#where is the moral red line for people if it isn't this

[totothewolff]

Chemtrails Over the Yacht Club Collection 18+ | Toto Wolff x reader, age gap, smut operator, clear daddy issues (this fic is inspired by Lana del Rey, duh), and yacht culture.

Summary: Toto Wolff is a name often mentioned at the Yacht Club, where you work after classes. For some reason, you have always pictured him as an old crank like the usual members, not this foxy man who arrives at the reception making your knees quiver.  The entire staff goes frenetic as he, one of the Club's most important clients, chooses to spend his spring break there without previous notice. You pray to the Gods that you don't cross lines with him since your entire livehood depends on this job, and you really want to graduate college. Author's note: This was supposed to be a one-shot but was way too long, so I split it into two chapters. I hope you enjoy them. By the way, this version of Toto has questionable morals.

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2 - Breaking up slowly

As Mr. Holst's gateway yacht trip reaches an end, you follow protocol and deliver Toto the guest's satisfaction survey before docking in the Club's harbor.

It's supposed to be confidential and private for the guest. Still, Toto reads you the questions and tells you his answer as he writes them, evaluating you while you sit on his lap in his cabin armchair.

"Any complaints or suggestions, please elaborate," he reads you. "Yes. Y/N's skirts should have been shorter. They don't do justice to that ass," he jokes as you blush, still in awe of him.

He squeezes your ass cheek and gives you a hard slap leaving a red mark, instantly turning you on.

"Fuck me, daddy" you beg him against his lips, already placing you on top of him. 

Your clothes hit the ground. 

You aren't sure if the waves are rocking the hull that hard or if it's Toto's powerful thrust as he fucks you relentlessly, firm grip on your hips, fingertips pressuring on your skin.

-

The guests enjoy the yacht's amenities till the last minute before docking in the harbor of the Yacht Club.

The crew and you are all but busy, going everywhere, attending to guests, and running safety checks and protocols.

You attend to Toto's daily demands as he peacefully sunbathes before going to his cabin to change outfits. His tan skin makes him look even more handsome.

You overheard him telling the person on the other end of the call that he was going to a meeting downtown. 

He'll be gone the entire day and the whole of your shift. At least a bit of a break for you!

These past few days have been a dream but tiresome.

As the sailing master safely and perfectly anchors the yacht in the harbor, the guests start to descend the ship. A small committee of girls with beverages and canapes welcomes them.

The only people remaining onboard the ship's deck are Toto and you; he wanted to go last.

As you two casually talk, he pulls out an envelope from the insides of his blue blazer and offers it with his hand for you to grab it.

"Sorry, what is this?!" you ask, looking at the rectangular yellow envelope.

"It's a brick of money, isn't it?" you think.

"Your tip," he confirms your thoughts.

"But that is excessive. No way I'm accepting it."

"Do so," he sounds authoritarian as usual. "'It's going to help you with that fine." 

"Oh, hey, listen, I will make it, don't worry about it."

"Y/N," he sounds serious, his eyes looking straight at you. He is a very kind and sweet person on the inside. Still, on the outside, he is always cold, stony-looking, demanding, and impossibly hot. "Take it," he enunciates, his controlling trait displaying.

You have noticed, just by being by his side all these days, the pull and effect he has on people and still holds on to you. He is someone you want to impress, to win his approval and have his attention.

"What do you think this is "Pretty Woman"? Calm down, Richard Gere!" you dare to joke to change the mood a bit.

"Aren't you too young to know that reference?" he still answers sternly.

"I live with the rom-com connoisseur, aka my aunt." you smile brightly at him.

Toto has avoided stepping onto personal life terrains, wanting to remain far apart.

"Last time I offer it, take it. You need it. Besides, it's not like you are going to buy a Kelly bag with it; it's for your tuition."

"A what?!" you think. "Wait! How does he know that? I don't remember mentioning that to him."

"Thank you, but I prefer to maintain our relationship non-monetarian." you stand your ground.

"Our relationship?" Toto thinks.

He places the envelope back into his inside pocket as he said he would and steps off without looking back at you, moving along with his day.

-

"Welcome back to land," Chloé greets you the next day as you clip your radio on your belt in the staff locker room. You're getting ready for another shift before hugging her.

"I'm impressed! I must admit. You almost, ALMOST, achieved it! You got a really good-rate review on the satisfaction chart from Mr. Wolff, something I've never seen before." Then, she makes a dramatic pause.

Only if she knew...

Before continuing: "But not so with Mr. Elrod. He placed a formal complaint since, according to him, your incident with him was life-threatening."

"OH COME ON! He barely swoll!" You look annoyed and want to smash the locker with your fist.

"I know, I checked. Still, I'm really proud of you! But Raphaël called you to his office, so please go there now."

-

Oh God, you hate going up there!

You arm yourself with patience while climbing the swirling stairs to the upper floor of the management wing of the building, where the big names' offices are.

He makes you wait for a long time. The fucker knows the long wait it's going to delay your chores and make you leave work late. Until his assistant informs you from her chair at the front desk that you can go in.

You open the large glass door into the Assistant General Manager's office with a speech already prepared in your mind in case of the worst.

Raphaël is leaning back on his enormous executive leather chair and massive desk that screams small dick energy, looking sternly at you. 

Raphaël is a very posh, solemn, and wealthy fucker who is besties with Mr. Holst and his entire family and extended family, a textbook social climber.

A very uptight asshole. Raphaël chose to dislike you from the moment you set foot at the Club; he tries to get you fired at any given chance. 

Most of the girls who work there are beautiful and come from an obvious upper class; most are daughters, nieces, or granddaughters of...

The Yacht Club is where the rich teach their kids a lesson on the value of work or use it as a perfect excuse to kick them out of the house for a few hours.

Usually, they get hired because daddy made a call, and you are none of that.

"Ah, good morning," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I see you're still here. I'm surprised you didn't quit on the spot after that dangerous incident."

You take a deep breath and try to keep your cool. "Good morning, Raphaël. I'm still here because I'm committed to doing my job to the best of my ability and finding a solution to the problem rather than blaming myself."

Raphaël snorts. "You're the one who caused the problem, sweetheart. You're always causing problems. You're a liability to this company."

You feel angry at his words, but you keep your composure. "I understand you're upset, but I'm trying my best."

Raphaël swings a bit in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You're just a silly girl who doesn't know how to do her job. You're lucky I'm even giving you a final and last chance to prove yourself."

You feel a lump form in your throat. "I understand you don't think highly of me, but I'm trying to do my best; I have learned fast and proved myself worthy."

Raphaël laughs a cold, cruel sound. "You're just not cut out for this job, sweetheart. We are the best and need the best on our team."

"I...I don't know what to say," you stutter.

Raphaël leans forward, his eyes glinting with triumph. "Just thank Ava, sweetie, for changing Holst's mind. You're on thin ice, one more mistake, and you're gone. You can leave now," he dismisses you.

-

"Thank you, I owe you one, I guess," you whisper to Ava for saving your ass as you cross paths with her in the beautiful and perfectly maintained gardens.

"You were kind to me," she says in the same tone as usual, not as friendlier as you would have liked. "I trust you keep our conversation from that day private."

"Pinky promise," you offer her your pinky. She looks at you with an "ugh" expression, rolls her eyes, and walks away. A couple of steps further, she turns to smile at you.

Now you two are best friends for life in your head! IJBOL.

-

The following two weeks are a swirl of moans as Toto, and you can't keep your hands off each other. 

You fuck everywhere private and remote enough, where there are no security cameras.

You can't have enough of his dick and his body. You are so infatuated with him.

Every time he calls in you at his villa, you end up fucking; it doesn't matter how hard you both try to fight the urge to do so.

He has had you against the door, his bedframe, or the room's vanity, on top of the piano and even in the jacuzzi. The sex drive of that fit man is spectacular, and you are young enough to keep its pace.

You have never been so sexually active and free in your life, learning and experiencing many things for the first time. Toto makes the best teacher and lover you have ever had.

By this point, you lost count of how many times you have moaned his name, called him daddy, or the number of times he has made you cum and beg for more.

-

Your aunt and close friends start to notice your glow. Lately, you look radiant and happy.

She is intrigued to know the reason behind it as you two go to the mall on Sunday.

"FINE. I WILL TELL YOU! I'm dating the most gorgeous, wise, handsome, accomplished, hot guy, AND HE IS SO INTO ME! Can you believe it?!"

"Oh, I can. My niece is great! And where did you meet this adonis, and most importantly, does he have an older brother?"

"He is an older brother!" you want to say but don't. 

She doesn't need to know every single detail, not yet. You want to keep it a surprise for when you take Toto home.

"He has a sister," you answer.

"Ah! And what else can you tell me?"

"Well, he is from Austria! I plan to invite him over to have dinner at the apartment so you can meet and ask him all the questions you want. What do you think?"

The look she gives you! You had never taken a single boy to the house. This must be serious, then.

"Has he tasted your cooking yet?" she wonders before answering.

You shake your head.

"Well, if he survives it, then it's true love!" you two laugh as your aunt jokes and links her arm with yours before adding: "Please invite him for dinner. I'd love to meet him, but you know what! Better buy lasagna. We want this to work, right?!"

-

You love to text Toto sweet and touchy messages throughout the day that hint at how he makes you feel, how much he means to you, and how great it is to be with him.

You are in love.

Yet, you try not to suffocate him or embarrass yourself, still being nervous around him, still wanting his approval. 

Toto still intimidates you. Being the powerful and dominant man he is.

You can't believe you snatched him! Lucky girl!

But in your mind, fuck! Wedding bells are already chirping, and future children's name-searching is already happening.

-

The Yacht Club has a museum/memorabilia section that almost no one visits. It's located far away from the lobby and main guest areas, and for obvious reasons, it has many security cameras. 

But next to it, further down the hallway, there's a blind spot on the CCTV system, right in the space of the door to an old phone room. 

In this room, the original antic magneto wall set telephone is still mounted on the wall, along with a stern wood chair where people used to chat in private.

You ask Toto to meet you there after he texts you he hasn't seen you today. 

Also, you want to inform him that you are going on a "two-day leave" plus the weekend, so you will be away from him for four days. 

You don't want to send him mixed signals, and you're getting paranoid that he might think you're running away.

And since you don't want to miss him, maybe he could join you if he wants and feels like it. You know, couple life outside the Club.

A hand-in-hand walk through Monaco's streets sounds nice; a cute date with wine and kisses sounds more than good.

-

When he closes the door behind him, the place looks ridiculously smaller.

You immediately stand on your tiptoes to kiss him, wrapping your arms around him as you greet him. 

You share small, soft kisses for a while.

He sadly tells you he can't join you on your break. 

Since he extended his stay, Toto has things scheduled on his agenda that he is supposed to be doing in his office in London.

"But I'm going to miss you, daddy," you pout and give him the biggest Bambi-begging eyes.

"Not even that it's going to work. Try it with my assistant. Thanks for trying tho."

"Where can I meet her?"

He laughs before pulling you into a more intense kiss.

"Should we say goodbye to each other?" he says against your lips, caressing your neck.

"It is crazy how four days felt like nothing before you; now that I have you in my life, it's an eternity."

He holds you closer, pulling you by the waist.

"Then let's make it count enough to stay in each other minds for those days."

"You are permanently on my mind," you confess, burying your face in his shoulder, all red, and not even being able to look at him while feeling the expensive material of his jacket brushing your skin.

Then, your mouth finds his, kissing him hungrily. You push your tongue into his mouth, tangling with his, your hands sliding up the hard planes of his chest, then drifting over his shoulders to find the hem of his shirt. 

Your fingers feel his warm skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through him as you trace the contours of his muscles.

The smell of your perfume, jasmine, and vanilla intoxicates him. This scent will remind him of this moment as he passionately claims your mouth.

Slowly, you undress each other, savoring the anticipation. As hands wander over defined abs, curves, and dips, caresses become bold strokes.

The pads of your fingers move lower, exploring the ridges of his abdomen. With a smoldering look, you glance up at Toto, a wicked smile on your lips.

Heat spreads through him as you press yourself against his groin and your bare breasts against his chest. He can feel your heart pounding.

With a soft, playful jerk, you touch his growing excitement. "Eager, daddy?" you ask.

He nods.

You waste no time, and you get down to your knees as you take him into your mouth as he is sitting in the chair. Your warm, wet tongue swirls around him, your head bobbing gently as you work him in and out of your mouth. 

His fingers find their way into your soft, silken hair, gripping it gently, urging you on.

His pleasure moans grow as you work your magic, your tongue and lips exploring him for a while.

Slowly, you move up till your lips brush the shell of his ear. 

He commands you. "Ride me, now."

You shift your weight, adjusting your position to better align with Toto's cock, and you sink onto him, your pussy fitting itself around his cock like a glove; you feel a jolt of pleasure.

He fills you completely, and you allow yourself a moment to take in the intensity of that feeling, skin against skin.

Your hips begin to sway, moving gently to the rhythm of your shared breathing. With each undulation, the chair beneath you becomes part of the dance.

Toto's hands, which had been resting at his sides, now find their way to your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he feels you move against him.

Your breath is warm and soft against his neck as your bodies rock with each movement. You feel your core tighten, your pleasure growing in intensity. 

The control Toto wields over the rhythm, and you is intoxicating. Your breathing quickens.

"Faster," he orders you; you moan, obedient and needy. He wants you full force.

You feel the intensity of your coupling, the friction becoming almost unbearable.

You throw your head back mid powerful and intense bounces and cry out, desperate for release. 

His hands move to grip your thighs, his fingers applying pressure into your soft flesh as he guides your hips up and down to meet now his intense thrusts, Toto's bucking his hips up now, and your full breasts bounce against his sculpted chest.

Your lips meet in a passionate kiss; tongues entwine at a pace as hungry as the one below your waists. 

You tangle your hands in Toto's hair, tugging it gently to urge him for more as you clench your sex around him, drawing out an animalistic groan from deep within him. 

"Fuck, yes, Y/N," Toto growls through gritted teeth. He slams his balls into your pussy again and again, driving you both closer to the edge.

Your bodies are all slick with sweat as you shudder atop Toto, releasing a visceral moan with an orgasm radiating from your core and rippling through every nerve in your body, dripping all over his shaft and thighs.

He growls low in his throat, a raw, primal sound that reverberates through the room as he surrenders to his own release.

-

Every day away, you text him, exchanging photos and moments from both days.

You can't keep away from him.

-

Upon your return, you attend and cheer for Toto, who is participating in the regatta rally. 

The sound of seagulls surrounds you, as does the smell of salt water and fresh coffee wafts from the food and beverage stalls, enticing the crowd on the quayside.

As the starting gun fires, a fleet of sleek, high-tech sailboats burst into action, their crews navigating the intricate course set out on the water. 

The crowd cheers and chants as the boats round each mark, their helmsmen and women trimming their sails to maximize speed. 

As the regatta approaches its climax, the top boats are neck and neck, and Toto and his crew are straining every muscle to gain that precious extra yard. 

The tension is palpable as his boat crosses the finish line, and he and his crew leap into celebration as they win the rally.

Meanwhile, champagne corks pop on the quayside, and glasses get raised in a toast to the winners. 

The air is filled with conversation as the member's friends and families mingle, congratulating each other on a thrilling day under their giant sun umbrellas and comfy outdoor chairs.

Meanwhile, you remained sitting on the pier under the sun with your crew coworkers by your side, waiting for your guests to return and watching the action unfold on the waters. 

All of you girls, legs hanging, white sneakers almost touching the waters beneath you, dress in blue shorts and white polos with the Club's logo patch on the left.

After a while, the sun and the wood surface start to irritate your face and ass, respectively.

You smile brightly at Toto when you spot him reaching closer in the boat, locking eyes with him.

His shirt is all wet, and what is beneath it is showing. You fight the urge to run your hand all over his chest when you reach him after the trophy ceremony.

-

As you finish setting Toto's regatta equipment back inside the shed in his villa's garden view deck, Léo approaches you, thinking you are alone.

Staring at your bend over the body, eyes on your ass. An excellent view. 

Toto watches this from inside. He stepped inside to go shower.

"Y/N!" you turn without flinching, familiar with the voice and happy to hear it. 

"Léo! Hi!"

"I missed you, cutie," he says to you, even if you are a girl. Then he welcomes you with a tight hug, pulling you off the ground.

Toto wants to see how the scene unfolds, still without making himself be noticed. 

Why is that guy standing that close to you? Doesn't he know personal space?

He watches you two chat, you looking all happy and smiley, telling Léo all about your past days while his eyes burn on you. 

Toto catches desire in them, so when Léo places a hand on the shed and around you, Toto steps in.

"Kid," he calls for you. "My drink," he reminds you what he asked you to do next.

"Oh! Yes, sir!" You quickly move to serve Toto's drink. Léo gives him a "those manners!" look, and they share a quick exchange. 

At that moment, Toto glimpses at his cook uniform in bright daylight and tells him, "I didn't ask for any food." This is a subtle hint to better leave.

When Toto moves to stand right behind you, you can almost feel his knee in the back of your thigh.

Léo proceeds to leave, sending him a silent fuck you with his eyes.

"Bye, gorgeous! See you around, my girl." Léo addresses you but holds his gaze at Toto as he walks away, looking back.

"Okay..." you think, watching them interact.

-

"Let's go, kid," he orders you.

"Where?!" you ask as he drags you by the arm, a firm grip on your forearm as he pulls you along.

"Move," he instructs.

-

Minutes later, the sun warms Toto's back as he expertly maneuvers his jet ski on the waters. Going extremely fast as you hold tight to his body, the jet ski roaring beneath you, surging forward as water sprays behind you.

The salty ocean breeze whips through his dark hair and yours. 

A desolate yet inviting small beach appears in the distance as a coast unfolds. Toto gestures to you to the sandy expanse, "There."

You glance at the beach in question and raise your delicate eyebrows. "You brought us here? Why?"

"I have something to make clear." It's all he answers, in a harsh voice, before reaching land.

-

The waves lap gently against the fine white sands of the isolated coastline. You take a moment to enjoy the sounds of the ocean and the serenity of nature surrounding you.

Your skin and Toto's glisten with sweat, seawater, and sunscreen. 

His gaze roams over your body, relishing the breathtaking view. He licks his lips, unable to resist himself any longer. 

His eyes are so intense on you that he almost looks angry. Toto's expression dangerously morphs into a lust-filled one. 

He leans closer to claim your mouth in a rough, passionate kiss. Parting your lips brusquely, allowing himself to explore and taste your sweetness with his tongue while holding your neck with a stern grip.

His hands move to press your slick body firmly.

Toto then powerfully lifts you from the ground and takes you further into the beach, finally pushing you to the sand and rolling on top of you, feeling your breasts crush against his chest. 

He pulls your legs open and places them around his waist, roughly handling you, nails pressing into your skin, and he sighs in pleasure, feeling your warmth pressed against his.

He moves to remove your clothes roughly and quickly, almost tearing your polo shirt; within seconds, you are both naked. "Beautiful," Toto whispers, voice dangerous.

Your eyes flare with desire and curiosity as he has never handled you this rough.

With no hesitation or warning, he pulls his rock-hard length inside you, making you gasp at the sudden move. Toto's voice rasp in your ear, "Only I can fill you up."

You nod eagerly, biting your lower lip.

"Say it," he demands.

"Yes, daddy. Only you can fill me," you whisper, your voice thick with arousal.

Those words send Toto's self-control over the ledge. 

He slides into you frenetically, your pussy taking his hard hits with thunderous moist claps. He is fucking you so harshly in such a powerful rhythm you can barely take him.

You bury your nails in the sand surrounding you, grasping. "Daddy!" you moan so loud.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so good," Toto growls, biting down on the curve of your neck.

His thrusts are desperate and animal, and every muscle in his body is rocking. You arch your back, moaning nonstop as Toto keeps hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, relentlessly. 

"Daddy! Please," you gasp for air. You can barely take it anymore. "Daddy! I can't." his balls deep thrust keep going. A massive moan escapes your lips.

"Be a nice girl, take this dick good." He commands.

"I-, I-, Daddy, please." Your fingers dig into his shoulders, urging him to let you catch your breath.

"You are only mine to have." Toto's mouth claims yours, swallowing your moans. 

"This pussy is all yours!" you are barely able to say, shaking violently under his strong jabs.

"Again," his dick slams you harder.

"I'm only yours!" you scream in an orgasm, breathing real loud.

"Again," he slams you with his dick again.

Your whimpers grow louder.

"I'm yours, daddy!"

The feeling of his raw masculinity taking you over, dominating you entirely, sends ripples of need through your core.

Each drive of his hips is a powerful claim, a branding that declares you his.

"Good girl, now it's clear." He kisses your lips softly and licks them, running his wet tongue all over them.

With one final thrust, he buries himself as deep inside you, feeling you clench and pulse around him as you cry out.

Toto's body shudders with the force of his release. You stay there, panting and covered in sweat and sand as the waves crash upon the shore, matching the rhythm of your breathing.

Toto stays inside you, wanting to remain close for a little longer. He places soft and sweet kisses all over your face, now tenderly caressing you. His soft touch is all over you.

He collapses in exhaustion next to your side. The two of you are naked with your backs to the sand and facing the sky, feeling the sun's warm rays on your skin. 

You can't help but smile as you look over at Toto, lying beside you with his muscular chest heaving up and down. 

"We're quite a mess," you chuckle, gesturing to the sand and fluids that cover your bodies.

Toto laughs, "Nothing that a quick rinse can't fix."

He watches you stand up, brush the sand off your ass, and sprint towards the ocean. 

Toto follows you, admiring your naked figure and the way your ass moves as you stride.

You dip your toes into the water, squealing as a wave crashes over your feet. Toto comes up behind you, planning to plunge you into the water, so you playfully run from him.

He catches and kisses you before lifting you in his arms and bringing you inside the water with him.

He admires your ability to be open-minded, fun, and fearless in pursuing new experiences, especially those involving him.

-

A call bell coming from Toto's living room makes you speed there. Your chores today were so fucking tedious; by this point, you have like four good hours inside the china's closet.

As soon as you enter, he informs you, "Kid, I need my things packed by 2 p.m."

"You are leaving?!!" That sounded more desperate than you expected.

"I need to fly to sign papers in my London office. I will return on Thursday, just in time for Holst's Casablanca-themed birthday party."

Oh, yeah, next week is going to be crazy. A fucking colossal gala it's going to take place at the Club's gardens.

-

When the elevator doors to Toto's office slide open, a burst of energy and femininity floods the room as the most stunning woman enters.

Toto's office is on the top floor of a sleek, modern skyscraper, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unobstructed panorama of the bustling London's metropolis.

Her impossible curves seem to have been crafted by the gods themselves.

Her long, dark, sleek hair cascades down her back, framing her heart-shaped face and highlighting her stunning eyes. 

With her full lips in a deep shade of red, she moves with a confident stride, her high heels clicking on the floor as she makes her way to Toto's desk. 

Her toned and shapely legs seem to go on forever. She is supermodel tall, and the way she moves her hips is enough to weaken any man in the knees.

Irina sits in one of the expensive designer chairs in front of Toto's trendy clear glass desk. Her fitted dress hugs her curves in all the right places. 

Her shoulders are bare, and the gentle swell of her breasts seems to strain against the fabric.

Her hands are long and elegant, and she has a massive diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. 

As she leans back in the chair, her hair bounces against her shoulders, releasing a faint scent of perfume.

Looking busy behind his desk, Toto can't help but look up from his papers, his eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of surprise and admiration. 

-

Toto's iPhone buzzes on his desk surface as Irina moves to get comfy on the expensive velvet sofa by the wall after a good chat and a successful exchange on Irina's part.

Reminding Toto of his responsibilities in life.

He picks it up to open your chat.

"Since it's our first month anniversary and you are away. I had more time to prepare a gift for you." you text Toto.

He watches a photo loading on your conversation.

A photo of a completely naked you arrive, standing back to the camera behind a see-through light fabric curtain that looks like and is the one in his bedroom at his villa. 

Your shoulders, back, and ass are on full display, your silhouette looking delicious to him; you are posing with your arms up, both placed on your head, and your hair is in a bun.

No face, just body, in a contrast of light.

Toto feels like jerking off to that photo when a second one arrives. 

It's a close-up photo of your breast; you are laying on his bed in the villa, again with light fabric on top of your tits, nipples hard, looking ready for him to bite them: no face or more body below your waist on this one.

"What a masterpiece," he replies. "But who took them? It's that my villa? How did you manage?"

"A dear friend of mine takes boudoir photos. I lied to Chloé and told her the photographer came for a photo session appointment with the guests I'm serving during your leave."

"An that dear friend is?" instantly possesive.

"Anne, a girl friend from college, she is an art major," you quickly reply.

"They should hang them in a museum."

You feel so proud of yourself for making him react like that. God, you miss him.

"Hey, kid, you are home?" he looks at his Rolex, running calculous.

"Yes"

"Do me a favor then."

"Sure!"

"Touch yourself till you cum, and moan my name loud." you get wet, reading the text.

"Would you do the same, daddy?"

"Yes."

-

Irina wonders who makes him smile like that.

-

As you prepare everything at Toto's villa for his return, along with Chloé, you dare to ask her a question and discuss a topic you have been dreading for so long.

"Does Mr. Wolff have a leave date?" you gain the courage.

"He already overextended his stay, which is rare, as rare as him showing up unexpectedly as he did. Mr. Wolff is one of those people who schedules everything in advance and always informs us months before, so something must have happened." She reaches out to you to help you place the fresh sheets on his bed.

"So, no date?" you ask again.

"You grew tired of him already?" Chloé looks straight at you.

"OH. NO, NO. I'm just curious," you quickly add, waving your hands.

"No date, child"

Is he staying for you? You wonder in your head.

-

You two have never talked about your future. 

Toto leaving without you has become your biggest fear in life, like ever. 

-

The night is fully set over the sea, and the Club's grounds are set by the strumming of a Moroccan guitar, which sets the tone for the true extravaganza about to happen.

You see Ava fixing Mr. Holst's bowtie as he prepares for his grand entrance.

The Club's gardens transformed into a Moroccan oasis, and the towering palm trees were now adorned with twinkling fairy lights.

The crowd erupts into applause as Mr. Holst enters, resplendent in a tailored white suit and sunglasses, à la Rick Blaine, escorted by a troupe of really hot and barely dressed female dancers, who performed a mesmerizing choreographed routine to the iconic tunes of "As Time Goes By."

The tables are set with fine china and crystal glassware, adorned with candles and a sumptuous spread of Moroccan delicacies, including tagines, couscous, and fragrant pastries. 

The aroma of exotic spices wafts through the air.

Meanwhile, at the bar where you are currently working, the mixologists are shaking (not stirring) up signature cocktails inspired by the classic film's iconic characters. The "Ilsa," a refreshing blend of gin, lemon, and mint, is a particular hit among the guests.

The place is packed with wealthy people from around the globe, all friends of Mr. Holst and his wife, and the bar is the busiest spot. 

You are so busy that you haven't even had a chance to look for Toto. He must be somewhere looking all handsome in a classic tuxedo! Gosh, you die to see him and kiss him.

Then, Mr. Holst takes center stage once more, surrounded by his wife and children. With a heartfelt speech, he starts the party.

-

As midnight approaches, a massive three-tier cake held by two big guys enters in the old style, and everyone sings Happy Birthday to Mr. Holst as fireworks light up the night sky! 

The crowd cheers and oohs as sparks rain down upon them.

Then, you have your first break of the night. Some of your coworkers at recess get dinner, light a cigar, or just sit down in the crew's hidden section. It's been crazy!

You use the opportunity to text Toto: "Hi, my love. Where are you? I want to see your handsomeness in a tux. Daddy, I miss you so much."

-

As a tipsy Toto is laughing and drinking with Holst and his wife when the couple reaches the table where he is, Irina picks up his phone, buzzing on the table.

She reads the text you sent him and chunks of your conversation. 

"Who the fuck is "Kid"?!"

She then starts looking at the photos you shared, fuming, especially when she finds the ones from the boudoir photo session you took for Toto.

Oh, no, baby! Her wedding with Toto is happening, yes or yes, and she will not allow you to interfere!

Toto will not slip away from her! Not now, she got him back at the palm of her hand and into his senses!

It worked wonders to give him that bit of a break after he got cold feet and had second thoughts about committing himself to her.

No one touches what is hers, and she is about to teach you a lesson!

Now that she knows your face, it is just a matter of time before she finds you there.

Apparently, you work here.

-

You are navigating through the crowded party, surrounded by the thumping music and the hums of conversations because your boss asked you to move to attend a special guests table.

As you walk there, you feel a pair of eyes burning into your skin. The hottest woman you have ever seen is staring intensely at you. 

It turns out to be the table where Raphaël parents are. So, to your misfortune, he is also around, adding an extra stress layer to your night as he behaves demanding and pays attention to your every action.

-

As the night progresses, you feel unsure if you are being paranoid or that woman has been watching you for a long time, her gaze flicking from a phone to you again.

Mr. Holst greets you, and you congratulate him on his birthday; he sits to chat with Raphaël's elderly mom.

The hot woman suddenly swoops in, her long legs striding across the room to you. 

Her eyes flash with anger as she grabs your arm, her nails digging into your skin. "You think you're so special, don't you?" she hisses, her voice low and venomous, taking you completely by surprise.

You try to shake her off, not knowing what the fuck is happening! But she's too strong. 

She pulls you closer, her face inches from yours. "You're nothing but a foolish little fling to Toto," she sneers really loud for everyone at the table to hear.

You start to feel all eyes on you as she causes a scene.

"This means nothing to him! You are just an entertainment." she continues.

You feel a surge of embarrassment as you realize what's happening. 

Toto looks at you two, his eyes wide with surprise, but he doesn't intervene. Your bosses are standing nearby, their faces frozen in shock.

Irina shows you the stunning diamond ring on her hand and holds it up for everyone to see. 

The table you attend falls silent, and all eyes are on you. Humiliation hits you as you realize the scope of what's happening.

"You think you can just waltz in here and steal my man? Toto is marrying me," she says again, her voice dripping angrily. "Me! Stay the fuck away!"

Irina flings back into the crowd, her words echoing in your mind. 

You feel tears stinging in your eyes as you turn to flee the party. 

"Don't even bother to come back. You are fired." Raphaël addresses you, firing you in the spot, catching you preparing to leave, his gaze burning with triumph and victory.

The sounds of laughter and music fade into the distance as you stumble into the night air, your heart heavy with sorrow.

Léo and Chloé look astonished as they watch you leave after witnessing the show Irina put on.

Your heels are hitting the floor faster, and the trail of your fitted gorgeous gala dress sways behind you.

You know that you will never be able to show your face at this place again and that no one will ever look at you in the same way after this.

God, you are so mad at Toto and even more heartbroken!

-

A loud knock comes at the door; maybe your aunt left work early. "Coming!" you look like a mess with swollen eyes from all the crying and feeling like shit and heartbroken, destroyed, dusted, you name it.

Toto's tall figure greets you when you open the door.

"How yo-?!" you look at him, eyes filling with anger and tears again.

"Ava," he interrupts you. "She got your address and sent me in a car here."

He reads your intention to close the door to his face and stops it firmly with his muscular arm.

Toto invites himself into your apartment. Standing beside the worn-out cupboard, he looks out of place, especially in that expensive tuxedo.

Gosh, he looks so dreamy, fuck him!

"Irina was completely wrong. You are not entertainment; what happened with us was real; you are important to me, more than you imagine." He goes straight to the point, not wasting time making things clear.

You feel a couple of tears run down your eyes. Lots of emotions for just one night.

He reaches closer to wipe them with his fingers. "I shouldn't have allowed Irina to talk to you that way and embarrassed you. Please forgive me. For all. We were on a time off when I met you."

"Irina? You thought that was his sister. You heard Holst asking him about her at brunch, along with his mom," You stupid girl!

"I called off the engagement for good." He looks straight at you and closes the steps between you.

"You did?!" and you die to add the "for me," but you contain.

"Do you still want me?" he asks, leaning closer to your lips, his breath brushing your mouth.

"Yes," a beg escapes your lips.

-

Toto is there to apologize for the hurt he caused. He wants to reach for you, to hold you close, but he doesn't know where to begin. So, instead, he does the only thing that feels right at that moment.

His lips find yours in a tender kiss, at first gentle but exploring, as if trying to find his way home.

You respond with a soft sigh, and your hands roam over his back, muscles reacting to your gentle touch. 

Your mouths open to each other in a deep, consuming kiss, tongues darting and twisting, exploring every spot of the other's mouth.

Before any of you knows what is going on, you stumble your way towards the bed, Toto's hands finding the hem of your short nightgown, pulling it up and over your head, revealing your naked body. 

The sight of your bare skin is enough to take his breath away. 

Toto's fingers trace the curves of your breasts, thumbs flicking at your stiffening nipples as you gasp and arch into his touch. 

God, you always feel so good.

"Fuck," he mutters, bending his head to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. The taste of your nipple is intoxicating, and he moans in pleasure as his lips close around you.

Toto's mouth works its magic on each flick of his tongue and grazes of his teeth; you get wetter, your arousal building up.

Then his fingers find your folds, slick with need, and he spreads you open, fingering that pussy he very much loves.

He groans at the contact, his cock throbbing in response. He needs to be inside you. He needs to lose himself in you.

Clothes go out of the way.

Toto looks up at you, asking for consent, and with one swift motion, he enters you, his cock sliding into your wet, welcoming heat. You gasp as he fills you, your body adjusting to his size.

He doesn't move yet. He gives you time to get used to him. His eyes never leave yours as he waits, his breath hot against your skin. The anticipation is unbearable, and you rock your hips against him, urging him to move.

Toto growls, low and deep in his throat, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you. The force of his thrust pushes your body down against the bed, and you cry out as pleasure shoots through you.

The feel of Toto inside you, filling and completing you, is unlike anything.

Toto's thrusts become harder, more urgent, driving into you with a force that had you moaning out his name over and over again, lost in the pleasure of the moment.

The sound of your sweat-slicked bodies slapping against each other, the wetness that escapes with each thrust, fills the small room.

Your breasts bounce with every move. You are so close to the edge, your orgasm building deep within you. Toto feels your inner walls begin to flutter around his cock, the sensation driving him wild.

"Fuck, Toto!" you cry out, clutching at the sheets as your body trembles with pleasure under his thrust.

He repeats the motion over and over again, your body shaking beneath him, your moans desperate. Toto feels your body tighten around him and your inner walls milking his cock.

With a final, frantic thrust, Toto lets himself go. He cums hard, filling you with his release.

As you both come down from your high, Toto collapses onto you, his body panting and slick with sweat. 

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both catch your breath.

Toto presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips brushing against your skin.

"Toto, I... I..." you try to build the courage to say.

"Yes?" His voice is husky but caring.

"I- I love you." You are all red, looking down, unable to face him. 

He pulls your chin up tenderly with his finger before kissing your lips. 

Before you dare to confess: "I never loved someone this much, I... I want a life with you and you to be my future. Could, you, I don't know, think about it, maybe, you know, you could... take me... with you to London, it sounds good."

A trail of kisses comes your way. "I will think about it, but let's sleep first. It's almost 4 a.m." he rubs his eyes and wraps you around his body.

"Yeah, I'm exhausted too; a lot happened." You kind of laugh and move to enjoy the view of his naked body, caressing him till he falls asleep, and you, too.

-

As sunlight creeps into your small room, you wake up disoriented. It's a hot day, and the AC is off.

"Toto?" you call his name; his body is not next to you, and you hear sounds from the kitchen.

"Is he making you breakfast? How sweet!"

You get on your feet and quickly pull some clothes on. You don't want to miss that moment for your life.

You pull the slightly already open door of your room to be greeted by an unexpected scene.

Surprisingly, your aunt is there, cooking breakfast for your mom. You look around the apartment, confused.

"Surprise!" your mom lets out from one of the chairs on the small round table. "Oh, it's only me, honey!" your mom informs you, thinking you are looking around to spot her family. As usual, believing life revolves around her.

"Are only just you two in here?" you ask.

"Ahm, yes..." your aunt says, holding the pan. "Well, no, if you count the ghost that lives here, the one who likes to throw my flowerpots."

"It's a cat!" you add before walking fast back to your room. Then you look at the clock, fuck! It's almost 1 p.m.; it's not breakfast time. It's lunchtime!

You pick up your phone, no new texts or calls from Toto; maybe he is dealing with shit after what happened. It's too bad you cannot go back to the Club.

What is that?!

You notice a folded piece of paper on the nightstand. You feel the fine paper on your fingertips as you open it:

"I'm sorry to do this to you, kid, but I can't."

And just like that, he exits your life.

#toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff fic #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #mercedes fanfic #formula 1 fic #toto wolff imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #toto wollf x oc #toto wolff x occ #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 blurb #toto wolff blurb #my work

[azuresquirrel]

maybe I'm just Making It About Me or whatever but I've had it online, I'm full-on unfollowing long time mutuals posting "vote blue no matter who" nonsense without posting a single thing about the genocide in Gaza. nothing about news, actions, donations, solidarity, nothing, just about how expressing moral outrage at Actual Genocide helps the bad orange man. People who I used to respect really acting like the government aiding and abetting genocide has nothing to do with us/"well the OTHER PEOPLE would be doing worse things" we are seeing real people forced to post videos of themselves carrying the remains of their children in bags so that the violence against them can be believed, how does that not sicken you to your core

#I genuinely don't give a shit about what you personally choose to do in the voting booth in November #but what are you doing NOW. where is your attention NOW #where are your priorities. ethnic cleansing is happening #where is the moral red line for people if it isn't this #also btw 'Trump would be doing worse' hey Kids in Cages is still happening #honestly posting Literally Nothing would be better than the vote scolding. if you don't care about global politics then just don't

[genderkoolaid]

Do you genuinely believe we can somehow change the hearts and minds of billionaires and politicians in power in for example the USA in a way that will actually result in a radical change in and improvement of conditions for folks currently oppressed under capitalism in the USA and hopefully globally? If so, how?

This is coming from someone who really would like to believe pure nonviolence is possible but who does not see much of an actual way forward for that. That said I do not see those billionaires and politicians as "nonhuman", I don't think that's productive and I think dehumanizing anyone who is factually a human person as a practice is dangerous so I am in agreement with you there. Thanks for your time if you choose to share your thoughts.

What I like about Against the Logic of the Guillotine is that it isn't for pure nonviolence. It breaks down the false binary that our options are "let the streets run red with blood until our every thirst for revenge is slaked" or "punching nazis makes you as bad as them 🥺"

& i think that binary is tempting because it absolves us of a responsibility to think deeply about things. if all revolutionary violence is good and justified, then you don't have to think too hard about the violence, you just see it & condone it. If all violence is bad and morally evil, then you still don't have to think too hard to condemn it. Our options are like, moral baby food.

But if we reject that binary, then there is no easy answer. Its not as easy as "yes leftist violence is always justified" or "any violence ever is always unjustified." You have to ask yourself, what am I doing? Why? What does this accomplish? Who is affected by this? What do they have to say? It makes us look at the actual nature of our violence and pick it apart and see where we have fucked up and where we might fuck up again. Its a lot more messy and also requires that we form relationships with others & genuinely listen to what they have to say. Its much much harder than Violence Good or Violence Bad but its also much more capable of adapting to the needs of people in the complicated situations where we find ourselves.

My opinion is that we will not reach anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism without violence. But more than anything, its because the systems in power will not let us. I think the foundation of the Revolution (in a more abstract sense of the word) must be community. We should focus our efforts most on building local networks of mutual support. If people suddenly find themself in a community that has free public food gardens & a community fridge, where people are already practicing transformative justice, etc. etc. then it will become materially obvious that we don't need to rely on the current system to survive. It will become clear that the current system is more of a hindrance to what we could do if we were not being controlled. And then people will be more likely to support any revolutionary violence that becomes necessary, because they will see their neighbors and know that when the dust settles, they know how to care for each other through shitty situations. Violence should really be the topping on a cake of community & indispensability politics.

Also this line from AtLotG really changed my perspective on "punishing the rich":

The worst punishment anyone could inflict on those who govern and police us today would be to compel them to live in a society in which everything they’ve done is regarded as embarrassing—for them to have to sit in assemblies in which no one listens to them, to go on living among us without any special privileges in full awareness of the harm they have done. If we fantasize about anything, let us fantasize about making our movements so strong that we will hardly have to kill anyone to overthrow the state and abolish capitalism. This is more becoming of our dignity as partisans of liberation.

"If we fantasize about anything, let us fantasize about making our movements so strong that we will hardly have to kill anyone to overthrow the state and abolish capitalism" really sums it up for me.

#sorry if this is kind of a mess i am So pain and fatigue rn #my body is taking disability pride month way too seriously #m. #ask box

[a-sour-nectarine]

People fear the day the Red Hood loses control. The day he doesn't stop himself from pulling the trigger, the day he no longer differentiates the sinners from the damned.

People fear the day Red Robin loses control. He doesn't have the same moral code as the rest of the Bats, he isn't above lying and stealing and forcing like they are. People fear the day that goes too far, the day he crosses the invisible line he's drawn.

People fear the day Robin loses control. The day he sends his katana through someone's neck, the day he doesn't listen when Batman tells him to stop.

What people don't understand is that there is nothing to fear from them. They never have to worry about the day that Red Hood snaps, because it will not come. He is too short of a stick to break more than twice, after all. They don't have to worry about Red Robin, he isn't toeing that line they think he's drawn. He's well within his own boundaries, even if they are different than Batman's. He's seen too many futures where he crept too close to the edge and fell to the bottom to risk it. People don't have to fear the day Robin's blade cuts too deep, it won't. Robin is a child who is learning the value of life, he will not treat it with such disdain again.

No, people fear the wrong Bats.

Because Nightwing is the one they should be wary of. Nightwing, with his bright smiles that hide so much anger and hurt, and his jokes that conceal hatred and despair. Nightwing, with his fatal grace and his soft sharpness. Nightwing is the one whose breaking point people should fear. Because he is constantly balancing on a knife's edge, cheerful demeanor and charming banter just barely containing the most dangerous person in the room. The pressure on his shoulders is seconds from breaking the facade in half, exposing something you don't want to meet. If Nightwing loses control, you won't know it until it's too late and you're gasping for breath, wondering how everything went so wrong.

Because that disarming smile is the breastplate in the armor of his morals, and if anything gets past that armor.... Gods help us all.

#ollie yells into the void #dc #nightwing #dick grayson #red hood #jason todd #red robin #tim drake #robin #damian wayne #batman #talkin' shop

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This sweet plague that follows me (this violence that I call my own)

This is how it feels to take a fall - series masterlist here

pairing: takami keigo x reader (gender neutral)

length: 2.1k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: lots of blood but not from keigo or reader, it's just kinda everywhere, this entire fic is a biohazard, they're mentally ill but they're in love

a/n: back on my hawks shit ig turns out it never ever goes away

Keigo thinks, as he lets the door shut behind him, that maybe this life of his was inevitable - this sacrifice was unavoidable. He thinks that, perhaps, there are some people who need to spend their lives fighting, who need to beat their fists against flesh and split their lips on the bloody knuckles of their rivals. 

There are people who find peace only in war, and Keigo, so often, wishes he were not one of these people. As he kicks his boots off and tosses his phone on the side table, stepping further into his entryway, he thanks whatever's out there that he, at least, doesn't have to do it alone - that he's found someone to build a home with in this violence of his.

He doesn't bother changing out of his hero uniform when he sits on the couch, slouching into the cushions. It was a rough patrol - one that left him with scrapes and bruises, blood dripping from his jacket, drying on his hands. Maybe, he thinks as he rubs his palms together, the dark red coming off in little flecks, settling into the carpet, maybe if I was someone else, this would bother me. Maybe if I was something else.

But the violence in him stays, wrapping around him and choking him from the inside out. He stares down at his hands, palms facing up as he glares. How can I say I'm good when they've done so much bad, he thinks. There's a sort of desperation in him as he reaches for the remote, turning on the television, wanting some sort of background noise to drown the whirring of his thoughts out, to drown his voice out, to drown him, to -

But then there you are, on the news - still working. Still fighting. Still bleeding. Keigo chokes, his hands balling into fists as he watches, as he sees you, blood marring your hero uniform. Not really your blood, he notes, but a stain, nonetheless. And there's still that wild look in your eyes, a ferocity that couldn't be stamped out. The reporter drones on about your reputation, your blood-soaked, violence-stained reputation. Brutality, war, violence - all for the sake of peace.

We get our hands dirty so that normal people don't have to. That's what you'd always said to him. Keigo never had the heart to tell you that he didn't think either of you deserved to have to be these things.

But neither of you got to choose this life - this calling, thrust upon you. Neither of you chose to be raised this way, trained this way, a violence so ingrained in you that you cannot be anything else anymore.

There are few things Keigo gets to choose in this life. Loving you, though - that is something he chooses every day. Waiting for you - that is something he would choose until the end of time. So he waits, turning the TV off with a sigh and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. As he sags down onto the couch, he can't make himself care about the blood that seeps into it - although he wonders idly how many new couches he could buy with the money he makes from wrapping his hands around other people's throats.

But they're villains, he reminds himself. But isn't he? Aren't you, for the things that you do? Keigo, most of the time, doesn't think he knows where the line is anymore. You always do, he finds, and as he listens to the sound of the front door clicking open, he finds himself breathing a sigh of relief that you're back, that some tether to morality and sanity has returned to his life.

"Hey birdie," you call softly,  and it's wrong, the way your voice comes out soft and tender and delicate; it lurches in contrast to the way you pull off your jacket, heavy with the weight of blood, and let it drop onto the floor with a dull splat. But he looks at you - at your eyes, warm and soft and loving. A trickle of blood trails down your temple and the couch cushion dampens under his weight, blood seeping into it.

Whatever, he thinks. I'll call the cleaners in. It's not like it would be the first time. It's not like it will be the last. Keigo leans forward, tips himself onto his feet so that he can make his way over to where you still stand in the entryway.

"Hey, dove," he says softly. When he gets to you, he holds your face in his hands with a gentleness that feels like it shouldn't belong to him, a benevolence that feels stolen, his hands having been wiped clean hastily on his pants, leaving trails of crimson behind. 

But he just smoothes his thumb across your cheek, maps himself out a clean spot so he can press his lips to it, and the touch is so soft that you find yourself holding your breath, your heart thumping painfully against your ribs. Because when, you think, did touch become so soft? And when did we become deserving of it?

"Leave it here," Keigo shushes you softly, prying ever so gently at your clenched fists to loosen your grip on whatever happened out there, his nose brushing against your cheek as he speaks against your skin. "Leave it out there. It's safe in here." That's all it takes, really, a sigh leaving you as you let your head thump against his shoulder, fist loosening enough that he can tangle his fingers with yours and bring you closer to him. The blood on you presses against him, staining his jacket more. Neither of you find it in you to care - it's not the first time, and it won't be the last.

"You need to clean yourself up," you mumble against his shoulder, fatigue seeping into your voice. Keigo huffs out a laugh, poking your side gently.

"You're one to talk," he quips back, but there's no real bite, especially when he moves to tug you down the hallway toward your shared bathroom. You grumble as you walk after him, letting him pull you by your hand as you pretend to put up a fight. But there's never really any fights here, in this home that you share. Keigo thrives on it, notably - being able to take care of you, being able to channel that fight in him into protectiveness and have his hands heal for once.

Back when the two of you were younger, when you were both hot-headed rivals battling for the top hero ranking, you'd always argued that there was peace to be found in war.

"Don't you understand, Hawks?" You'd said to him. "You can't have one without the other."

He never knew what you meant by that until you had him sitting on your kitchen counter for the first time, cleaning blood from his face. He hadn't known your touch could be so tender, until then. 

Now, of course, it's second nature to you both, the way you smooth a hand across the nape of his neck as he lifts you to sit on the bathroom counter. Now, there is nothing but softness between the two of you, a gentleness found only in the privacy of your own home. You watch, through tired, hooded eyes, the way his wings twitch and flutter, spreading slightly to take up more space, to block your view from the mirror if you were to try to turn. He always does that now - you pretend not to notice and he pretends not to know. 

You remember the first time you'd come home like this, when your relationship was still new - tentative and stumbling. He'd never seen it before - the tug of war that takes place in the doorway of your home, the attempt to put the fight aside for the night and learn to be human again. Oh, how bad you'd been at it then, pulling your hands away from his and spluttering concerns about getting blood on him, about leaving your marks on him.

"I'm already all marked up," he'd cooed, taking your hands and pressing them to his chest, letting you feel him, solid and warm and yours. "I've already got my own stains. There is no mark you could leave on me that I wouldn't thank you for." You'd laughed when he said that, a pitchy, tired noise. 

"You and I really are the same, aren't we?" You'd said. Keigo had found himself agreeing.

But when he'd taken you to the bathroom to clean up, the same way he does now, you'd caught sight of yourself in the mirror. The blood that dripped from your face and the wild look in your eyes were so familiar to you, but when they knocked against Keigo's tender grip on your waist and fluttering kiss to our cheek, the softness of it all made your breath stutter, panic rising in you. There is anguish in love when it is something so foreign, you'd thought. You couldn't articulate that, of course, as you buried your head in your hands and sobbed. But Keigo knew - he knew from when you'd helped him that first time, in your kitchen. He knew from excusing himself to the bathroom after, just so that he could clamp his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs. You'd been right, of course - the two of you really are the same.

"Where'd you go, baby," your voice snaps Keigo back to the present, your finger flicking against his forehead gently. He grins at you, cocking his head to the side as he stares.

"Just thinking about you," he says, and you roll your eyes. "You want a shower?"

"Yes please," is your answer, but he stops you from moving, murmuring a stay put against your lips before giving you a quick kiss and stepping away to get the shower running. You slide over on the counter, smiling at the glare he shoots you as you move to lean sideways, turning the tap on and beginning to scrub your hands in the sink.

"We're about to get in the shower, dove," Keigo points out as he reaches a hand under the spray, frowning and adjusting the temperature.

"I just want my hands to be clean," you say earnestly, and he finds he can't fault you for that. He stares at his own, for a moment, before moving to the other sink, scrubbing at his palms with soap and water as steam begins to fill the room.

"You take your showers too hot," you point out.

"You take them too cold," he retorts.

"Maybe we should stop showering together," you pout teasingly, drying your hands on the towel Keigo's tossed you while he shoots you a look.

"As if. Get in, dove, before I make it hotter." You roll your eyes at his words, but slide yourself off the counter nonetheless, letting Keigo peel off the layers of your uniform as you do the same for him. 

"Thank you, Keigo," you say quietly, slipping into the shower and turning to see him follow after you. As if he wouldn't, if you weren't checking. As if he could do anything other than chase after you.

"You don't have to thank me for this," he says easily, using a hand against your cheek to bring you forward, resting his forehead against yours. "You don't have to thank me for loving you."

"But still," you press. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. But it's also deserved," he points out. You smile. 

"For you, too, then," you say. "You deserve this softness, too."

"Well," Keigo drawls, but you don't miss the way he wraps his arms around you to tuck you into his chest so that you can't see the blush creeping over his cheeks. "Good thing I have you to give me that, then, hm?"

"Yea," you laugh, burying your head in his chest and watching the way the water runs red, stains of blood blurring off your skin and disappearing. "Good thing."

#smsn.writes #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #hawks fluff #hawks imagines #hawks headcanons #hawks mha #hawks bnha #hawks comfort #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami x you #keigo takami x y/n #keigo takami imagine #keigo takami fluff #keigo takami headcanons #keigo takami #mha hawks #bnha hawks #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

[transmutationisms]

I would love to hear more of your thoughts on House & its relation to the detective genre ! I think that house (completely accidentally and very badly) stumbles into a good critique of how doctors & medical structures view addicts & disabled people, with house being a horrible hegemonic mr malpractice to his patients frequently yet half is series is unironically just about all the injustice/mistreatment he faces because his doctor colleagues can’t see him as a person but only as a problem to be solved/rehabbed/therapized/institutionalized/treated like a child with stolen candy/treated like a criminal. and then it also randomly takes an incredibly pro MAID stance. which isn’t really part of this but I just remembered how batshit insane that show was. and then chase killed a dictator and I feel like the show was squarely on his side for that one. Anyway. Do you have thoughts? I really like house.

ok here's my house md take. like a lot of medical dramas, the show essentially relies for its dramatic appeal on the construal of patients as gross, weird, and stupid—rubes who are too uneducated and self-serving in their petty lies to solve their own bodies, and thus need the intervention of house to fix them. this is standard for the genre, although slightly meaner on house than on some other examples (cf. grey's or even the older and soapier generation of these shows). i don't even think house committing malpractice is all that new; it's relatively common as a plot point that positions the noble rule-breaking doctor as someone who 'does what needs to be done' and skirts the bureaucratic red tape to follow their own superior judgment. what makes house more interesting is that from the get-go, house himself is both a doctor and an unwilling patient. in itself this isn't a tension that's new to the medical soap (injuring a major character is pretty par for the course) but house's particular interactions with the ruling biomedical epistemology are, as you point out, characterised by hostility and resistance, and the show frequently either sides with house, or at least leaves it somewhat up to the viewer to decide whether house is right to resist the pathologisation that cuddy and wilson try to impose on him.

this is kind of a tricky line to walk for 7 seasons or however long the show is. my recollection is there are episodes, for example, where it's very clear that house's pain is physical, and the writers use this to morally justify his vicodin use. this is obviously not a full-throated defence of opioid users, but it is at least pointing to a position on chronic pain that allows for the possibility that for some people, long-term use of drugs with a high addiction potential and side effects is legitimately the best thing. but, this messaging is also undercut by the fact that it's primetime television, they need to make drama, and there are definitely also episodes where house is framed as potentially lying about his pain, or at least mistaking a somatic problem for a physical one, which the writers often (not always, but often) present as evidence that actually, house shouldn't be trusted to make his own decisions about drug use, and ideally should be 'de-toxed' and probably sent to cbt or whatever. of course all of these considerations are also contextualised by the fact that house is, again, not just a patient but a doctor: his right and ability to make these types of calls for himself is, it's suggested, a result of his having attained medical education and credentials. the patients who come to be treated by him are seldom, if ever, given this same level of consideration or presumed to have sufficient self-awareness to make their own medical decisions. this isn't to say they're portrayed entirely unsympathetically, but ultimately the narrative engine of the show relies on house being the smartest guy in the room (though ofc, sometimes tragically 'held back by his addiction').

so, although there are moments on the show that genuinely transgress some of the norms of the med-drama genre, i have never agreed with people who thought that the show as a whole was presenting any sustained critique of the medical system, the treatment of chronic pain/disability, or the power-imbalanced doctor-patient relationship. ultimately all authority on house md is supposed to emanate from the physician, or the physician's superiors (cuddy as a 'check' on house, though sometimes a failed one! again because of the need to generate drama for like 140 episodes), and at its most radical the show is really only capable of presenting house himself as an out-of-control aberration whose existence strains the existing system rather than being produced by it.

this is where i think the comparison to the cop show genre becomes more clarifying. house md never made a secret of being an interpolation of the detective genre, specifically sherlock holmes. however, i'm not sure i've ever really seen writing on the show that analyses what effect this actually has on house. like police, doctors are tasked with maintaining certain social norms; the dichotomy between policing and medicine isn't even a solid line, as criminality is frequently rhetorically construed as a pathology in itself and medical authorities can and do have recourse to carceral systems in order to discipline and confine recalcitrant patients, the 'criminally insane', addicts, and so forth. (policing has historically also been understood in a more expansive sense than how we use the word today; our understanding of the medical/public health system as separate from police authority is arguably more to do with university credentialling than the actual exercise of social and political power).

so, if we want to be serious about the portrayal of medicine in popular culture (i am always serious about this) then we're necessarily talking about broader systems of power, social control, and discipline, and doubly so on a show like house that is explicitly inspired by detective fiction. this is where house md is most ideologically objectionable to me: as with the trope of the cop who breaks all the rules, house is basically positioned in one of two ways throughout the show. either he's a lone genius who alone is willing to achieve noble ends (cure) through distasteful means (breaking into patients' homes, berating them, performing risky interventions on them, &c), or—and this is rarer on house but does happen—he's portrayed as genuinely crossing an ethical line, in which case he's a kind of monstrous aberration from the normal, ethical functioning of the medical system, often represented metonymously by the objections that cuddy, wilson, or house's underlings raise. in both of these cases, as with copaganda, the function is ultimately to reinforce the idea that doctors, though occasionally capable of human error, are prima facie wiser than their patients, looking out for their patients' best interests, and performing noble social roles as healers. house, ofc, is very rarely willing to admit that he has any underlying ethical motivations, though much of the show is driven by the flashes where he is revealed to 'secretly' care about another person (often wilson) and anyway, the construction of an ethical society in which all individual actors are motivated solely by selfish interests is a very established rhetorical move for those interested in defending liberal capitalist societies (cf. charles darwin, thomas malthus, adam smith, &c).

because of television's need to generate profit via audience engagement, house md always relied on a certain level of shock or at least provocation in order to sustain itself. so, there are certain aberrations from the more overtly doctor-valorising medical dramas, like the suggestion (sometimes tongue-in-cheek) that house was better at his job when he was mildly high on opioids. this was, for the reasons outlined above, never a serious entry into political critique, but it was at least refreshing in a certain way as a departure from, eg, the portrayal of addiction and drug use that we see on grey's, which is completely limited to the medicalised AA narrative of 'recovery' as a battle against the malevolent intervention of an external chemical agent. which is to say that although house md is ultimately reactionary in the way we should expect from an american tv show, it did at least dabble in a certain level of caustic iconoclasm that allowed limited departures from the genre conventions. even with what was ultimately a pretty solid vindication of the anti-opioid narrative, the show does stand out in my mind as one of the few very popular presentations of any kind of alternative stance on chronic drug use. that it's usually put in house's own mouth means it is occasionally legitimated by his epistemological authority as a physician, though ofc ultimately this authority is challenged not through a critique of the medical system, but by presenting house as individually and aberrantly licentious, undisciplined, and insane—and his chronic pain/disability are both a justification for this, and a shorthand for conveying it.

#house md

[courtingchaos]

Dangerous

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Ooo, aren't you the little viper at Rick's party. Eddie want's to see how hard you bite.

A/N: Look, I'll never write fuckboy!Eddie like @newlips or @carolmunson, and this isn't even truly fuck boy Eddie. This is like hand wavy, vaugly fboy!Eddie. Anyways, I got rip roaringly high last night and busted this out, honestly kind of proud of myself for getting it all out in one go? 3k and I was barely awake for it. Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol use, blow jobs, general douchbaggery from both reader and Eddie. (18+ NSFW)

The black Audi pulling around the front of Rick’s is thumping loudly, testing the limits of the bass in the trunk. There’s an ever so slight rattle of metal and Eddie hides his laugh behind his cigarette. The car stops with a jerk and the under lighting shifts from purple to white when the driver door opens, deep bass pouring out. 

“Just get out of the fucking car then!” The woman who gets out yells and slaps the roof of her car. Eddie rolls his eyes at the jostling vehicle, the shadow of bodies inside shifting around until the back passenger door opens and two girls spill out laughing. They’re adjusting their dresses where they’ve hiked up high on their thighs and clutching their phones. The driver points at the house, party in full swing inside and makes a face at them. “Get the fuck inside!” 

Eddie would know Lisa’s voice anywhere, the shrill yell a constant out of Rick’s girl. The two that fell out of the Audi keep giggling and flip her off. Lisa looks like murder but her passenger window rolls down and there you are giving the giggle twins a cold stare. It seems to sober them up a little when your long green claw points at them intently, gold rings glinting on your knuckles. “Get in the fucking house and find a fucking seat.”

“Okay red, damn.” 

Eddie watches you slap a hand on the outside of the car door and the two girls scatter inside, rushing past him where he’s partially hidden behind a pillar on the porch. Lisa gets back in and starts to drive off but not before he catches your eye and you wiggle those talons at him. He refuses to admit he's interested.

Danger danger danger

It’s not the fullest Rick’s has ever been but there’s too many people for Eddie to be comfortable. He didn’t even want to come tonight but Steve had some girl here and Rick had asked him if he was coming which meant he was supposed to be there. And now you’ve shown up with Lisa and it’s just feeling like the night could go sideways fast. 

Eddie has seen you around a few times but he’s not even sure what the fuck it is you do here most nights. You’re not one of Rick’s girls, you aren’t pushing and you don’t seem to be with any of the other guys. Watching you walk up the driveway, head buried in your phone while Lisa talks at the side of your head, he thinks you might just be here for moral support.

“-and they’re just gonna start fucking each other in my backseat? I just got that fucking thing cleaned I don’t want pussy all over my fucking leather!” 

“They know to stay out of trouble.”

“They are trouble. Hey Eddie.” Lisa all but purrs at him and it makes his skin crawl. It’s not that she isn’t hot, but the idea of getting caught with her would mean a lot of bad, bad things for him. She’s also too god damn loud for his liking. “You hanging out in the shadows like a ghoul?”

“Waiting on Steve.” He doesn’t move from his post, leaned against the column. Smiles at Lisa and then slides his eyes over to you where you’re still typing furiously on your phone. “Busy night?” That gets you to look up at him, all long lashes and gold liner around big eyes. They look black in the dim light out here and he feels like he’s staring into a viper tank. Your all curvy lines under your tight black dress, gold accents glittering against your hands. Gold hanging from your ears. Gold around your neck. It all feels like a warning to him. 

“You saw those two assholes. Gotta babysit.”

“Is that what you do around here?” He asks, hears Lisa laugh before she walks in, leaving you two in the doorway. 

You shrug. “Not all I do.” You look him up and down, taking in his outfit. He’s tall, lean under his torn jeans and tight black shirt. It’s hot tonight and you can see where the fabric clings to his chest; all his rings and necklaces and bracelet glint under the porch light. His curls hang in the humidity, skin luminous under all the black ink on his arms and neck. 

“What is it you do again?” A sarcastic tilt of your head and now you’re both smirking at each other. You know Eddie, you’ve heard about him, seen him around. You're about to make another jab when a loud commotion kicks off inside followed by the unmistakable sound of Steve’s laugh. 

“Babysitting.”

Eddie pushes off his post to go find out if Steve is in trouble and leaves you to click away at your screen, watching him retreat into the deep thrum of the party inside. 

Eddie was intending on convincing Steve to leave but he’s been too busy watching you move around the house. Never too far from Lisa and keeping an eye on Brittany and Becca, the troublemakers. One of them has already tried to get at him and he cut her off, doesn’t even look down at her. “Absolutely not.” 

He watched you laugh from across the living room, dark red lips that match your dyed hair, cutting into a smile when you tapped Lisa’s shoulder to tell her. The short black dress you’ve got on clings tight and inches up your thigh when you lean to whisper in her ear. He follows the curve of your thigh up to your hip and over your chest, neckline low where your tits are pushed up and almost over. The thin gold chain hangs low and shimmers against your cleavage, skin glowing with a sheen of sweat in the humid house. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs at himself. His phone has been going off all night, Dani blowing up his notifications and he hasn’t cared. Doesn’t want to give you the time of day, knows you’re just gonna be another pain in his ass like Dani and Kim and Theresa and whoever the fuck else he has saved in his phone. 

Busy trying to scroll through all the ‘wyd?’ texts he doesn’t notice you sneak up beside him until you’re leaning on the same wall, candied almonds and rose rushing up with you. 

“Hey Nosferatu.” The ice in your drink clicks around the plastic cup. You smile at him like you’ve got a really good secret to tell him and he can’t help the little curl of his lip in your direction. 

“You done babysitting?”

“Eh, they’re somewhere around here.” You chase the straw in your drink, pink tongue poking out to pull it between your lips. “I was waiting for a good time to come bother you anyways.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! You’re all broody over here for most of the night. Steve fucked off and it looks like you don’t have any other friends to hang out with.” Another sip. “I can be your friend.” Sharp eyes under sharper eyeliner. He knows better. Should. 

“I have plenty of friends.”

“Aww.” You pout, leaning into him, body pushed fully up against his side. “Who doesn’t need more friends?” Your hand rests on his bicep but you walk your fingers down his arm till you hit his hands holding his phone. Pinching the corner of it you tug once and he relents. You grin up at him quick and open his contacts to ‘add new’. Before you hand it back he watches you scroll through the names. 

“Dani?” A gasp of mock disbelief. You lean closer to whisper, “she’s got a big ol’ boyfriend don’t you know?” He just raises his eyebrows at you. Before he puts his phone away he looks for your contact, ‘Red’ with fire emojis around it; flashes the screen at you. 

“Clever.”

“Mhm.” You suck up the rest of your drink and shake the ice around for a second. “I’ve been told I have a very clever mouth. Lotta me is clever.” He knows better. He does but he still keeps his eyes on yours. Still reaches out and takes your cup to set on the table. Still matches his grin to yours when you ask if he wants to smoke. “Let’s go be friends somewhere quieter.”

The basement is quiet except where the music bleeds through the ceiling. You’d thrown yourself on the worn couch and unbuckled your heels from your ankle. Eddie had watched in rapt fascination while pulling out his pre roll and fishing around for his lighter. 

“You gonna share?” A giggle that doesn’t belong to you, you’re not a giggling woman. 

“You’re really good at this.” Eddie says around the joint. Lights it and gets a deep pull while you sit and have the audacity to look confused. 

“Good at what?”

“Getting what you want.” 

“Oh yeah.” You laugh for real then, pretense dropped for a moment. Holding your hand out for him to pass the joint over, he just takes another drag. Another pout and you sit up ready to snatch it out of his hand when he closes the short distance between the two of you. Grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, leans down and blows the smoke over your painted lips. He can feel your face pulling into a smile under his fingers. Hears you breathe deep, watches your tongue poke out again to lick your lips and he spots the gold stud. 

“You’re dangerous.”

“I don’t have to be.” An arch of your manicured eyebrow and honestly, fuck it. He’s gotten this far and you haven’t gutted him yet with those claws. In fact he can feel them creeping up into his hair, pulling it back away from his face so you can move up and kiss him hard. He’s stuck kneeling over you, holding out the joint over the back of the couch and balancing himself on the other hand while you hold on to the back of his neck. It’s all tongue and teeth until you bite his bottom lip too hard and he rears back. “What the fuck?” 

“Sorry, just wanted a taste.” 

“Seriously?”

“Oh come on Eddie.” You surge up into his space making him rock back on his heel. “You look like the type that likes a little pain.” You’re mocking him a bit, but your hands are trailing down the front of him to hook your fingers in his belt. He’s finding it a little hard to care about you being a bitch right now. Staring him down while you slide the buckle open slowly, watching him take another hit that he blows in your face again. 

“Are we fucking or fighting I can’t tell.” His hand is up under your jaw quick. A tight hold that doesn’t quite hurt but he’s keeping you in place while he places the joint gingerly in the middle of your lips. 

“Please shut the fuck up.” A real smile from him when you don’t reply and just suck on the smoke. You get the button on his jeans undone, pull the fly down and he shifts, pulls your face with him when he leans back against the couch. Guides you around and you get what he’s doing when you climb off the couch and kneel between his spread knees on the cold concrete. Eddie let’s go of your face to pluck the joint away and the last puff trails out of your lips after it. He sees you ready to say something and cuts you off. 

“Don’t.” Turns his head away for a moment and you tuck your lips in to your teeth and grin to hold in a laugh. 

He slouches down further when you run your hands up over his thighs and pull down on his open jeans, nails running over the black ink peeking out between his rucked up shirt and the band of his boxers. The weed is starting to settle in, feels it in the droop of his eyelids. He watches you through his lashes while you run your hands over him, squeezing his cock through his jeans. A hiss around a mouthful of smoke and you pull at his boxers so you can get your hands on him. 

His cock springs free and hits his stomach and you’d almost say he’s pretty. Pale like the rest of him except the head, flushed dark pink like his lips. When you run the tip of a finger up the underside his head lolls back and you see his hand flex against his thigh. 

“I’ve heard about your work from Kim.” He lifts his head to stare down his nose at you. “My work.” He says flatly. 

You glance down at his dick. “I’m impressed so far.” 

He huffs a laugh and brings his hand up to your hair that you slap away quick. 

“Don’t fuck up my hair, it took me forever to get it all up.” You scowl at him and that and the slap sets him off. He doesn’t move for a second before reaching up and finding the hair tie in the mess of your bun and pulls it out. Flings it across the basement floor and buries his fingers in at the crown of your head to pull at your hair. There’s a fight in the back of your throat that’s taken over by a gasp. You reach your hand up, lick a long stripe up your palm before grabbing his cock and giving him a few lazy strokes. There’s a rumble in his chest and he pulls your head closer, can hear the wet of your mouth when you open to run your tongue over the flushed head. Your tongue is soft and when the bar catches on the underside ridge he bucks up into your hand. When he drops his head back again you finally wrap your lips around him fully, bobbing your head down to meet your fist. You know he isn’t going to give you the satisfaction of sound, but the flexing of his hand in your hair is enough to tell you everything. 

“Fuck…” he whispers to the ceiling when you roll your tongue around him, sucking hard and pumping your hand. The scratch of your acrylics distracts him with goosebumps, enough he doesn’t hear you pop off of him, letting a line of spit fall onto your fist, wet sound louder than the party upstairs. When you lean down and suck one of his balls in your mouth his leg jumps and he feels the vibration of your laughter in your closed mouth. His hand pulls harder at your hair and you moan, rolling your tongue around his sack and pumping your hand faster along his length. He almost crushes the joint in his hand, moves it to clutch it between his lips, muttering around it while you work him over. 

“If you wanted to suck my dick you just had to ask.” You hum around him before coming up for air, hand still stroking his cock. “Didn’t have to do that whole dance up there.” He lazily points up toward the living room. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Your mouth is wet, eyes watering slightly but none of your makeup has budged. He’s also impressed. Nudges you forward again and you open wide, sticking your tongue out to tap the fat head of his cock against it. Between the sound and the feeling of that little bearing hitting him the heat creeping up his abdomen moves faster. His hand tightens in your hair again and you speed up your hand, switching between running the pad of your thumb and the tip of your tongue over the sensitive spot just under the head. 

“Don’t fucking move.” He mutters. 

You settle down right up against his thighs, tits pushed up against the cushion under him, free arm thrown over his thigh hugging him close. You flutter your lashes at him and the last few strokes you squeeze him, running your tongue up the underside of his cock and the only warning you get is the impossibly tighter grip on your hair holding you in place. His eyes squeeze shut and he comes in long spurts, hitting the back of your throat, low groan breathed out from deep in his chest. You slow your hand down, pulling at him till he taps the back of your hand; wait until he opens his bleary eyes to close your mouth and run your thumb up along your chin where a dribble of his come leaked out. Eddie watches you suck on your thumb and make a show out of swallowing. You smile at him like a cat that got the canary. 

Danger Danger Danger

“Well,” you stand up slowly and pull your dress down a little, “that was fun.” Lean forward and take the roach out of his mouth and kill it, stubbing whatever is left of the ember out on the side table. You pull his own move on him and the let the last hit trickle out from between your puffy lips across his own bitten ones. 

“I really hope you text me Eddie.” 

He’s quiet for a beat, watching your eyes flick between his own. 

“Depends on when I’m free.”

“Who else is gonna suck your balls, huh?”

He laughs out loud, breaking the weird tension finally. 

“Well then what did Dani do to get a new purse?”

“Not that.” Eddie says while tucking himself back into his underwear and buttoning his jeans. You’re putting your shoes back on and his eyes linger on your ankle where you do up the small buckle there. The search for your hair tie is fruitless and he almost feels bad until you start to shake your hair out and he gets to watch you flip it around, tits bouncing with the movement. You run your fingers through it and lean down to get your phone from between the couch cushions, shooting him a wink before heading back up the stairs to the party. 

“I guess I’ll just have to try harder next time.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson smut #My work #my fic #yee fucking haw

[whetstonefires]

I think a part of the reason I feel so connected to JGY and XY is that I, too, think everyone is lying about what a good person they are. Sure, there may be a few genuinely good people, but those are in the minority and never claim the title.

I don't know about never; some people are pretty straightforward.

And in some ways the whole point of the concept of 'a good person' is that the feeling of losing the right to consider yourself one can impose instinctive recoil from doing wrong, in situations where you don't have the leisure of working your way through an ethics diagram and choosing the logically moral path before reacting to a situation. It has practical utility.

But that system can backfire pretty horribly too, in a lot of ways. It can be hijacked by definitions of 'good' that actually make you recoil from ethical acts because they're deviant. It can lead to disappearing up your own ass lmao.

And definitely the threshold for 'talking about how you're a good person' enough that it makes you suspect as either a) a liar or b) someone who values that self-image over objective reality and other people's wellbeing is. Not very high.

Jin Guangyao, ironically, is one of those people who's so performatively A Good Person in his public life that in retrospect it looks like a red flag. Which knowing this about himself in an ongoing fashion ofc just reinforces his own cynicism about everyone else lmao.

Even Lan Xichen, who I think he may see as a genuinely good person, he also sees as an easy mark who will reliably choose what is comfortable over what is 'right,' if you just structure the scenario to make that an easy choice that's easy for him to justify.

Xue Yang's bitterness is in many ways more exciting than Jin Guangyao's because he has a way more unusual relationship to reality, but it does share a lot of notes.

The role of deception in his psychology fascinates me because as far as I can tell he's as instinctively straightforward a person as Lan Wangji, albeit along quite different lines involving a total lack of impulse control, but has adopted 'deceit' as a weapon against the wicked world in the same way he has adopted 'murder.'

But when he feels someone is not merely lying but papering over bad behavior with principles they are not living up to he is livid.

People claiming to be better than him because they're 'good' when 'good' is a construct of privilege, is the underlying idea he's not equipped to articulate. Except he takes that and applies it to 'hitting me to interrupt my random murder of some guy who happened to be within arm's reach when I wanted to hurt someone.'

Which isn't like philosophically perfect, but the underlying problem he's actually reacting to is that he understands the social contract as a lie that has never protected him but seeks to control him, while protecting rich men it has no power to control.

Which it is fair to be mad about, but then his feeling is that since that's the nature of the world and all people, he is entitled to amass for himself the power to inflict hurt without consequences as much as he possibly can, and to use it against the vulnerable for fun, and no one is entitled to interfere.

Which brings him to a place where he is violently angry at anyone talking about trying to treat other people well as a value, because either they're a hypocrite and a liar or they threaten his entire system of rationalization for why he can be The Worst and still In The Right.

'Everyone is equally bad, actually' is like, an understandable take for anyone who's had cause to become embittered. Everyone is free to make whatever philosophical peace they can with the world and by and large there's no ethical weight to any such opinion, in itself.

But it's an ideological crutch people tend to wind up leaning on very heavily when they can't or don't want to take responsibility for their own behavior.

Which is an approach that Xue Yang, Jin Guangyao, and Su She all share, and which not only is shitty of them, it...traps them in a wheel of doubling down on their own worst impulses because rather than going 'that was bad and I shouldn't do it again' they've repeatedly invested all this energy into making what they did actually the correct thing, according to their interpretation of the context. Which means they're more likely to do it again.

(I think this is how Jin Guangyao became a serial killer, for example. He followed a doing-a-murder-impulse and then internally doubled down on how he had nothing to be ashamed of, so he was more likely to do it again, every time.

Wei Wuxian's strain of self-righteousness about his revenge was less...thorough than Jin Guangyao's, because he had the benefit of going after people on the opposite side of a war from him while Meng Yao's first known murder plot was against a shitty boss. But it probably didn't help him not try to solve army-shaped problems with mass murder, even after that stopped being allowed.)

If any of them had just like, zero moral sensibilities they would have created very different problems, and very possibly fewer of them. It's making a central goal of your operations 'self-vindication in your own internal narrative, created retroactively via reframing' rather than 'figuring out what I think I should do and trying to do that' that traps them in the self-reinforcing murder pissbaby vortex.

So if you look at it one way, these three villains are themselves perfect examples of how pursuit of the 'feeling of being good' (or at least 'not the bad guy') can make you worse.

Notably Wei Wuxian was also extremely sensitive to hypocrisy in his youth; it was the only part of Madam Yu's behavior he was ever shown objecting to. But he's sufficiently mellow and cynical from regret and burnout by the 'present' timespan after his resurrection to just get disgusted and alienated about it, rather than outraged.

He wasn't even all that mad at Xue Yang, though honestly that may be partly because he stopped entirely characterizing him as a person at some point during their interaction. Like, there's no point being angry at someone whose moral sensibilities operate exclusively on the plane of 'is this unfair to me' for manipulating and destroying people who were good to him, and then getting obsessed with his own self-pity about it. This is not a person who understands how not to be, metaphorically speaking, a cannibal.

And Wei Wuxian did know better and still got roughly the same result, so what business does he have getting angry?

Anyway yeah those two villains are both delightfully relatable if you sit down and put their perspectives together; they are clearly operating with the same basic suite of human needs and emotions as everybody else, without that being in itself particularly exculpatory, which is honestly refreshing. They've just got the most fantastically toxic interpersonal habits that knowing them counts as some level of Suffering A Curse.

Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang do both stand as scathing rebukes of the society that created them. But within the narrative, wherein they're people, the fact is that each of them had agency and one of the things they chose to do with it was develop rationales for why they were the most special little guy and everything was someone else's fault.

And their moral nihilisms, while also grounded in serious trauma, ping me as emotional masturbation of this variety.

#ask #hoc est meum #Anonymous #rambling about ethics and villains lol #this isn't an organized essay but it's the best i'm going to manage #wei wuxian #xue yang #jin guangyao #meta #mdzs #this is why wwx is not that invested in how the underlying machinations made his bad choices 'not his fault' btw #spending too much time chewing your own vomit narrows your view until you can only be selfish #jiang cheng is also somewhat trapped in the pissbaby vortex #but he did get deliberately stuck there by people who loved him (his mom and wwx mostly) #and he has much higher standards than the villains about who he takes it out on and how #and there is a non-zero chance he will claw his way out post-canon #which none of those three was ever going to do no matter how much time and paradigm shifting information you gave them #so i cut him more slack

[theragathas]

WELCOME TO THE RAGAVERSE!!

WE SPEND TOO MUCH TIME ON THIS BLOG, PLZ ASK OUR RAGATHAS ANYTHING (as long as it is not nsfw, question that is suggestive or sfw are fine)

Amanda (From Mafia x Coffee Shop AU)

One has to be cold and brash in a job like hers, however that doesn't mean they can't be nice as well! Amanda's the type to switch from calm and collected and harsh and deadly at the drop of a hate. Who says hopeless romantics can't make it look like an accidental?

Cleric!Ragatha (From Dungeons of Dragons AU)

As a follower of the god of justice Tyr, she knows the right path no matter what rules one has to break to give proper punishments for those who deserve it. But that doesn't mean she's the BEST at giving advice. Of course, when you're forced with necromancy powers, who would be?

Ragavamp (From Supernatural AU)

She is THE most unhinged out of all of the Ragathas. This half abstracted vampire like variation of the ragdoll has a very inconsistent personality. She goes from conscious, to rambling, to cryptic, to even acting similar to Kinger. Although she tries to be presentable, her need for blood as to stop abstracting isn't exactly the most likable thing

Sinful!Ragatha (From Sinful Circus AU)

One word to describe Sinful! is: Depressed wet dog. She's clumsy, accident prone, and easily harmed. She pretends that everything's fine but it's REALLY NOT FINE. It's actually really sad sometimes to see her just take the brunt of anything and everything that she endures, and there's a reason she has a satchel of needle and thread in a bag where ever she goes

Swap!Ragatha (From Swap AU)

Chubby and mean, Swap is basically the Jax in the room. She constantly plays pranks, bullies, and torments anyone around her. She uses her looks to control the AI jester of her world so she could get away with all of it too. Having a bit of a surperiority complex, there's nothing she won't do just for any sort of reaction- inlcuding things that end with her getting harmed

BlossomCloud (From Warriors Cat AU)

She was once a clan cat but now she live comfortably with her wife and her other friends in a human house, proud mother of six kits. She is one of the most friendly Ragatha, maybe a bit too much.

LC (From The Literal Circus AU)

An acrobatic and a trapeze artist in the circus, she is the Ragatha that worries a lot while pretending everything is fine. She is a great listener but she didn’t get paid enough for listening people’s trauma.

Red (From Red Riding Hood AU)

Quiet huntress, Red with her trusty shotgun roamed the nearby forest. She was never the type to socialize, hence why she lived alone with her wolf.

Gluttony (From Circus of Hell AU)

One of the seven deadly sin but was surprisingly a people pleaser. Her nice attitude didn’t quite match up with her status, neither does her looks.

Hades (From the Goddess AU)

Goddess of the underworld, despite being a god, she is quite close to morals. Hades is a calm and gentle goddess who loved her wife deeply.

Mafia (From Mafia x Pimp AU)

Mafia is a brutal and selfish person but she often mask it with sickly sweet words or tones as to not scare others away from her. She is the only one that haven’t get together with their AU’s Pomni.

Agatha (From Country City Girl AU)

Farmer girl in the country side, butcher in the small village, she was a bit dense when it comes to love. Trying to court Pamela with a wheel of cheese…

Ragamaster(From Ragatha Ringmaster AU)

The ringmaster of her AU, she is a con-artist scamming others online. Never trust her words unless it had details. Ragamaster is much of a carefree AI that likes to sit back and see the chaos unfold while taking notes. Also she said she is the only one without a Pomni?

AI!Ragatha [Cyber AU]

The only remaining AI of her line, AI Ragatha's entire existence is dangerous. Other AI Ragatha's had a habit of acting on their own an doing what they believe is best, which is why they were recalled and destroyed in the first place.

Apocalypse!Ragatha [Apocalypse AU]

In a world where literally any day you could die and join the undead, Apocalypse Ragatha is here to keep everyone's head on their shoulders. A fierce leader who protects her crew of survivors. Howver one day she went mad when her precious Pomni was bitten, now strike with madness and denial Apocalypse Ragatha will do anything to bring her Pomni back.

Giantess!Ragatha [Songbird AU]

A lone giantess on an island by herself. Giantess Ragatha has picked up quite the hobbies in order to keep herself busy, she just loves animals and talkin about her Pomni. (**Never ask her about her Pomni**)

Cyber AU, Songbird AU and Apocalypse AU belong @fenrirfoxxer

Warriors Cat AU, The Literal Circus AU, Red Riding Hood AU, The Circus of Hell, The Goddess AU, Mafia x Pimp AU Country City Girl AU and Ragatha Ringmaster AU belongs to @inkyprism

Mafia x Coffee Shop AU, Dungeon of Dragons AU, Supernatural AU, Sinful Circus AU and Swap AU belongs to @nobody-nexus

#tadc ragatha #ragaverse #Cyber AU #Songbird AU #Apocalypse AU #Warriors Cat AU #Country City Girl AU #Ragatha Ringmaster AU #Mafia x Pimp AU #The Goddess AU #Red Riding Hood AU #The Literal Circus AU #Circus of Hell AU #Mafia x Coffee Shop AU #Swap AU #sinful circus au #supernatural au #DnD AU #ask blog #ask anything

[tanadrin]

Given how fast things are getting worse, forget moral worries about air travel: is it acceptable for me to drive anywhere, including work? Is it morally acceptable for me to continue to live at all, and thus keep putting carbon into the environment?

I just listened to an old livestream by the Unlearning Economics guy about the carbon taxes vs renewable subsidy issue. He was more skeptical of carbon taxes than I expected, given that they're, like, the Standard Prescription among economists for climate change, being putatively politically neutral and in the right circumstances (i.e., in conjunction with rebates) not necessarily super regressive.

But they're politically toxic, and he pointed out, this isn't just because people don't want to do anything about climate change. It's because the costs them impose on most people, like on transport, are on the parts of their lifestyle that it's most difficult for them to change. You by yourself cannot change the structure of the housing market where you live; and if you live in a wasteland of Euclidean zoning, then short of upending your life and moving to a city designed on completely different lines (which in North America is likely to be a very high cost of living area) there's not a lot you can do about it. There are things on a longer time horizon that carbon taxes might incentivize, like more mass transit, that would help with this, but to voters the most transparent effect of a carbon tax is likely to be a big price spike at the fuel pump, and the cost of their electricity going up. That sucks ass!

In those circumstances, there are some taxes that make sense (like taxes on air travel, which emits a lot of carbon and which people use much less, and in a way much more weighted to their income [except among first-generation immigrants, so you might want to account for that also]), and you might consider smaller carbon taxes in conjunction with other policies, but it also makes sense to do a lot of direct investment in renewables, i.e., subsidies, which do seem to be pretty effective. And of course making it easier to build nuclear power wouldn't hurt either!

All of which is also to illustrate that individual choice is kind of a red herring, bc climate issues are a large-scale coordination problem. "If everyone would just--" is a useless line of thinking, especially when it gets turned around to "I'm a bad person if I don't--." Because when it comes to this kind of coordination problem, there are active incentives pushing people away from doing the thing that you think they "should," and no amount of haranguing others (or yourself) will make it any easier to, say, live a car-independent lifestyle in a region with poor mass transit that's designed around single-family homes.

Expecting people to live the lives of ascetics, actively suffering for a nebulous good whose results they cannot hope to perceive in their lifetime, is not just foolish but kinda mean-spirited. Much better to do what you can to help coordinate solutions--to vote for people who are reform-minded on climate issues; maybe to donate your time or skills if you have something specific to contribute--and not to beat yourself up over it.

I really think this framing of your personal carbon footprint as a kind of sin you have to expiate is deeply counterproductive. It's just scrupulosity updated for the modern day. Unless you are the CEO of British Petroleum, or you set forests fires for sport or something, you can relax about this a little bit.

#apparently the actual empirical evidence for carbon taxes is kind of thin #though this is in part bc they're so unpopular

[romanarose]

Hey, I love your HCs of the Triple Frontier boys <3 I was thinking about what are some of their hobbies/interests and what kind of music they like to listen to. What do you think?

excellant question nonnie!!! I have LOTS of hc's, thanks for asking!!!

Santiago Garcia

We know Santi loves Metallica

And the sountrack to TF has Fleetwood Mac and Bob Dylan

I think Santi just loves music! He flies a lot so he spends time listening to full albums.

He doesn't have a lot of free time

Despite everyones teasing, he's not here to fuck pretty women. He's here to work.

Still, despite onl a few personal items he does have his guitar. Plays it a lot.

It does help with women

When he was a kid he thought he'd become a singer, he loves Vicente Ferdanez and Juan Gabriel

Alas, for a poor immigrant family Santi couldn't abandon them to persu wishy-washy dreams, he needed to work. Hence the military.

Still, it makes him happy when he sit and play guitar, watching people smile.

He learns songs from all his friends and families favorite bands.

William Miller

Will hates modern country.

Growing up in the yee haw south I think he hates what it's become

Was not upset when Tobey Keith died at all, think he ruined the genre in the post-9/11 nationalism

He enjoys thegrassroots rock movement (springsteen, melloncamp, petty) and the blues.

Him and Santiago both love Fleetwood Mac. It combines Santi's love of rock and Will's love of the blues.

Enjoys jazz but also classical music. He has more interest in the instruments than the lyrics of music anyway.

Him and Frankie both love love love Johnny Cash (who doesn't?)

Will loves suduko

He loves things that calm his mind.

Will likes sports, it was how him and Ben spent a lot of time on the farm.

To this day he likes going out to play ball with Ben. It helps Benny with his ADHD.

Benjamin Miller

Benny does not find tossing a ball around or playing basketball helps his ADHD at all

What he does find is that is helps Will's obbsessive obsessive worrying about him.

So, in that sense, Ben likes it because 1. it's fun and 2. it's a rare chance where he can help Will. Will doesn't let people help him much

Benny looooooves trash TV

The Bachelor, Love after Lockup, Love is Blind

He likes shows he doesn'thave to pay a whole lot of attentionto.

Not that Benny isn't smart bc I haaaaate when people act like he isn't.

But with his ADHD (which I hc he has) he tends to have a lot of things going at once. He's not going to be able to sit down and fully commit to something like The Handmaid's Tale.

Will go head to head on country music with Will and Frankie

he likes the bro country like Florida Goergia Line, Jason Aldean

No one ever accussed him of great taste, okay?

He's here for a good time, not a long time.

He doesn't like the racist or anti-lgbt artists and won't give them his money for concerts

But you can't fauly him for getting don to Red Solo Cup

Also loves classic hair metal (wore an AC/DC shirt most of the movie)

Francisco Morales

Frankie loves country music and grunge

His favorite Benny singing tho

Favorite is anything Chris Cornell and I'll stand by that!!!

Soundgarden, Audioslave, Temple of the Dog, his solo work

Frankie is a busy man, but I like to think he likes lego's

He's an enginier, so you know he's a smart man. I bet he loves making lego sets come together

Frankie has very strong opinions on children's television.

Bubble Guppies > Paw Patrol

Hates Paw Patrol but his daughter likes Skye becuase she's a hellicopter/pilot dog so he allows it.

Loves being out in nature. He's trying ot instill a love of the outdoors in his daughter, but also loves pending time with the guy, or even by himself

When he's overwhelmed, Frankie likes to go for a walks in the woods.

Will fuck up a farmers market all DAY

Oddly enjoys mowing the lawn

My man is Hank Hill

"Why would anyone do drugs hen they could just mow their lawn."

Now that he's sober, he finds lawncare is a great way to distract himself while still being a present father. He can do that while his daughter plays.

******************

thank you so much for the ask!!!! i love chatting about my boys <3

#frankie morales #francisco morales #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #will miller #william miller #ben miller #benjamin miller #francisco catfish morales #oscar isaac #garrett hedlund #charlie hunnam #pedro pascal

[nanomooselet]

Episode Ten: Humanity

Toot toot! Emotional pain train leaving the station. No stops between here and the season finale.

I left off Meryl's kidnapping last ep because it feels more appropriate to discuss it here, because here's where we learn it wasn't actually part of the plan. Knives didn't order Zazie to abduct Meryl so she could be used as bait for Vash - Vash was already on his way. He's fully committed to confronting Knives over the Plants even though he'd really rather not. I don't blame him. I, too, would rather be anywhere but on the same planet as his brother, and I'm not the one who lost a limb to the fucker.

(...Sorry, Vash. I'm glad somebody loves him, but your brother is an asshole.)

Zazie is not loyal to Knives. Perhaps, confident in his superiority, Knives assumed that he could rely on a non-human collective entity, but Zazie isn't here to work for him. Zazie's just here for a good time! And incidentally to decide who to entrust with the fate of the world in whatever struggle ensues. Having already gone on at length about Zazie, I'll go with another thought: why did the weird bug do this, and why Meryl?

My initial, biased reaction would be not to trust Knives as far as I could throw the combined mass of the entire universe - regardless of what points he makes or doesn't make, he's not open to compromise with anyone. With Knives, you do it his way, you're forced to submit to his way, or it's a million knives for you. But I'm not Zazie.

Knives would probably be pretty appealing to open an alliance with purely on the strength that unlike humans, he doesn't eat - so he's not out there hunting and eating Worms. And if what he said about Earth is the truth, there's every chance we won't learn, using up No Man's Land as well. I won't defend us as a species on those grounds: yes, we're prone to forming power structures where a few on top benefit by hollowing out the rest. With our short lives experience is lost upon death, so it takes us time to learn or change.

Nevertheless there's one line Zazie has that ended any inclination I had towards thinking Knives is just morally outraged about the use of Plants in general: Meryl asks if the collection of red Plants is going to be used in a Last Run, and Zazie says something like, "It's better than letting them go to waste." If there's some way to read that which isn't "Knives will initiate the Last Run as long as the resultant energy surge benefits him and not humans," I can't find it. So my feeling is that Zazie is starting to detect the contradictions and logical errors in Knives's arguments, and noticing that despite his noble declarations he's not really interested in defending the rest of the universe. Knives really only cares about one thing.

So, says Zazie to Meryl, what do you think? Is Knives right? Will you chew up all the Plants, and our planet, and find another world to consume? Would we better off if you all came to an end right here?

So why Meryl? Why not one of the others? It can't be Vash; apart from the fact that he's not human, there's another reason (more on that for the finale). Wolfwood is too enmeshed in the Eye of Michael's bullshit to be trusted as an unbiased source and doesn't really like Zazie either. Same's true for any of the other individuals working for Knives. Roberto might work, but he's got a pretty rigid mindset - demonstrated by the fact that he fires on Zazie, taking them to be hostile. The people of Home are too secluded. Anyone else isn't in the position of having recently witnessed the contrast between life in the cities and on the edges of what passes for civilisation

Meryl, however, also has one thing arguably no other character on this show but Knives has.

Agency.

(With a couple of exceptions. Again, for the finale.)

Sounds odd, doesn't it? She's so tiny. She's not armed. No superpowers. Half the time she has to be hauled out of danger before she gets her dumb ass killed. She's ignorant of the world, naïve, even a little bit of a priss. All in all pretty silly. But she still has agency, because agency isn't just the capacity to commit violence or to be taken seriously; it's the ability to take action. It's the power to choose your course. Meryl was initially just pursuing the story for Bernadelli News, but every single one of the choices she made took her further away from that course. She was the one who chose to let Vash down when he was hanging in the desert, then because she was thirsty he led her to the diner. She misdirected the July police while she was at it, then lassoed Vash herself - laying a claim. At the diner she noticed the water was cloudy, so Rosa asked Vash to fix the water Plant. Then her outrage at (but fear of) the July police spurred Roberto into convincing them to duel. It was Meryl who wanted so badly to help Vash that Rosa gave her the bullet. Meryl came up with the plan to take down E.G. It was Meryl who tried and failed to help Tonis as Jeneora Rock fell. It's Meryl who drives the car, Meryl who damn near flattens Wolfwood, Meryl who nearly runs into the Worm that Monev killed and drew them to Rollo's village. Roberto keeps trying to convince her to just leave, to be safe, but over and over and over, Meryl is the one who demands that they stay.

And having observed them from the very start, Zazie has taken notice. And Zazie is intrigued. So Meryl's the one who gets to know the truth.

Unfortunately that means also learning truths you'd rather not learn, such as what this piece of shit's been up to.

I don't have much to say about Dr. Conrad, except that while I'm actually a little sceptical over whether he participated in [redacted], if your plan has, as step one, "Abduct poor and disabled children because otherwise they'll live purposeless lives," find a better plan.

And here's the other thing about having agency.

It means the consequences are yours to bear.

What's great about Roberto, though, is that despite being blatantly doomed to die from the moment he stepped into the show, he still had a character arc. He went from grumbling over Meryl's principles to making his own moral stand (which I just typed as Meryl stand, appropriately enough) by cutting right through Conrad's delusions and telling him exactly what he really is. At the heart of this evil, Roberto de Niro had no interest in excuses or garbage about the big picture. Conrad kidnapped and tortured children. He doesn't get to claim the moral high ground.

And with that, Roberto bows out with astonishing grace: absolving Meryl for his death, telling her this wasn't her fault and joking to the last. And along with her signature derringer, as Wolfwood guides Vash to the point of no return (still trying to justify himself, but also to push Vash to make the choice Wolfwood knows Vash would never make with his brother) Roberto gives Meryl one final gift. She still has a choice. She can run, if she wants. But she won't.

Also, Knives is still a fucking drama queen, if we needed the reminder.

#trigun stampede #trigun meta #tristampparty #i can't believe it all gets more painful from here #tw blood #meta: tristampparty episodes #hopefully this is sufficiently lesbian about meryl stryfe #but i can be more lesbian about her #if anyone needs me to

[sixth-light]

Following up on the "good Seanchan/bad Seanchan" idea for the show, I think there would still have to be conflict about slavery generally and damane specifically with any 'good' Seanchan, and it could go something along the lines of: "we see we made a mistake and we're willing to let the [Randland] channelers we've captured go as a gesture of goodwill, but we still can't just unleash all *our* damane right now, some of them are hundreds of years old and they've never been free and who knows what would happen; and besides we need to fight the Last Battle the way we know how".

Which would be a valid concern in some regards that nevertheless would not erase the key moral point, to which, it is fucking abhorrent to enslave people and the right thing needs to be done anyway. An argument like this would give show!Tuon and Rand(/Mat) a genuine conflict pre-the Last Battle where Tuon isn't just advocating for the Actual Worst Thing/ignoring the new information she's learned, it would make any version of Alivia a really interesting character with stuff to do beyond...whatever it was she did in the books, it would give Red Ajah sisters a chance to make the case for their Ajah (in their show version of 'magic cops'), and it would cut to the heart of the philosophical questions the books ask about free will and what it actually means to fight evil.

And it gets even more interesting if at some point Perrin has made his book!deal-with-the-devil and there are more than a few Shaido Wise Ones/Black Ajah/etc currently held as damane who will absolutely want to be free...but also can't be relied on once they are free. RJ used becoming damane as a get-out-of-jail-free card for sidelining but not killing practically all his female channeler villains. The show can interrogate that narrative and I think it should.

#wheel of time #wot tv show #wot book spoilers #seanchan #meta

[headcanonsandmore]

Sergeant Benton with every Doctor (1-13)

1- I get the sense that One's initial dislike of being questioned would soften a little when dealing with Benton's sweet earnestness. Especially if Benton risks his own life to save Susan (because of course he would).

2- On the rare occasions where Two interacted with Benton, they seem to get along perfectly fine. I think that if Benton was around full time, he'd definitely develop a strong friendship with him. And, of course, Benton and Jamie would get along super well.

3- As we all know, Three was the closest to Benton out of the incarnations who met him, but I think Benton being a fully-fledged traveling companion would put an interesting spin on things. I think Benton would have a great time, although he would probably get tons of marriage proposals from the inhabitants of planets they'd travel to (I mean, he is super lovely, after all). And I'm sure Jo Grant would appreciate having her himbo bestie around.

4- Four liked Benton the most out of the UNIT soldiers he interacted with, so no surprises that he'd appreciate having Benton as a traveling companion a lot. I imagine Sarah-Jane would also appreciate a sweet himbo to bounce ideas off (especially since Benton is basically the opposite of Harry Sullivan in every way).

5- Five would get along so well with Benton, it's unreal. Benton is such a calming influence that Five would have him around just to chat over tea with. I also think the most personable of the classic Doctors would appreciate Benton's down-to-earth nature and sense of cheery humour. Also, Benton is the only UNIT man that Tegan and Nyssa would actually like, and we all know those two need at least one himbo third wheel with them at any given moment (Benton tries to sneak date money into Tegan's purse so she can take Nyssa to a cinema, Tegan gets flustered and turns bright red, Nyssa is confused but pleased nonetheless).

6- Benton would not only be able to restrain Six during his initial regeneration mood swings, but he'd also help Peri acclimatise to the situation. Mel would probably remind him a bit of Jo Grant, and he'd naturally fit into being her best friend.

7- Listen, I don't want to split up the duo of Seven and Ace, but -if I had to- Benton would slot in well. He'd be able to see through Seven's manipulations as well as acting like a sweet big brother to Ace. He'd probably get a little worried about all the pyrotechnics, though.

8- Eight would either have a slight crush on Benton, or try manipulating him into a scheme of dubious morality. Either way, Benton would have a hard time dealing with this eldritch figure. He'd probably get along well with Eight's rotating line-up of queer companions, though.

9- God-tier duo. Can you imagine human golden retriever Benton being around Nine? Nine; the incarnation with a boat-load of trauma and guilt who just wants to save people? Well, Benton's making him take a day off at the beach with some ice cream, plus some healthy discussion of emotions and wellbeing. He'd save that time lord's life just by being his friend, and it would be fantastic.

10- To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if Benton got exasperated with Ten at times, especially with how he treated Martha. Also, that whole "Time Lord Victorious" thing? Couldn't happen with Benton there. Doc, I dunno about the nature of time, but you're supposed to help people, not decide who's important and who isn't *upset puppy dog eyes intensify* *Ten immediately reverts back to normal*. Oh, but can you imagine Benton around Donna? That would be amazing.

11- I feel like Benton would probably calm down Eleven's energy a bit, and would also be a nice calming influence on all the TARDIS crew. He'd also probably be a little confused by River Song, just in general. Also, he'd tell tons of embarrassing stories from when he used to babysit Kate Steward.

12- Listen, we know that Twelve has a... difficult situation with U.N.I.T but I think he'd value Benton's presence despite that. I also think Bill especially would like Benton's sweet nature. And -hey- Benton would also be immune to Missy's shenanigans so conflicts would be resolved a good deal easier. Although Benton would definitely be a little alarmed by Clara, and try to help her and Twelve ease their co-dependency.

13- Given the amount of himbos in Thirteen's TARDIS teams, I think Benton would probably fit in quite well. He'd definitely bring an 'older cousin' vibe to a friendship with Yaz, and I imagine he'd also be there for Yaz when Thirteen is being a self-sabotaging jerk. He would also probably have a double-act with Dan. The lovely din-dins man meets the Dan with a plan and a pan. 🤣😂

#sergeant benton #sergeant benton with every doctor #doctor who #all the doctors #first doctor #second doctor #third doctor #fourth doctor #fifth doctor #sixth doctor #seventh doctor #eighth doctor #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thirteenth doctor #tegan/nyssa #nyssa/tegan #yasmin khan #yaz #jo grant

[devotioncrater]

no because like. there is SOOOOO much going on in azi's head like. the conditioning & the repression & the abuse yes yes but ALSO the GRIEF and the GUILT and the DENIAL over WHO crowley is and has always been!!!!

people have written wonderful metas on it already. nothing im currently saying is anything new. it just. fucking hits though. because because

here is someone you love, right? Love At First Sight, even. and he called out to you first — doesn't matter that you were the only one flying nearby, does it? no, he still called you over — so you go over to help him rev up his nebula engine or something. you're not quite sure what it is you're helping out with. or who you're helping out. just that this red-haired angel with his eyes lit up in glee is about to bring something into creation. you ask him questions about it, you find that his excitement's contagious. when the light bursts, he looks giddy and free and when he says to the stars, "look at you, you're gorgeous" for a half-second you want to believe he's saying that to you. he's not, but it's Love At First Sight all the same. even though you don't know what love is. not really. that's for God to know. love, like God's plan, is ineffable.

oh but you ruin his excitement before it can breathe. you put your foot in your mouth and you don't even know how it's happened. angels are supposed to go along with what God has planned. if God says Earth is to only be there for 6,000 years then...who are the angels to judge? yet this angel gets upset over it. "the engine won't even be warmed up by then" he says. and then he goes off on a dangerous line of questioning God and he's not the same smiling angel you just met two minutes ago. the one who hung the stars in the sky. the one you briefly thought had called you gorgeous.

any attempts to comfort him in that moment are flung out the wazoo. any attempts to caution him are met with deaf ears. he says something about a suggestion box, you say God hasn't created one yet, he says if he were in charge he'd want to be asked questions.

it's that mindset that causes him to Fall from heaven. he's a demon now. he isn't the smiling angel who hung the stars and called you over. not the one who used his wing to shield you from the star-fall.

when you meet him again in Eden, he's got red-hair, yes, but his eyes are now yellow. Fallen. yet he comes over to you. he's asking you questions. you remember him. he doesn't remember you. so when you use your wing to shield him from the rainfall, you think of it as something he'd do for you if he was still an angel. because he did do it for you once.

here is someone you love, right? he's chaotic, hates his job, sarcastic, angry, a demon. he's not who you remember Falling In Love At First Sight with. he hasn't smiled like that since the stars were born. a moment that you, you know, you ruined for him by mentioning God's plan. you helped him Fall, you set that in motion. it's not a pleasant thought at all.

he has to be acting a persona, you think, it has to be all pretend. because when you begin to covertly work with him on preserving humankind and Earth from the Apocalypse, you see glimmers of the kind, nice, angel underneath. although he hates whenever you bring up his soft underbelly. to the point where he fiercely reminds you that he isn't that anymore. he hasn't been that for a very long time.

he's morally grey, but he's good. you know he's good. just like he knows you're a bit of a bastard. it's not so lonely anymore.

then you get stuck in a cell during the french revolution, and when he rescues you, well. maybe you find out throughout the oncoming years that he likes rescuing you. it makes him happy. (you are missing the fact that it is you who makes him happy).

especially in 1941. he goes on consecrated ground to save you. he'd do anything for you including shooting a gun at your head without the aid of miracles. it clicks that you love him, consciously. that love isn't just for God to know. you know it too. there's a good chance that for ages he also kn — that he —

he's a demon. he's a hereditary enemy. he goes too fast for you. there isn't a world where the two of you can run off together, back to the stars, back to the place where he was happiest. that isn't in God's plan. you're an angel, he's a demon. someone is always watching and someone will get punished. it's safest on Earth. that is the only way you can remain together. in this beloved bookshop, with his beloved bentley, on neutral ground. alpha centauri isn't feasible.

he doesn't get it, doesn't understand. you've once again put your foot in your mouth and you don't know how.

so the Apocalypse comes, the Apocalypse doesn't happen. in the aftermath, you both carve out a fragile, quiet life in SoHo with each other. for the most part, heaven and hell leave the two of you alone. they're no longer really watching, so you both stop pretending to be on opposite sides.

it goes well until it doesn't. an archangel shows up naked at your front door and suddenly everything goes sideways. you don't know how to break the news to your demon that this archangel from heaven — who he loathes — is in the bookshop. when he finds out oh, oh he's livid and he's betrayed but he lov — cares about you too much to not help you. he risks his life again. for you. even though he's miserable and stressed out.

heaven and hell are on the hunt, and eventually everything hits the fan. the war bell is accidentally rung, then cleared up. the archangel and the duke of hell run off together, in love. and then the voice for God appears holding a sweet coffee and asks you for a chat. you tell him you've made your position clear. he says you should hear it anyway. and this is the voice of God, so you go alone to hear him out.

he doesn't say anything tempting. you tell him no, you'd rather stay on Earth. but he insists you're the perfect candidate for the archangel job. you, an archangel. a chance at power to make heaven reformed. you and your demon both.

and perhaps that's the ultimate apologetic gesture you can give your demon. it has to be, isn't it? he was outwardly the happiest as an angel. 6,000 years later and he hasn't smiled like that since. maybe this is your chance to make it right. maybe this is your chance to rescue him.

the reaction your demon gives you isn't the one you imagined. he doesn't want heaven. he doesn't want hell. "they're toxic," he says. he just wants an Us. for you to run away with him. to leave heaven behind. if an archangel and a duke of hell can do it, so can the both of you.

he's spilling his heart out in this bookshop and you can't understand why he doesn't see things the way you do. you're trying to help him, to get back to the way things were. back to when he was the giddy angel who hung the stars in the sky. Love At First Sight. that angel is still there, buried underneath his demon position, you're sure of it. you've seen glimmers. you know it's in there.

when he kisses you, you want to follow. you don't feel like you can. it's not how you imagined. the kiss is desperate. a long time coming. it's star-fall and rainfall and it hurts. he's trying to rescue you. but that's not how any of this was supposed to go. you're close to tears. you don't know what to say afterward other than "i forgive you."

and you've gone and put your foot in your mouth once again. you know it as soon as the words ring through the air. when he says "don't bother", leaves, and you press your fingers to where his lips were, maybe you begin to think you shouldn't have.

maybe you've misjudged it — him — for 6,000 years. maybe this entire time he was who he'd always been. always said he was. in heaven, in hell, on Earth. morally grey, but good. yet how can that be when heaven is representative of everything good? wouldn't he be happier among the stars he's created?

(you are missing the fact that he is happiest when he's with you and the life you both have created together).

#people have been saying this im just reiterating bc i have feelings. they make me unwell #good omens #ineffable husbands

[play-now-my-lord]

relatedness is socially determined. Degrees of kinship are socially determined. If I asked the average person "who are you more closely related to, your sibling or your parents", from a purely genetic point of view the expected answer would be incorrect - we see ourselves as "more related" to our parents but are actually (or, well, taking genetics as "actual" rather than social intuition!) more related to our siblings.

English lacks several relational terms that are commonplace in other languages, and lacks whole concepts that elsewhere dominate exogamy/endogamy (which is where the rubber really hits the road on 'degrees of relatedness', because if you look back far enough most people are vaguely related to each other, and to cattle and bacteria for that matter; it's necessary to draw a line somewhere). the concept of "parallel" and "cross cousins" - that there are cousins you are more or less related to, usually those related to the parent of the same sex or opposite sex (respectively) as you - is extremely difficult to explain to anglophones intuitively.

that being said, as they say, stoplights too are a social construct; ignore them and you might get killed. relatedness is deeply-felt and significant, despite varying intensely from culture to culture.

circling back and changing topics a bit, in many cultures it is simply accepted that humans and animals are distantly related; this is a bit of scientific trivia in our culture, but it's also demonstrably true, and a lot of our intuitions about what animals feel or experience fly in the face of plain empirical logic. ("fish don't feel pain or have memories", etc.) the "truth" in our society is that we have no moral obligation to animals, and preventing animal cruelty with violence towards a person is only accepted in extreme cases and rarely considered acceptable unless the animal in question is a domestic animal. physically slapping a teakettle out of a teenager's hands to keep him from trying to boil an ant colony to death for fun would seem like disproportionate escalation to us! a person mutilating a captured squirrel would seem like a red flag mainly because we associate that kind of behavior with violence against humans! there's a whole 90s comedy franchise about a guy trying to torture and kill a rodent! that's kinda weird, isn't it?

#frog thoughts