin’ attention.” 

“Maybe you’re not, but I don’t see any supes around here,” you pointed out. “Controlled or otherwise.” 

“Thank fuck for that,” Butcher muttered. “Well, seein’ as I’m not so dangerous after all, maybe we should go get a drink.” 

“Thought you weren’t in the mood anymore,” you said, a challenging little tilt to your chin. 

Butcher stroked his chin, thoughtful eyes on you. “I could be persuaded. That is, if you’re still in the mood.” 

“Not really,” you admitted, watching him deflate slightly from the corner of your eye. “But I have some energy and frustration to burn off. You interested in helping out with that?” 

It took a moment for Butcher’s parted lips to form words, and you watched the process patiently. “Are you propositionin’ me?” 

“Yes,” you confirmed. “Are you offended by that?” 

“Offended you beat me to it.” Butcher’s grin had gone from disbelieving to wolfish in less time than it took to get that sentence out. “And I accept.” 

“Good, we’ll go to my apartment,” you decided. “It’s close and clean.” 

“Had me at ‘close’,” Butcher told you, trailing close to your heels. “Lead on, love.”

---

Author's Note - This definitely isn't a substantial enough plot to need two parts, but I ran out of time to edit. Explicit part two coming tomorrow!

[blueiscoool]

One of a Kind 1,500-Year-Old Roman ‘Lorica Squamata’ Legion Armor Restored

The 1,500-year-old Roman ‘Lorica Squamata’ legion armor, the only known example in the world, found in the ancient city of Satala in the village of Sadak in the Kelkit district of Gümüşhane in the Black Sea region of Türkiye, was restored.

Archaeological excavations continue in the ancient city of Satala, the only surviving castle on the eastern border of the Roman Empire and the only Roman Legion castle in Anatolia that can be excavated. and this unique artifact was unearthed during the 2020 excavation season.

The ancient city of Satala, where the 15th Legion of the Roman Empire, also known as the Apollinaris Legion, ruled for 600 years, is a well-known castle visited by Rome’s five emperors.

In a remarkable feat of preservation, the only known example of a “Lorica Squamata” model Roman legionary armor, dating back 1,500 years, has been successfully restored in Türkiye.

The completion of the restoration was announced by the Turkish Ministry of Culture and Tourism on its social media account.

The armor was first found and removed from the location in 2021 with assistance from the Ankara Regional Laboratory. It was then moved to the Erzurum Restoration and Conservation Regional Laboratory. Erzurum Atatürk University carried out a thorough examination, which included tomography and X-rays, to record the armor in its soil-encrusted state.

X-ray results revealed that almost the entire armor was intact. Micro CT imaging of a three-plate block taken from the edges helped determine the armor’s full measurements and partial metallurgical properties.

The conservation and restoration procedures were finished after three years of painstaking labor by the Erzurum Regional Directorate of Restoration and Conservation Laboratory. The armor was then resewn, returning it to its original form.

According to the ministry’s statement, the armor dates back to the Late Roman Period. It is a significant example of the Lorica Squamata type, noted for being the first known to the world.

During the Roman era, legionary armor was not made to order; instead, it was repaired and reused as needed. Surviving examples are extremely rare these days because, once damaged beyond repair, they were melted down and used for new purposes.

During the height of the Roman Empire, the Lorica Squamata was a common type of armor worn by military officers and specialists such as musicians or standard bearers. In certain provinces, it may have also been used to outfit entire regiments of Auxilia infantry, archers, and cavalrymen. Later in the Empire’s history, troops frequently used scaled armor as a form of protection.

Scaled Armor was very difficult to cut through and offered a strong, reliable defense for the wearer. In addition, the armor’s overlapping scales provided some absorptive qualities against concussive force. Usually, the scales were between.5 and.8 mm thick to keep the armor’s total weight under control.

By Oguz Buyukyildirim.

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

Splatoon 3 Version 8.0 patch notes breakdown

A bit late with this one, as I didn't have the time to write it last night, but nevertheless, here's a quick rundown of the patch notes for version 8.0, which should release in a couple of hours as of time of writing.

First of all, the Sizzle Season 2024 content is being added, but will not be available for another 24-ish hours. That includes:

A new Catalog

The new stage Lemuria Hub

Two new main weapons, two variants of those main weapons, and six alternate sets for preexisting main weapons.

14 Tableturf cards

Two new songs by SashiMori

The renovated Hammerhead Bridge and Barnacle & Dime, which will be taken out of stage rotations when the update becomes available.

Wandercrust Journey 6.

Additionally, this patch also adds data for the new Triumvirate King Salmonid fight and a new Grizzco Weapon, as well as the new Splatfest features, both of which will not become available until a later date.

With Sizzle Season 2024 stuff out of the way, let's move onto the changes that will be available right away, starting with Stage Changes, which there are a lot of.

In addition the Hammerhead Bridge and Barnacle & Dime changes, Museum d'Alfonsino, Um'ami Ruins, Brinewater Springs, and Scorch Gorge are all getting layout changes, with Museum getting some extra changes in Splat Zones and Rainmaker specifically. Eeltail Alley, Hagglefish Market, Flounder Heights, Marlin Airport and Manta Maria are all getting "slight" changes, while Crableg Capital and Bluefin Depot are getting slight changes in Turf War and Splat Zones, and Clam Blitz, respectively.

I'll be entirely honest, until we see these changes for ourselves it's impossible to gauge just what these changes will be like, but I am willing to be optimistic given just how much improvement we've seen in the Stage design over the last year or so. I think they'll be slight improvements at worst.

With that said, let's move onto Main Weapon changes, starting with a bunch of weapons getting the exact same change.

Sploosh, Jr, Aerospray, Luna, Clash, Carbon, Splat Roller, Inkbrush, Octobrush, and Dapples will all now deal 10% more damage to Splash Walls. I'm not sure why this was listed on each weapon individually and not just all collected as a Splash Wall change, but I digress. The intent here seems to be to make short-range weapons specifically, better at dealing with Splash Wall, the users of which they'll generally be outranged by to begin with. It's a small and specific change, but it's not one I think any of these weapons will complain about.

N-ZAP will now be able to fire for longer before its hits max bullet spread. In case you didn't know, all shooters that have bullet spread have a property where that spread gradually increases the longer you hold ZR, which slowly goes back to normal if you stop firing, and now that'll take longer on N-ZAP specifically.

N-Zap didn't really need this buff, but it's also not something that moves the needle much to begin with. It's pretty rare outside of low-level turf wars that someone fires for long enough to the spread to be a major factor, so it's fine. It's just a very strange change.

Moving onto more deserved buffs, L-3 has its damage increased by 2, taking a full three-hit burst from 87 to 93 damage. This is not a significant change, but 30 is a pretty important damage threshold to hit, as it combos with a lot of things, and it does mean that getting even lightly chipped by almost anything at all puts you in one-shot range, so watch out!

Rapid Blaster now starts recovering ink after firing about 3 frames faster. It's another nice little buff, though like N-ZAP it is kind of strange this weapon is being buffed at all when it's in a pretty good spot right now.

Now here's something interesting, Tri-Stringer will now paint the ground better, and will now paint lines more consistently. Turfing has always been one of Tri-Stringer's biggest weaknesses, so this is a very nice buff!

Last but not least is my favourite change in the entire patch. REEF-LUX now charges at full speed while in the air, similar to how Squiffer works. This is just a fantastically cool buff if you ask me, it's one of those things that seem insignificant on paper but can really change up how a weapon plays in a major way. It wasn't until after Squiffer got this change in Splatoon 2 that the weapon really came into its own, after all.

With Main Weapon changes down, let's move onto Points for Special changes, of which there are four (technically three):

Big Swig Express and Painbrush are ten points cheaper, and both variants of E-Liter are ten points more expensive. Not a lot to discuss here, so let's move onto Special Weapons:

The rails that indicate the Reefslider's path will now ink the floor as they extend forward, potentially allowing you paint over an enemy's feet before running them over. The rail will now also follow moving terrain, which is a change I'll admit I am not sure what it does? We'll just have to see when the patch goes live.

Big Bubbler now paints the ground inside of the shield. A nice quality of life change that could potentially be used to do some silly things in Splat Zones, if you're so inclined.

Ink Vac will now paint the ground behind you while it's active. Nintendo specifies later on in the patch notes that this is because they want you to be more reliably able to use it while retreating, and yeah, that's what this change will do.

For our final Special change, Splattercolor Screen now deals more damage to Beakons, Sprinkler, Splash Wall, sponges, and the Rainmaker's shield. Like with the Ink Vac changes, Nintendo specifies what the purpose of this buff is in the patch notes, and in this case it's to reward people more for using the Screen well.

And that's all the balance changes for this patch, but there is actually one more Main Weapon change that is not listed with the rest, because it's a bit different:

These changes are very wordy, but the TL;DR is that Squeezer now has a hard cap on how fast it can fire, which is the same as its regular fire speed. That might sound like a completely pointless change, and I thought so initially as well, but it seems the intent here is to not have the weapon be improved by turbo controllers, as they can let you mash ZR at much, much faster paces than intended.

With all that said, let's round things out with some miscellaneous changes:

If you roll or dash into the Rainmaker shield you'll now slide off it, as opposed to the game continuously attempting to place you where the shield is at and dealing a bunch of contact damage to you, splatting you almost instantly.

You'll now start the next season in S+0 if you were top 1000 in the previous season's X rank.

Squid Beakons are now accounted for when awarding the Super Jump Spot medal, which I am frankly surprised wasn't the case already?

I lied, there is one more Main Weapon change. Grizzco Dualies now deal 5 more damage with their actual bullets. That means they three-shot Chum now!

Reflected Drizzler torpedoes will now collide with terrain less, reducing the situations where you shoot one back only to have it immediately crash into a ledge it just barely touches.

Finally, purchasing the Expansion Pass will now net you 10 free Sheldon Licenses. If you've already bought the Expansion Pass then you'll be given the Licenses after downloading the update. Just in time for ten new weapons to be added as part of the Sizzle Season!