#but then sometimes people TEST me and it's like

[summertimesadnessirl]

Yes. You can also demotivate hustlers to chase carrots if the carrots look like carrots but actually are not possible to get. Also, a lot of craftsmen are RIGHT, particularly at low levels of organizations with a lot of middle levels, about bad policies or procedures causing long term issues that are going to shoot you in the foot later, and the most demoralizing thing for them is a consistent pattern of watching those things destroy other things in real time and not get dealt with or changed.

Looking at the world from a manager's perspective, you can productively model the pool of workers as being divided into a few basic groups, which are defined and characterized by their driving motivations.

Insert all the usual disclaimers for this sort of thing - this is the roughest type of rough typology. I pulled these categories out of my raw intuition, and possibly a few more would crop up with some additional thought. In reality, the boundaries of these categories are incredibly fuzzy, and almost every individual is actually going to be motivated by a complicated mix of all the relevant motivations; we're talking REALLY SIMPLE HEURISTICS here. Etc.

There have been other well-known worker typologies that share a lot in common with my thoughts here; this is mostly not novel, it's mostly meant to refine a few ideas for particular purposes.

Hustlers are motivated by concrete personal advantage. Most commonly, and most straightforwardly, they want money - as much of it as they can get. They may also be interested in fame, idiosyncratic perks, etc. They do whatever they have to do in order to get what they want.

No surprise: you see huge preponderances of these guys in fields that provide outsize concrete rewards, e.g. finance, the upper echelons of management, etc. But not every natural-born Hustler is in a position to enter a glitzy high-paying field, and in fact you find Hustlers all throughout society and all throughout the economy, finding or making hustles wherever they go.

Having Hustlers working for you is mostly pretty great. They get shit done. They can be induced to work incredibly hard - probably harder than anyone else, under most circumstances - and they'll shank their own mothers if the price is right. If you need anything really important from them, anything at all, it's just a matter of bribing them enough.

...they will also, of course, cheerfully shank you if the price is right. Hustlers aren't the only wellsprings of institutional politics and infighting, but they're the most dangerous ones; they're always potential rivals to everyone around them. Also, you need to keep the tangible rewards flowing in a steady stream in order to get anything out of them, or else they'll put most of their effort into jumping ship (one way or another).

Craftsmen are motivated by the desire to do good work in their chosen fields, for its own sake and for the sake of their treasured self-image as people who do good work.

As you'd expect, for the most part, they're excellent workers and should be prized. But they're not perfect workers. Common weaknesses and downsides include:

They tend to have their own ideas about How Things Should Get Done; they're often resistant to externally-imposed product/service requirements or process changes (and bad at implementing those things) (no matter how important or well-conceived they are), and they're very resistant to "just get it out the door, right now done is better than good."

Being driven chiefly by internal motivation is great, but sometimes it's useful to be able to push things along with external motivators, and Craftsmen are pretty resistant to those. They don't like working more or harder than they're naturally inclined to work, they mostly sneer at carrots, and sticks make them sad and unproductive.

It's important to note that, while noteworthy skill within a field correlates with having a Craftsman temperament and motivation suite - for obvious reasons - those things are not identical at all. Plenty of Craftsmen are bad at their jobs, or just average, and plenty of the best workers are most motivated by things other than the Excellence of the Work Itself.

Fanatics are a relatively rare and specialized group, whom you find mostly within a few specific sorts of culturally-valorized fields. They're motivated by a desire to be part of something Important and Good in a Broader Sense: to Save the World, or some smaller-bore version of that.

They make amazing front-line soldiers, in the sorts of institutions that have "front-line soldiers." They work super hard, and you don't even need to bribe them, you just need to keep them hopped up on inspiration.

The big problem with them is that they're mostly motivated by a feeling - the feeling of Being Righteous - and it's not easy to control where they get that feeling, in any kind of precise way. They're just as resistant to external motivators as Craftsmen are, or even more so, but they're also not being guided by an ideal of effective quality. (No, not even if their chosen cause is theoretically all about an ideal of effective quality, hem hem.) They will happily waste vast amounts of time and money doing useless things, or even counterproductive things, so long as they're engaged in tasks that hit the right psychological buttons for them. There's also a constant risk that a Fanatic will decide that his employer is unrighteous, or that one of his coworkers is unrighteous, and start an internal conflict; the risk scales in a more-than-linear fashion with the number of Fanatics you keep around.

The biggest group, unsurprisingly, is the Normies. In most fields, it is much the biggest group. Normies are motivated by the desire to be members in good standing of their communities, to have positive relationships with the people around them, and to live up to basic norms and expectations.

Managerial skills, in the traditional sense, are incredibly important with Normies. If you want them to do good work for you - and you should want that, as a manager, you've almost certainly got a whole bunch of them - not only do you have to keep them pointed in the right direction, you have to make sure that they're supporting each other. With Hustlers, you just have to throw money at them (and avoid their power plays); with Craftsmen, you just have to let them do their thing, and occasionally badger them into giving you what you need; with Fanatics, you just have to be inspirational; but with Normies, you have to lead, and construct a productive community. You have to set reasonable, achievable norms and expectations that will get you what you need.

This wouldn't be complete if I didn't talk about the Defectors. The Defectors are motivated by not working. They don't want to be there, they resent having to do their jobs, and their primary goal is to shirk as much as possible. They will, by default, put much more effort into shirking than into their assigned tasks.

Obviously, managers don't want to have to deal with them, for good reason. But they're out there, in large numbers - not always in the places and fields where you'd expect to find them - and learning to manage them is sometimes more viable than trying to get rid of them. ("Moving Heaven and Earth to find them jobs that will change their attitude" is often a good plan, although of course it's not always possible and not always worth it.)

Crucially, Defectors are not Normies. If you start with the assumption that the average baseline worker is lazy and sour, you will make some incredibly stupid decisions. There are some fields where, for structural reasons, you can expect that a very large number of your workers will be Defectors; this is a huge and complicated challenge, well beyond the scope of this post, and good luck to you if you have to handle it, but it's not the default.

----------------------

Once you have those categories in your head, and can play with them, a number of obvious-seeming ideas present themselves. Just a couple, for now:

Most high-level executives are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies, for obvious reasons. Most of the people around them are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies. This means that they tend to overweight the Hustler outlook, by a lot, when they try to model what their workers are like. More specifically, I'd wager that a lot of them intuitively divide the world into "good workers" ( = Hustlers) and "bad workers" ( = Defectors). This will lead to a heavy overreliance on tangible rewards, a systematic shortchanging of community-building, etc. Which is in fact just what we see.

In particular - crucially - Hustlers and Defectors are the only worker types who ever become more productive under heavy stress. Hustlers actually benefit from it, because it raises the stakes of the game that they're already playing. (If you succeed, you'll be king of the world! If you fail, you'll be shark food! Go go go!) Defectors suffer terribly from stress, of course, but they can sometimes be spooked into doing their jobs as opposed to doing nothing, and sometimes that's the best/easiest way to get something out of them. But stress is terrible for everyone else. Craftsmen lose their focus. Fanatics lose their hope. It's worst of all for Normies, because they take all their cues from the vibes around them; they're productive when they learn to associate work with comfort and happiness, and when you fill their working world with frantic desperation, you just put them in a permanent cringe state.

stop trying to pit your Normies against each other in competitions for status and rewards dear God what are you stupid

To some extent, you can control your institution by controlling what types of workers you have. But only to some extent. There are only so many Hustlers and Craftsmen to go around, and if you want them, you will have to (a) be able to identify them reliably on little information [HINT: you are probably very bad at this], and (b) provide them with what they want [tangible rewards / comfortable security and interesting work]. "We are going to employ only the good special people" is feasible if you're an outfit of four workers; at a dozen, it's already become a stretch; at a few hundred, uh, pfffffffft. If you want to operate at scale, you need to be able to make Normies do good work, there is no substitute for it.

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 3

-.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / -.— —- ..- -. —. / .- … / - . -.

Part 1 found here.

CW: A/B/O sexism I guess is what we should call this? Trauma reactions to doctors, awful in world politics.

Keeping his eyes on you Kyle’s concern rises with each shallow breath you suck between your teeth.

The nurse had been watching and held the door open as he directed Kyle to the first room on the right. Settling your body flat on the table he steps back, trying to give the nurse room to move. With two chairs, a small counter and a sink, and a ‘calming’ green on the walls the room looks exactly like he expects it to.

“How long ago was the exposure?” The nurse is taking your vitals and you stiffen as if your body hit rigor. “Ma’am if you don’t relax this is going to take longer.”

“Less than thirty minutes,” Kyle answers coolly.

The whine, primal and terrified, that comes from your throat as the blood pressure cuff is tightening has Kyle moving to where your head lays. Running the back of his knuckles down your cheeks he whispers to you. The scent of your fear, clear and uncontaminated with whatever afflicted you normally, flooded the room.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. You’re not alone. Everything will be okay.”

The nurse, an alpha by scent, makes a noise that pulls Kyle to look at him. The nurse, Johnson by the glance to his name tag, keeps his eyes on the monitor taking your blood pressure and pulse. Kyle focuses back on you. Your body regains mobility as the cuff is removed, eyes rolling like a horse looking for a place to run.

“Her vitals are all looking normal, the doctor will be in shortly,” Johnson shuts the door behind him. He must not be far enough away from the door when he starts talking to someone else. “Beta bitch in room one has track marks up both arms. I knew betas died from drugs more than any other gender but it’s wild to see that out here.”

Kyle would have stormed out the door to rip into the man if your hands hadn’t slapped into his, holding them tight. Pulling yourself upright from the reclined position you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin atop them. Letting go of his hands you curl them around your legs.

Sitting on a chair positioned next to the bed Kyle looks up at you, trying to catch your eyes.

“Even when he could see the streaks of color through your irises no recognition lit your features. Concerned, Kyle stays sitting on the bed with you watching each breath and twitch. Nothing changes until the door opens with a faint knock.

“My name is Doctor Chen. Can you tell me what happened today?”

Like an automaton, you uncurl from your crunched position. Legs folded you straighten your back and rest your forearms on your knees palms aimed at the ceiling. Kyle had seen poses similar in meditation videos he would watch sometimes to give his mind a moment to relax. There is no peace in your pose. The width of your open eyes and the shallowness of your breath all remind him of victims he has saved from torture.

Memories that left their marks on his bones should not be reflected in your posture, he faced evil abroad and in the mirror to keep people like you safe.

He glanced at the man, dark hair, light blue scrubs, thick-rimmed glasses, and a white overcoat Kyle mostly associated with lab work. A quick draw of breath and Kyle marked him as an alpha. Dr. Chen did not look at you once, eyes staying firmly on him.

“We had an exposure to an allergen.”

Dr. Chen nodded once and sat on the small, wheeled stool that Kyle only ever saw in doctor’s offices. He wondered if they had to special order them or if they appeared in the building like fairies to offers of milk and bread. The man logged into his computer with a swipe of his name tag to an RFID reader and tapped a few buttons before turning to look at Kyle again.

“Do you know what the allergy was in reaction to?” He adjusts his glasses further up his nose.

“We don’t and would like to get some testing. Does this clinic do testing?” Kyle asked; all of his medical care happened on base.

Dr. Chen’s eyes glanced at you for the first time with a flare of his nose as he took in the fear salting the room with your uniquely beta scent. Kyle knew deeper than his marrow that you could turn off his brain and any explosive rage that he dealt with being an alpha. You didn’t use that now, but by the gods, he wished you would. The flash of disgust that whipped across Dr. Chen’s face ignited the soul-deep rage that existed with being an alpha.

“Dr. Chen,” the darkness, power, in Kyle’s voice brought the doctor’s face to him. “You will treat my wife with respect or I will ensure you don’t live to regret it.”

The cloying, nose-coating scent of Dr. Chen’s alpha rising to meet the challenge filled Kyle’s nose. He let the monster rise in his eyes, keeping his scent muted. Military training had to be good for something beyond the battlefield.

Kyle stands, placing his body between the doctor and the bed where you sit. Arms crossed and shoulders spread wide he used the mass of his bulk to show the barrier he could be. He didn’t know you, but Kate had seen something that prompted her to give them the care over you. You would not feel any harm if he could prevent it. You started to rock softly, eyes still unseeing. Then you begin to hum Edelweiss, effectively breaking the tension. Chen lost the staring match when he glanced at you.

“Do your job doctor, so I don’t have to.”

“That is out of line Mr—”

“Sergeant, special forces.”

Dr. Chen’s eyes narrowed but accepted the correction.

“Sergeant, your wife is doing fine by her visual inspection and her vitals agree. This clinic does not offer allergy testing but there are a few private practices here that you can call.” He turned back to his computer, typing in what Kyle assumed to be a summary of the visit today. “Most of what we do here for allergies is to stop the reaction and watch for any adverse effects.”

“I will need a copy of that report for our records,” Kyle stated it like a command he would give a private or a trainee. A firm ‘this is the course of action you will be taking’ that did not leave any room for questions or disobedience.

If Dr. Chen thought of arguing with Kyle, he kept it to himself. He left shortly after with a comment that Johnson would be in soon with the paperwork he requested. That is how Johnny found them, Kyle’s arms crossed and holding back his rage and you the juxtaposition of a peaceful body and an absent mind.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand, curling fingers around palms.

They wait in the cadence of your voice for nearly five minutes before Johnson appears, papers in hand. Kyle snaps a vice grip around the man’s wrist, pulling him close.

“Johnson. If I hear you telling tales about betas, and more specifically about my wife I will paint the walls of your room with colors not even crime techs will unsee.”

The man under his eyes paled quite impressively. Plucking the papers from his hand Kyle dropped Johnson’s hand and turned to his pack mate and partner in crime. Johnny’s thumb traced a track along the back of your hand as he watched the interaction play out before him.

“Can you carry her to the truck?”

Johnny’s eyes flicked as he watched the nurse flee from the room.

“Yeah. Up you pop bonnie,” he settled one arm over his shoulder and then the other before lifting you under the thighs to settle around his waist.

Still, you hummed, no life in your form. Kyle had a glare and a harsh, nose-blistering scent of rage for anyone who looked too long. Johnny settled in the back seat with you, buckling you into the middle so he could keep a hand on you and Kyle could check on you in the review mirror.

The drive home is tense, filled only with Kyle’s quiet mutterings about inexperienced winter drivers. When he turns onto the path home Johnny asks a question.

“What the hell happened in the clinic when I was on the phone with John?”

The steering wheel creaks under the pressure of Kyle’s hands.

“Nurse and doctor had some awful things to say about our wife, called her a drug addict, and couldn’t keep professional.”

“The hell? Why did they do that?” Johnny’s face in the rearview is tight with angry concern.

“It’s due to the beta laws that went into place ten��eleven? Yeah maybe eleven years ago.” Your voice is an unexpected addition to the conversation.

Kyle slows to a stop in the snow, throwing the truck in park and turning to look at you.

“What beta laws?”

He knows his gaze is harsh when you flinch back. Johnny wraps an arm around you and you settle a bit.

“There were laws on the books for a long time that weren’t really enforced,” you swallow and look from man to man before staring at your knees and continuing. “About how betas weren’t allowed the same personhood rights as alphas and omegas due to the lack of either consistent rut or heat. Apparently, the ability to do both is scary to the government. Several years back a group successfully passed a new law that said basically that betas should be treated like children, unable to sign paperwork without an approving authority, have bank accounts alone, apply for a credit card, or passport, you name it without the approval of an alpha or omega. In some places it went beyond that, stripping beta’s of all rights.”

Johnny muttered under his breath something that sounded like ‘What the fuck’ but Kyle kept his eyes on you.

“What happened to you?” His whisper hardens on your skin like ice.

There is no weak, scared beta woman here, only a beast that would peel him apart if he pushed. He didn’t scare her, but doctors did.

“No.”

Nodding once and accepting the answer Kyle turned back to driving. He would discuss this all with the guys after they had settled into bed. The interactions with the clinic staff were nothing like he had ever experienced before. Though as he thought of it he couldn’t remember the last time he had worked with a beta.

Simon and John step onto the porch as Kyle parks, as if they had been keeping watch for them.

The four men set about their tasks, hauling everything inside. You follow when Johnny reaches into the back seat and helps you out, hand tucked in his as he carries in a few bags. Simon sets about setting up the bed they picked for your room. Johnny settles you at the table, laughing and joking at you as he prepares a plate of food. Kyle and John set to work on creating the dresser. They don’t hear you laugh at any of Johnny’s stories but John points to you once and Kyle catches a glimpse of a smile. The sun slips away into the trees as each of the men finishes their task. Once the bed is made and the mattress settled on the frame John and Kyle lift the dresser into place.

The three men who had built things collapsed onto the couch facing the back wall of windows into the woods. Simon is settled between John and Kyle an arm dropped around each of them. You are standing on the back porch, head tilted back as you look at the ink-dark sky. The coat and boots you wear are those picked up today. Kyle didn’t think to wonder where Johnny had gone until he bounced down the steps with a bright bundle of fabric over one shoulder as he shoved a beanie on his head.

“Where ya going, Johnny?” Simon pitches his voice to carry but not to shout.

“Gonna give our wife a gift,” he winks at his lovers and pops out the back door.

Simon tightens the arm around Kyle.

“He loves you. That won’t change if he chooses to love someone new as well,” John murmured.

Kyle looked over at John who lay his head fully on Simon, nose buried in the scent gland at his neck. John licks the length of the gland causing Simon to let out a short whine.

Glancing back out to the back porch Kyle watches Johnny settle a shawl across your shoulders and sees in your profile confusion, hesitance. When you look down and clutch the shawl tight to your chest Kyle could only call the look on your face concerned acceptance. Johnny grinned at you like the sun had risen.

“To bed Simon, I can feel you grumble. Your rut starts soon. Let Johnny get our wife settled and let Kyle and I get you into bed.” John pushes up from the couch pulling Simon with him.

Kyle stands as well, eyes drifting to you and Johnny one last time. Standing side by side the two stare at the stars. John calls him from his observations and Kyle starts up the stairs after his lovers. His other lover will arrive with time.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad

[tojisteddy]

If you have a problem, Toji can easily correct it.

cw: 3.1k words (dawg it was NOT supposed to be that long), brat! taming, oral (m receiving), face fucking, piv, overstím, dom/sub dynamic, dacryphilia, dub-con, punishment, breath play (kinda idk), Daddy (?) kink, creampie, spanking, pet names (baby, sweet girl, doll, mama, ma), no use of y/n, just plain debauchery.

No because Toji has to have his hands on you. Whether it be your hips, your back, your neck, your ass, hand holding, his arm around your shoulders— anything to let him know you were in arms reach and close. It wasn’t like he was a needy fuck, no, not some strict spouse that didn’t let you do your own thing.

But when you were together, he wanted— no— had to keep you near, you needed to be together.

But today, since you’d left from your place and to the bar with friends, you’d been avoiding his touch.

Purposely.

Just wanting to test the waters out since you didn’t mind constantly being close. He was your spouse after all. Unless you said otherwise, he could touch you anytime he wanted.

His hand went for your back for the sixth time tonight and there you were, silently shifting out of his reach as you went on and on to your friend about some twitter gossip he didn’t give a fuck about. He was being oh-so patient with you but you were being a brat.

He looked over at you who acted as if all was well with the world and hysterically laughed to himself, fuck, you were good.

Toji put down his beer he couldn’t be bothered to finish. His hand slowly making its was around your shoulder, you were trying to get out of his grasp yet again. But he snuggled you close, a casual look on his face as he replied to something a friend said. He’d looked down at you with a glint in his emerald eyes.

‘keep it up.’

It was silent, unnoticeable to those around you.

Fuck, you were 10-0, you knew you were losing and had already lost the game you were playing. But sometimes you gotta shoot for the stars, aim for the moon, make a slam dunk when you don’t even know the first steps to playing basketball!

So you went for an illegal home run on bullshit.

Avoiding Toji’s gaze, his touch, his voice— hell— going to get another drink you were gonna pass off to your friend just to get away from him. You were hitting all the bases, and with knowing smile, you jumped on home plate.

Imagine giggling and waving with a stupid grin on your face on national tv after losing the championship game knowing the coach was about to hound on you like the second rapture— it was like that when the night came to an end.

You both said your goodbyes without any issue, Toji’s hand at the small of your back like a gun.

‘Keep still.’

He didn’t need to say anything, you didn’t have to try anymore, he’d give you what you wanted.

~~•~~

“Hmmaahh Toji—“

“No.”

“Papaaa.”

“God damn, you’re so loud— Shut. The fuck. Up.”

You regretted it.

Seriously, you regretted it.

If you had, had your lawyers (you) properly look over the legal documents (aka the current situation) before you signed it, they would’ve snatched the pen away and burned it.

Counting.

A “game” Toji suggested you two play when you got back home. No matter how much music played, or the way Toji made casual conversation with you about your shared plans for tomorrow despite his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel— there wasn’t enough room in the car for you to say no.

The game consisted of you having to count to 100 as Toji’s large hand laid excruciating slaps to your ass. It was fine the first ten but then you got to 20, and then suddenly— you groaned, gripping onto the older man’s pants leg. As if he, of all people, was going to save you from this situation.

“Thirrty threeee.”

He scuffed, “Don’t tell me you can’t count. Start over.”

“Wha- Toji!”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

Another painful smack. You hiccuped, looking back at Toji who was looking down at you emotionless. As if he was telling you, ‘We can start again, it doesn’t matter to me.’

“O-one.”

“Keep going.”

“T-twooo.”

You were slurring your words, tears coming out of your face and you lost count again around 40

But that wasn’t good enough, he’d rangled you to the floor and on your knees (he knew your ass hurt and made sure to give you a quick break, a sweetheart :) ), forcing your mouth open without a care about how you felt and putting the tip of his swelling cock to your pretty, moisturized lips. Not wanting to make him any more upset, you opened your mouth. You expected praise because that’s what Toji always did, but instead your head got pressed to go further down his manhood. You went to take the base of it with your hands but Toji slapped them away.

“Keep your hands to yourself baby. No touching tonight.”

And what the hell did that mean?

Even though a third of his girthy cock was in your mouth, and he was still gripping your hair to get closer— there’s no way he expected you to take all of him, there’s absolutely no way.

“Relax your cute little throat, or I’ll shove it all in. Your choice.”

Shit.

“Theeeere you go, baby. Therrrre you go! Look like a fucking slut trying to take all ‘f me, good thing I’m here help, right?”

Toji was big, too big. To the point, you couldn’t breathe as he slowly gave you the last few inches of his dick. But fuck, the less you were able to breathe the more you relaxed. It oddly made you feel good. You could hear your clit pulsing as Toji pulled your head back, causing you to gasp and then shoving it back in before you got the chance to breathe. In and out, in and out, in and out, in—

The man gripped the curls, that took you so long to define each and every strand, his cock leaking even more at the sight of you. You were so perfect. Hopless but perfect.

“Your pretty mouth— shiit— must’ve been made for this. All you wanted to do was take this dick. Haaa, prove tuh Papa how bad you are but you only want me to abuse that tight fucking throat of yours.”

You had precum falling down your chin to your breasts, his balls slapping against you every single time he thrusted into your tight ass mouth, you could hear the sound of squelching in your mouth— it was filthy.

But the way Toji looked down at you, his emerald eyes looking as you were the scum of the earth— God, you couldn’t get enough of it.

Your nose was touching the black pubic hairs, your glanced up, his head thrown back, moans unable to escape him because you felt so damn good. That sight alone, turned you on further, a harsh moan coming around Toji’s veiny cock.

You were a moaning disheveled, disgusting, mess after that. You felt good simply knowing you were the one making Toji lose himself around you. It wasn’t helping the lack of air going to your brain. Your gummy walls were fluttering and hard, your brain felt foggy, all you could focus on was Toji and Toni ramming into your mouth like you were the only person on earth. You felt his cock twitch at the back your throat and suddenly, your mouth warm. Film to the brim with a thick, white substance.

“Swallow.”

Toji shoved you off of him and you fell to the floor. Gasping for air, cum dripping from your chin but your mouth was empty, and your cunt sopping in your panties, fucking clenching again and again for him. You weren’t just trying to catch your breath from his thick member being in your mouth, your chest out disheveled breaths, your legs were shaking— and Toji knew that lazy, stupid look like the back of his hand.

A deep, bellowed laugh came from the man’s stomach as he looked down at you. You’d unknowingly came. Untouched.

“Fuck, since when could you— shit mama.”

He was shaking his head, delirious with the thought, you were complete and utter putty in his hands.

“Again.”

“Huh?”

“Come on, suck it again. You’re not done.”

Toji wasn’t one to usually do punishments, there was no need to. You knew better.

But it was things like this that, in the grand scheme of things, weren’t a big deal. But Toji always made it very clear to you when he was angry— that it wasn’t just bully!Toji fucking with you. This was asshole!Toji who was gonna drag you down to hell with him, the one who you’d think is calm but had a knife behind his back, the one you actually pissed off and the one who would make it so very clear— you didn’t need to try it again.

Your eyes were puffy from crying so much, snot kept trying to come out that you kept sniffing back up and rubbing away, full lips swollen from taking his large cock to the hilt, your ass was completely red, you could practically see the hand prints on your brown skin, bite marks and hickies only left around your thighs, and your poor, sopping cunt was sore. Your clit was begging for mercy.

Above all else, this whole time: Toji wouldn’t hold you.

Wouldn’t let you wrap your arms around his back or shoulders when he was drilling you into oblivion, wouldn’t let you use his chest when you were riding him, kept your hands above your head or pinned them to the side, wouldn’t kiss you or even bite you. He wouldn’t even grip onto your hips for leverage as he was fucking from the back or as you rode him, only grabbing you by the hair or giving your ass a hard smack.

“No. Take all of it.”

“Stop it, you know how to move. Fuck it like it’s yours.”

“We don’t touch each other, now do we Doll?”

You’d apologized numerous times already, saying anything that could come to mind that would make the man happy but, no. Toji wouldn’t accept it, hell- he didn’t even give the idea of your apology the time of day. Your movements had come to a sudden stop, taking a few deep breaths. You needed a break, a minute— maybe a vacation after this. The man had spent hours eating you out like Jesus at the last meal till you snatched his head away by his hair.

Another mistake.

He’d had you sat in his lap, riding his cock, your hands hold your chest because ‘touching isn’t allowed.’ He kept you cumming, kept you shaking, kept your whimpering for more, more, more.

It didn’t satisfy you.

You hated how you felt, it made your heart ache, you felt nauseous. You felt unloved, detestable, abandoned— even though you knew Toji loved you. How he adored every inch of you, and you him. The older man was right there, in arms reach literally, you’d been taking all of his borderline monster cock tonight, everywhere he wanted, but he wouldn’t because you weren’t a good—

Oh, fuck.

No, you were really gonna cry. Like hyperventilating, sobbing on the floor after a terrible day of work and you can’t find the food your mind was dead set on eating cry. The sob was building in the back of your throat, more tears stung your eyes, your hands were shaking slowly reaching up his stomach. Trying again, the words unable to come out.

‘Please.’

Toji saw it, you were an inch shy from going into sub drop. He had looked like he was bored of you, but his eyes followed your every move. How your hips shook when he gave you one thrust to keep moving. Or how you’d tilt your head, curls following to the side of your face when you called out to him, for him to do anything to you.

Problem was, Toji didn’t just want you to feel what he felt earlier tonight— he wanted to completely ache for his touch. Even to go as far as pleading with the devil just for him to brush his fingers against your chin.

If you had to be a sobbing, babbling mess, so be it.

You were his to fuck up, his to fix, and his to discipline. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your weary eyes stuck on him, you looked so helpless, how precious, his sweet doll. Toji quickly put out the cigarette that he’d gotten half way through, motioning you over with one finger.

“Come ‘ere.”

Hell.

You were having an outer body experience. You felt your body fall on him, the sob escaped without a second thought, you clung to him as hard as you could. Your nails scratching his lower back as he held you tight. The two of you were practically blending together.

“Sorryy, ‘m sorry Papa- I-I-I didn’t mean toooo!”

That was a lie, but he knew what you meant. Though you usually stayed in your lane, sure you pissed him off now and then, but you were his brat, weren’t you?

“ ‘S okay baby, but just don’t like it when I can’t touch you. Told ya that before, didn’t I? You should listen to me next time, yeah?”

It didn’t sound comforting.

It never was.

But when you were in his big arms, the smell of cigarettes and a hint of oak on him, his soft kisses on your teary cheeks, the sound of his heart beat— you felt so reassured. Treasured. Cared for.

He hummed, sitting you up, still sitting on his fat, pulsing cock. He took your pretty face in his calloused hands, thumbs gently at the fallin tears. You leaned into his touch, fuck you loved his hands. So big, warm, veins all over them, they could be so sweet sometimes but so damn mean. Regardless of what happened, you’d be craving to feel them.

“What’s the safe word, [+]? Tell me.”

You sniffed, “dear.”

The older man’s hands slowly went down your sides, to your bruised hips, gently rubbing circles with his fingers.

“Wanna say it? ‘S okay if you do. Big girls say it.”

The room was still, the only sound was the both of your breathing and your soft sniffles. You kept rubbing your face, trying to get yourself together after being at your lowest and then being brought back up. Your hand gripped onto Toji’s bicep, just trying to feel him, any of him.

“Don’t need to. I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” He hummed, “Then whatd’ya wanna do baby? Whatever you want.”

Your voice cracked, it was embarrassing but who gives a shit? You needed him. You were desperate for him.

“Fuck, need you to hold me Toji!” you mewled.

Like a switch, the man was on you. Yanking you back down to him, slamming your hips down on him while thrusting up into you like his life depended it.

He loved snapping his hips up to meet yours, the gorgeous sight of your ass and hips rippling was droll worthy. He rasped, “Attaa girl, haaa, atta. fuckin. girl. Handle it so well ma. ”

“Toojiii!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth agape as you took every harsh thrust against your cervix. It was all so much, your chests pressed against each other. Toji’s breath was right your ear, biting your earlobe then sucking the sensitive area, his hands holding your two sore ass cheeks, using it as leverage— just what you needed.

“Love you! I— hmmm— love you, fuckin love you Papa! Sooo mu-ughh!”

“I knoooow mama,” he snickered, you were such a love sick baby, “bein so sweet f’ me. I love you baby.”

You moaned at his words, your heart swelling right along with your cunt. Pussy clenching around him and he groaned. He slammed you down on him even faster, even swiveling your hips around so you could cum.

“Toj—“

“Fuck, come on sweet girl, know you want to. Get there, hfff- fuckin make a pretty mess like you always do.”

You felt your lungs leave your body, quickly patting Toji’s shoulder as you quickly sat up, shattering around his dick. But Toji wouldn’t let you go, sitting up further against the headboard of the bed, taking your legs and throwing them over his biceps, his hands gripping into the two mounds of your bruised ass. Tip rubbing your folds that were crying ones, filled with plenty of white tears.

Toji eased his monster dick back into you, your mixed cum gushing out of you getting a moan out of him. He was drunk off you.

“Toji- ca- aagh! I can’t.” You hiccuped, using your hands to try and take him out of you. But he held you tighter putting your foreheads together with a huff,

“You can, hmm- shiit baby— you will.”

He was already slowly, slamming you down as hard as could. Your gummy walls, basically begging the older man not to let go of him. You two were huffing and puffing in each other’s open mouths, one of your hands going around Toji’s shoulder, the other griping his jet black hair that felt so nice between your fingers.

“Gonna— gotta give it to you just how you need, huh mama? Hmm— fuck meee baby— Just needed your Toji to set you straight.”

Your toes curled, a ‘yes papa.’ Leaving your pretty dark pink lips.

“Shit— kiss me Doll. Kiss me while you cum on my cock.”

Your lips immediately went to his, deliriously molding his pink lips to your two tone ones. It was sloppy, his tongue was at the back of your throat, you could hear how fucking wet it was a yards away. A string of saliva forming every time you pulled away for air.

His thrusts were slow, but they were so fucking mean, kissing your cervix every time he slammed you back down to the base of his cock, then lifted you up, up, up so the mushroom tip was almost hanging out then back down, so you would feel every. single. ridged vein, every pulse that ran through his manhood.

Your climax is like a punch to the gut, you scream into Toji’s mouth and he bit your lip. Immediately tipping over at the feeling of your walls clutching onto him like you needed his milk.

Your body shook as the black dots in your eyes consumed you. Toji brushes your hair back, fully enamored at the sight of you, leaving tender kisses around you neck and chest, heavily breathing from everything you two have just done.

“Good fuckin girl.”

[maxybabyy]

part four to my max run club verse (slightly au of the orignal plot)

Daniel is three drinks deep and spilling his fourth when he sees him.

He’s taller than Daniel thought he would be, probably has an inch or two on Daniel, long limbs stretched out where he leans against the bar. There’s a smile on his face, and Daniel catches himself leaning in, squinting to find the tiny dot just above his lip.

The mole is there. It hasn’t somehow disappeared between now and the video he had watched before bed, Scotty asleep next to him.

That isn’t always the case, he knows. Sometimes they remove it. But it makes the fans freak out so someone must have told them to leave it. Daniel probably wouldn’t do it now, but he had done it like maybe once. Drunk off his ass asking Red Bull Running what the fuck they thought they were doing, editing people’s faces like that.

Blake had made him delete it, but his point still stood.

Daniel watches Max laugh with his entire body, one arm thrown around his waist as the other grips the bar. He throws back his head as his shoulders shake, and Daniel cannot look away, perversely obsessed with this new side of Max that he hasn’t seen before.

His chest burns with heat, with the thought that maybe he’s the only one to see Max like this. Other than like, Max’s friends and family. But of his fans, Daniel could be alone in this.

He hadn’t given it much thought when Scotty had asked him to come, “There’s like this Red Bull thing that I have to go to. It’s in Austria, but it could be fun. Do you wanna come with?”

He thought maybe Scotty would make them go skiing, and Daniel would do a slope or two before going to work on his tan. At night they would fuck in the hot tub, laugh about the mess, and then do it again the next night. A chance to reconnect, Daniel had thought, and wouldn’t that have been nice?  

Now someone brushes against him, and it makes Daniel jump.

His drink is empty, but it wobbles in his hand, threatening to spill when someone wraps their fingers around his. Long elegant fingers stretched around him and the glass. Trim nails prick his skin, and a shiver runs down his spine.

“Nice catch, mate,” Daniel says and flexes his hand, testing a grip that doesn’t relent.

“Hello,” someone says, and the voice is so fucking familiar that it makes Daniel’s head whip up to look at the man in front of him, at Max. “I brought you a drink.”

There’s an open bar, still Daniel takes the drink without complaint. Max doesn’t let go of him, and Daniel doesn’t move, their hands cradled awkwardly between them until his fingers start to twitch. Even then, Max is slow to step back, hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his jeans.

“Thank you,” Daniel says and takes a sip. It’s a gin and tonic, light on the tonic. Max had smelt of it too, the pine sticky on his lips. Daniel licks them again, tries not to imagine if Max would taste like it too.

“You were staring,” Max says tells him.

“Yeah, I was, kinda,” Daniel says with a laugh. Now when he looks at him, Max is watching him back. That’s another thing the videos hadn’t prepared him for, the unrelenting eye contact. For once, he doesn’t squirm under the weight of his stare. Instead, the feeling in his chest grows, preens at the attention. “Bit of a fan, actually.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at that, and Daniel’s breath catches in his throat.

“No, I’m serious,” Daniel insists. For months, he had been saving videos of Max on a playlist to watch later –  most of them of him running, but some of them not – only to find that other people were saving the list. Now, ‘mv jom’ has been privated but it still lives at the top of his page. “I’m like, a big fan of your moaning.”

Max’s laughter is loud enough that the people around them turn around to watch. GP, who must have travelled with Max, stares at them from across the room, and Daniel wants to die.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Your running, that’s what I’m a fan of,” Daniel says while he waits for the ground to swallow him. “Helped me out big time while I was rehabbing.”

“Your knee, no?” Max asks. “From the accident?”

Blood rushes in his ears, and Daniel swallows what’s left of his drink. He has to focus to ease the frown from his face, but confusion still pricks his skin, and even the softened look on Max’s face doesn’t soothe him. “Yeah, how did you know?”

Max’s tongue traces the corner of his mouth, and when Daniel mirrors him, his tongue comes away wet, “Maybe I am a big fan also.”

Daniel tries to laugh, but his mouth feels too dry.

Max steps closer, the tips of his shoes touching the insides of Daniel’s, and offers him the rest of his drink. Daniel takes it, hand shaking as he replaces Max’s mouth with his own.

“Actually, I thought you were of course staring because you wanted to fuck me,” Max tells him then.

“What?”

But Max isn’t done. He takes another step, and their knees bump against each other. Daniel feels Max’s breath on his skin, and the mole he had squinted at before is now close enough to touch. “It is of course better like this, already you know that I am very flexible,” he adds. Casual, like that isn’t the exact thought Daniel’s been trying to squash since he first saw him.

Because Daniel does already know how Max looks on his knees. Bent over so deeply that his chest had pressed against the floor, thighs spread obscenely wide – “Big breath here, just a little deeper. For me, please? You can do it.” – to get the right stretch.

It wouldn’t be hard to fuck him like that, he reckons, Max’s body loose and malleable underneath his hands. Not like how Daniel’s knee still aches when Scotty tries to fuck him from behind.

“I mostly just listen to the audio guides,” Daniel lies, voice faint.

“Always I can just show you instead,” Max offers. His thigh presses in between Daniel’s, and his jeans feel rough against Daniel’s dick. “Like this, it will be so lovely also.”

Daniel chokes on his spit, and Max must be close enough to hear the awkward clench of his throat. But maybe he doesn’t notice, too busy touching the shiny lapels of Daniel’s suit jacket. He doesn’t quite tug at the fabric, but Daniel leans in anyway.

“I did not know that you were sponsored by Red Bull,” Max says. The intensity of the eye contact doesn’t ease up close, and Daniel’s chest feels dangerously tight. “I have not seen you here before.”

Daniel licks his lips, “I’m not.”

“Are you here with someone?” Max asks.

He thinks of Scotty watching them from across the room, of all the shit he had talked about Max after finding the videos. He thinks of how Scotty had fucked him then, hard and fast, biting marks into his neck like they were nineteen and sleeping with other people. He thinks of Scotty behind him, arm around his waist as he watched Max with dark eyes, “Who’s your friend, DR?” He would ask like he didn’t already know.

But most of all, he thinks of Scotty fucking Chloe Stroll in their LA home. Of finding out via texts Scotty had been dumb enough to keep.

Everything gets a little easier after that.

[aspenmissing]

request: cute fluffy silco and wife lying in bed and talking about random stuff while cuddling with the sun peeking through the curtains (metaphorically) etc etc etc

ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 1103 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀ ꜱᴜᴄᴋᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴡʜᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟʟʏ ɢʀᴇʏ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ (ᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀʀᴍ ᴄᴜᴅᴅʟᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ). ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴏɴ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

The soft glow of the candlelight flickered gently on the walls of Silco’s office-turned-bedroom. The familiar scent of the evening's rain lingered in the air, a quiet tranquillity that wrapped itself around the room. Outside, the sounds of Zaun's industrial hum could be faintly heard, but in here, it was just the peaceful silence between Silco and Y/N.

She lay curled up beside him, her head resting on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing lulling her into a sense of calm. Her hair, long and dark, cascaded across the pillow, intertwining with Silco’s as his hand absentmindedly traced the lines of her spine. The room was warm, the kind of warmth that made everything feel safe, secure, and just right.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Silco asked softly, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost playful, as if testing the waters for the conversation to come.

Y/N smiled against his chest, raising her head slightly to meet his eyes. "Of course, I do," she replied, her fingers brushing lightly over the scars that lined his jaw. "I remember you were standing at the bar, looking all brooding and mysterious. Thought you were going to bite someone's head off."

He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest like distant thunder. "That was before I realised I needed to be on my best behaviour around you." His hand found hers, fingers weaving together in the comfortable silence that followed.

"And yet, you still find ways to be terrifying," Y/N teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I swear, I’ve seen you send grown men trembling with just a glance."

"Fear can be an effective motivator," Silco said with a grin, his tone light but carrying the weight of the world behind it. "Though, I must admit, I've learned that there are far more rewarding ways to use my energy... especially with you."

Y/N couldn’t suppress the warmth that bloomed in her chest at his words. She shifted slightly so she could prop herself up on her elbow, gazing down at him with affection. "You know," she said, her voice soft and serious now, "sometimes I forget just how powerful you are. Not in the way you like to remind people, but in the way you care. You're so much more than what you show the world."

Silco’s gaze softened at her words, and for a moment, he seemed to lose his usual sharp edge, his face illuminated by the quiet peace that had taken over the room. He reached up to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, a rare vulnerability slipping through.

"Don’t start," she warned with a playful smile, shaking her head. "I can’t believe you’re still on about that. You’ve always been more than enough for me, Silco. Don’t you ever forget that."

Silco let out a breath, his hand gently tracing the curve of her jaw before pulling her back into the warmth of his embrace. He wasn’t used to such tenderness, yet he found himself craving it whenever she was near. "I just… I think about how far I’ve come," he admitted quietly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. "How far I’ve had to go to build this, and sometimes, I wonder if it’s all worth it."

Y/N pressed a soft kiss to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her lips. "It’s worth it," she whispered. "Because you’ve built this with me by your side. I’m not going anywhere, Silco. Not now, not ever."

The sincerity in her words made his heart swell, and he tightened his arms around her. "I don’t deserve this kind of love," he murmured again, though this time it was more of a thought than an assertion.

"Silco," she chided softly, lifting her head to meet his gaze. "Stop saying that. I love you. That’s all that matters."

He met her eyes, the edges of his lips curling into a faint smile as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I never thought I would feel like this," he said, the softness of his tone betraying the hardness of the life he’d led. "I always thought I would be alone in this world, but then I found you."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. "I found you, too," she said with a soft laugh, her fingers tracing the outline of his lips. "I think we were both lost until we found each other."

Silco’s eyes softened, the cold exterior he often showed the world melting away in the warmth of their shared silence. For a moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped up in the softness of their connection, the world beyond their bedroom fading into the background.

"I love the way your hair smells after it rains," Y/N murmured after a few moments, pulling back slightly to run her fingers through his damp hair. "Like earth and warmth. It’s... comforting."

Silco raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And here I thought you liked the way my hair looked when it was perfectly styled."

She laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I like the wild look too. It suits you. And besides, you look good no matter what."

Silco chuckled lowly, clearly pleased by her words. "I’ll take that as a compliment, but I don’t know how you manage to see anything good in me, with my... charming personality."

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately. "You’re lucky I find your charm irresistible."

"I’ll never understand how you do," he murmured, his hand slipping beneath the covers to pull her even closer. His face softened as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "But I’m glad you do."

For a while, they just lay there in the quiet of the room, each lost in the simple joy of being in each other’s arms. The weight of the world outside felt distant, like it didn’t matter in this small, private moment. Silco’s arms were a safe haven for Y/N, and her warmth was his anchor, the thing that kept him grounded when the chaos of his life threatened to take over.

"You know," Y/N said after a while, her voice almost a whisper, "I think I could stay like this forever."

Silco’s response was a soft hum, a sound that reverberated through his chest and soothed her more than words ever could. "Forever sounds perfect."

And for a moment, in the quiet of their shared space, it truly felt like forever.

[lovemyromance]

stp complaing about hate you get when you're doing the MOST every day to be vicious and rude to Gwynriels & Eluciens, this is you just getting the day you deserve

Genuinely can y'all shut the fuck up and leave me alone.

You make all these unfounded claims–but show me where I am being "vicious and rude" to anyone.

Screenshots if you can. Show me where I am in GA/EL posts, being vengeful and cursing at people or calling them names or being hostile. Actually - show me where I am in any GA/EL posts at all. Show me where I am being "vicious and rude" every day to be receiving these kinds of anons.

Like please, genuinely this is an invitation. Show me where I'm out threatening people's family/telling them to unalive themselves. Because thats what I get in my inbox sometimes so - please, show me where I have acted up.

You will find maybe 1-3 times before I truly entered this fandom where I might've commented on EL/GA posts unknowingly–again, not anywhere near hateful or rude. Other than that - good luck.

Meanwhile, I have GAs/ELs literally screenshotting all my posts within seconds and responding to them directly like a drunk girl sliding up and responding to every insta story like its a personal DM. I didn't even protest that - I just said keep it to your own tags and we won't have a problem.

All my posts are properly tagged. Are they sassy? Sure.

Are they rude, cruel, inciting violence/toxcity/encouraging harassment of any kind?

Never.

People will post every single hate anon they get and blame the entire Elriel community. I don't even RESPOND to 90% of my anons that engage in this type of speech (both hate anons and extremist pro-elriel anons). I'm not even complaining about it, because I am not blaming an entire community for a troll. That's inciteful, ridiculous behavior based on zero proof.

If you have a problem with logic and hard facts then block me. I do not care. But do not test me. I am NOT the one.

[thatbitchery]

When it comes to society and hierarchy the most important thing to remember is hierarchy is completely dependent on behavior and is reinforced by rejection and seperation.

DO NOT BE FRIENDS WITH LOW LEVEL PEOPLE.

Storytime- to make up for the overabundance of time I suddenly have I decided to join an exclusive gym and do activities and all that plus gym is a great place to network especially with the local Pilates WAGS. I'm new so we do that thing where we sniff each other out to test for hierarchy and obviously I am smiling and acquainted with everyone for the first few days- leaving the door open to be friends and then taking a step back and letting them fall to me if they so wish. So today I decide to go swimming in the indoor pool and this G that I know is dating a pretty high level man and has a thriving business is changing, as we all are in the lockers, and suddenly she tenses up and its like huh. They play petty stupid kindergarten power games in the new rich and I thought by now I'd be used to it and then I turn and this CLEANER is throwing miss thriving dating a millionaire a stink eye and the girl is shivering under it. Not just her- a couple of them. I'm like huh. Drama. GOD I LOVE DRAMA so I lay back watch the scene unfold. It's a work of art this one and I'm fully invested. And it's so obvious what happened. With my eyes closed I could tell you exactly what happened, the girls were too friendly with her at the beginning making all sorts of allowances for her and leaving space for her to exist peacefully while pushing their desires away (Like you know when someone is cleaning the floor and you do that thing where you walk through like you're walking on lava? EW) and now she's being passive aggressive and it's unsafe for them. So you have the one paying top dollar for an exclusive experience shying from a medium wage underpaid overworked nobody from God knows where. & I've seen this dynamic play out for so long where the children of Oligarchs and literal royalty gets harrassed and pushed around by the children of mistresses and middle class people. I've done my fair share of bullying and harassing I know hoe to pick em, and I can tell you from the onset who is the omega and who is the sigma (alspha is always open space) and the desire to be liked by the low levels sits very high in the lists of indicators.

When someone with a safety marker (Power, beauty, money or status) plays nice with or even engages on a same level with the lower classes they become untrustworthy and immediately weak. The safety in these things in the unattainability of them, how removed they are- so when they become accessible they become weak and lose meaning and they punsih you for degrading yourself. Men can get away with it but women could never. The Serena Van Der Woodsen fantasy of a pretty rich girl is a lie. When people lower than you see you being friendly with them and sacrificing etc they try to steal your power by degrading you and sometimes they succeed. Candace Owens X Taylor Swift X Beyonce are a great example of this. Beyonce and Taylor did not establish their boundaries early in their careers and tried to be relatable and not Divas and vampires like Candace saw the opportunity and took it. Women like Rihanna and Nicki Minaj are the exact opposite of what Candace Owens preach but do you see her try her? While Beyonce and Taylor are so close to the christian Southern dystopian reality she wants so bad. Why? they made it very clear from day one they will run you up do not even try. They don't try to be relatable or cute or nice they throw it in your face yes I actually did say I'm better than you what about it? In the same way when pretty girls date broke ugly men they get run over becuase the men are punishing them for being weak and steal their power bc power can not be created, only transferred.

The more you make allowances for people the more they despise you. The Blair Waldorfs and Alison DeLaurentis of the world and mean girls have an easy time despite everyone acting like they can't stand them because they are not weak. I'm not saying go out of your way to be terrible like some insecure little idiot I'm saying do not make allowances if it's not required and let people serve you. Stop smiling too much and stop trying to make space for people. And stoppp trying to be friends with people lower than you, let them know the option is open and show them a glimpse of what it could be, then step back and let them work for it. People lower than you are jealous of you. they want to be you. That cleaning hipoppotamus broke ugly girl wants to be in that sauna, but she cant. So she makes it the problem of the people that are that will let her. And in that way, she feels bigger than them. And they let that happen the second they started randomly smiling and saying hi and calling her 'girl'. If they just walked in, did the gym, networked smart with their own level and went home, they wouldn't freeze over someone they probably could buy.

[gimmebackmyskeeball]

toxic rafe w his ‘ihatemybf’ pogue gf

Looking at you two, your couple made sense. You looked good together with Rafe, you complimented each other…but, behind closed doors, it was the worst relationship you’ve ever been in. And the bad part was, you were fucking addicted to Rafe.

Wanna guess the even worse part? He was addicted to you. And we all know Rafe doesn’t do well with addictions.

Your relationship sucked and that was sugarcoating it. Rafe sometimes came to points where he forgot you were his girlfriend…and it wasn’t because of the coke. He just randomly forgot who you were and that you existed on a random Thursday, only remembering he had a girlfriend when he saw you or when you called.

And if someone sat you down to take a lie detector test, you’d fail the moment they ask you about love.

It was possessiveness, not love. The only reason you two had PDA was to show off. But possessiveness ran deep in both of your bloods.

Rafe was driving you the two of you to Tanneyhill —he decided you should spend the night over because your mom’s friends wanted to spend the night over and he didn’t wanted other people to see you while you slept, fucked up mindset, classic Rafe— you were buckled up, arms crossed over your chest, looking out the window, ignoring his phone that buzzed.

For the sixth time in the last ten minutes.

With a huff, you tried to keep your composure…before it buzzed again.

“Look- who keeps texting you?” you finally spoke up, brows furrowed, finally looking at Rafe for the first time since you got in his Range.

Dating a kook wasn’t exactly your preference either. Sure, it was nice, he treated you with a lot of stuff —to once again, show off to people— but it was still nice. Though, getting cheated on by one? Fucking crazy. And you weren’t having it.

Rafe stayed silent for a moment, his eyes focused on the road. He knew exactly who was texting him, and he knew exactly why it was buzzing. He had a missed call and 20 texts…and he knew where it was going.*

“It’s nobody.” he lied through his teeth, voice cold and blunt. A lie. A big fat lie, that he knew wouldn’t be believed.

“Nobody?” you raised a brow, repeating his lame ass excuse.*

“Nobody.”

He echoed, repeating his excuse. Rafe had his jaw clenched, knowing damn well you knew who was texting him. It was just an endless game of cat and mouse at that point…you knew who it was and he couldn’t lie about it any longer.

*Another buzz went off. He kept his eyes focused on the road. He didn’t think you were that dumb to believe the bullshit he was spewing.*

“How is ‘nobody’ making your phone buzz, dipfuck?”

You retorted, brows furrowed, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. Rafe was getting on your last nerve and there was only a certain amount of bullshit you could take before you took it all out on him.

He clenched his jaw even more, a low, frustrated grumble leaving his lips. Rafe hated being challenged, and for some reason he was getting more and more annoyed by the minute. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down…but it was useless. The phone kept buzzing, and with every buzz he grew angrier and angrier.

“Stop getting your panties in a bunch, it’s nothing.”

He knew he didn’t sound convincing at all, but he was trying his best.

“Yeah, it’s the only bunch my panties are getting in…at the moment.” you shot him a look, still fuming at the audacity of his lies.

He stayed silent, not saying anything to your comment. Deep down, he knew you would say something like that…and it annoyed him to the core.

Another buzz. Another. And another. The damn buzzing wouldn’t stop, and you knew exactly who was calling and texting.

There was a long moment of complete silence, his knuckles turning white as he held the steering wheel tightly, the veins popping in his arms from the pressure.

“Acknowledge me, Rafe.” you spoke, not liking the stupid silent treatment thing while he dramatized the entire thing.

He let out a deep, annoyed sigh. Rafe hated being told what to do. Who the hell was he? A damn toddler? But he needed to acknowledge you. He didn’t exactly want to start another fight.

“What?” He snapped, finally speaking up. His voice was cold, sharp and snappy…he clearly wasn’t liking this entire conversation.

“Acknowledge me and the damn buzzes before I toss the thing out the window.”

He gripped the steering wheel, letting out a sigh. His phone kept buzzing, the loud, obnoxious buzz filling the car, making him grow more and more frustrated. His voice was getting sharper, harsher every second that went on.

“It’s my damn ex.” He eventually managed to bite out through clenched jaws, body tense, still focusing on the road. His knuckles were still turning white from the death grip he had on the damn wheel.

“Why the fuck isn’t your ex blocked?” you spoke, brows furrowing, face scrunched up. The idea was crazy to you.

“I don’t know!”

He snapped, jaw clenched. This entire goddamn conversation was making him more and more frustrated. Rafe was seconds away from snapping. He knew it was stupid to not block his goddamn ex but he didn’t think you would be this pissed about it. He didn’t take you as the type who’d get all possessive over his phone, but apparently he had been wrong.

“That’s so pathetic…” you mumbled, turning to look back at down at your own phone with a scoff.

His jaw went slack at your words. He knew the whole thing was pathetic. He was being pathetic. But he didn’t care, not anymore.

His phone buzzed. Another goddamn text and missed call. He glanced at you for a second, before turning his eyes back to the road with a sigh.

Sure, you two sucked…and sometimes literally. But Rafe knew damn well after all the name-calling, all the fights, both of you lacked the self respect to walk away from each other.

kinda reflected now putting down my phone, taking a breath, shooting the invisible camera a glare, running a lap in my room and hitting the dougie brb

[aauroralightss]

i love reading peoples' opinions on trigun but sometimes i will see an opinion that is so like. bewilderingly wrong it actually makes me doubt my own interpretation of the source material

[crow-caller]

started playing fallen london cause of your blog and i absolutely love it! Thank u :)

Excellent!!! If I have any power, let it be used to get people to play fallen london and its related games (sunless seas, sunless skies = Survival exploration, mask of the rose = visual novel)

[gingermintpepper]

As usual I read your tags always and so you said Apollo did not ask for resurrection of Asclepius and Hyacinthus so i just wanted to share this. About Asclepius death I read it on theoi.com, that earlier authors don't make him resurrect as a god but that's a later development mentioned only by Roman authors like Cicero, Hyginus and Ovid. But still Apollo has a role in Ovid's version

Ovid, Fasti 6. 735 ff (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) : Clymenus [Haides] and Clotho resent the threads of life respun and death's royal rights diminished. Jove [Zeus] feared the precedent and aimed his thunderbolt at the man who employed excessive art. Phoebus [Apollon], you whined. He is a god; smile at your father, who, for your sake, undoes his prohibitions [i.e. when he obtains immortality for Asklepios].

So here it is actually because of Apollo the decision was taken to resurrect him as god. And with Hyacinthus, I don't think I've read about Artemis playing the primary role. I know in Sparta there was a picture of Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite carrying Hyacinthus and his sister to heaven.

This is not on theoi.com but I saw on Tumblr it's from Dionysiaca by Nonnus

Second, my lord Oiagros wove a winding lay, as the father of Orpheus who has the Muse his boon companion. Only a couple of verses he sang, a ditty of Phoibos, clearspoken in few words after some Amyclaian style: Apollo brought to life again his longhaired Hyacinthos: Staphylos will be made to live for aye by Dionysos.

So since he is singing inspired by amyclean stories it probably means in that place it was believed Apollo was the one to bring back his lover to life.

Apollo as god of order was very important so i think it shows how special these people (and admetus too) were to him that he decided to go against the order for them 🥺

ANON!! Shakes you like a bottle of ramune!! BELOVED ANON!!!!! I'm littering your face with kisses, I'm anointing you with olive oil and honey - you absolutely made my night with this because, not only did I get the pure serotonin shot of having someone interact with my tags (yippee, wahoo!!) I also got to have that wonderful feeling of "oh wow, have I misunderstood something that was integral to my understanding of this myth/figure this whole time or is this a case of interpretational differences?" which is imo vital for my aims and interests as someone who enjoys mythological content and literature.

I'll preface my response with this: Hyacinthus is by far the hardest of these to get accounts for because his revival itself, as you very astutely point out, is generally accounted for in painting/ritual format which muddies the waters on who interceded for what. I wasn't actually familiar with that passage from the Argonautica - and certainly didn't remember it so thank you very much for bringing it to my attention!

That said, what I've come to understand, both about Hyacinthus and about Asclepius is that in the accounts of their deaths, Apollo's position is startlingly clear.

For Hyacinthus, it is established time and again that Apollo would have sacrificed everything for him - his status, his power, his very own immortality and divinity. Ovid writes that Apollo would have installed him as a god if only he had the time:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses. Book X. trans. Johnston)

Many other writers too speak of how Apollo abandoned his lyre and his seat at Delphi to spend his days with Hyacinthus, but they also all agree that when it came to his death - he was powerless. Ovid gives that graphic account of Apollo's desperation as he tries all his healing arts to save him to no avail:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book X. Apollo me boy, methinks him dead. trans Johnston)

Bion, in one of his fragments, writes that Apollo was "dumb" upon seeing Hyacinthus' agony:

(Bion, The Bucolic Poets. Fragment XI. trans Edmonds)

Even Nonnus in the Dionysiaca speaks constantly of Apollo's helplessness in the face of Hyacinthus' fate where he writes that the god still shivers if a westward wind blows upon an iris:

and when Zephyros breathed through the flowery garden, Apollo turned a quick eye upon his young darling, his yearning never satisfied; if he saw the plant beaten by the breezes, he remembered the quoit, and trembled for fear the wind, so jealous once about the boy, might hate him even in a leaf...

(Nonnus, Dionysiaca, Book 3. trans Rouse)

And the point here is just that - Apollo, at least as far as I've read, cannot avert someone's death. He simply can't. Once they're already dead - once Fate has cut their string - all Apollo's power is gone and he can do nothing no matter how much he wants to. And this is, as far as I know, supported with the accounts of Asclepius as well!

Since you specifically brought up Ovid's account, I'll also stick only to Ovid's account but in Metamorphoses when we get Ovid's version of Coronis' demise, he writes that Apollo intensely and immediately regrets slaughtering Coronis. He regrets it so intensely that he, like he does with Hyacinthus, does his best to resuscitate her:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo's regret)

And like Hyacinthus, when it becomes clear that what has happened cannot be undone, Apollo wails:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo wept.)

Unlike his mother, Asclepius in her womb had not yet died and so, with the last of Apollo's strength, he does manage, at least, to save him.

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo puts the 'tearing out' in Asclepius.)

But it goes further than even that because Ocyrhoe, Chiron's daughter, a prophetess who unduly gained the ability to directly proclaim the secrets of the Fates, upon seeing the baby Asclepius, immediately prophesies his glory, his inevitable death and then his fated ascension:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses, Book Two. Ocyrhoe's prophecy. trans Johnston)

Before she too succumbs to her hubris and is transformed by the Fates into a horse so she can no longer speak secrets that aren't hers to share.

These things ultimately are important because it establishes two very important things: 1) Apollo can't do anything in the face of the ultimate Fate of mortals, which is, of course, death and 2) even when Apollo is Actively Devastated, regretful, yearning, mournful, guilty or some unholy combination of all of the above, when someone is dead, he accepts that they are gone. Even if he is devastated by it, even if he'll cry all the rest of his days about it - if they're dead? Apollo lets them go. In Fasti, when Zeus brings Asclepius back, he does not say Apollo asked him to - Zeus, or well, in this case Jove, brings Asclepius back because he wants Apollo to stop being mad at him.

(Ovid, Fasti VI. Apollo please come home your father misses you. trans. A.S Kline)

Even Boyle's translation which you used above in your findings hints that Zeus made Asclepius a god because he wanted Apollo to stop grieving. (i.e 'smile at your father', 'for your sake [he] undoes his prohibitions')

And like, Apollo was deeply upset by Asclepius' death - apart from killing the Cyclops in anger, in book 4 of the Argonautica, Apollonius writes that the Celts believe the stream of Eridanus to be the tears Apollo shed over the death of Asclepius when he left for Hyperborea after being chastised by Zeus for killing his Cyclops:

But the Celts have attached this story to them, that these are the tears of Leto's son, Apollo, that are borne along by the eddies, the countless tears that he shed aforetime when he came to the sacred race of the Hyperboreans and left shining heaven at the chiding of his father, being in wrath concerning his son whom divine Coronis bare in bright Lacereia at the mouth of Amyrus.

It all paints a very clear picture to me. Apollo did not ask for either of them to be brought back. Though bringing them back certainly pleased and delighted him, they are actions of other gods who are moved by Apollo's grief and mourning and seek to mollify him. Him not asking doesn't mean he didn't want them back which I think is a very important distinction by the by, but it simply means that Apollo knows the natural order of things and, even if it hurts, he isn't going to press his luck about it.

Which, of course, brings us to Admetus. And I'm really not going to overcomplicate this, Admetus is different because, very vitally, Admetus is not dead. Apollo can't do a thing once Fate has been carried out and Death has claimed a mortal but you know what he absolutely can do? Bargain like hell with the Fates before that point of inevitability. And that's what he does, ultimately for Admetus and Alcestis. He sought to prolong Admetus' life, not revive him from death or absolve him from death altogether and even after getting the Fates drunk, he's still only able to organise a sacrifice - a life for a life - something completely contingent on whether some other mortal would be willing to die in Admetus' place and not at all controllable by Apollo's own power.

All of these things, I think come back to that point you made - that Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore these people are very special to him if it means he's willing to go against that order but, I also wish to challenge that opinion if you'd let me. Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore, I would argue, that it is even more important that it is shown that he does not break the divine order, especially for the people that mean the most to him. The original context of my comments which started this conversation were on this lovely, lovely post by @hyacinthusmemorial which contemplated upon Asclepius from the perspective of an Emergency Medical personnel and included, in their tags, the very poignant lines "there's something about Apollo letting go when Asclepius couldn't that eats my heart away" and "you do what you can, you do your best, but you don't ever reach too far" and I think that's perfectly embodied with the Apollo-Asclepius dichotomy. Apollo grieves. He wails, he cries, he does his best each and every time to save that which is precious to him but he does not curse their nature, he does not resent that they are human and ultimately, he accepts that that which is mortal must inevitably die. There is nothing that so saliently proves that those who uphold rules are also their most staunch followers - if Apollo wants to delight in his place as Fate's mouthpiece, he cannot undo Fate. And, if even the god of healing and order himself cannot undo death, what right does Asclepius, mortal as he is, talented as he is, have to disrespect it?

The beauty of these stories isn't that Apollo loved them enough to bring them back. The beauty is that Apollo loved them enough to let them go.

[mitskiluvr]

really funny that the entire student body at shujin is immediately convinced that joker is a hardened violent criminal as if he doesn't walk around school with a cat in his bag and says all of five words per day

[good-wine-and-cheese]

One of the things I find kinda funny about part 3 Kaiji is like...it doesn't feel as though Muraoka is the primary antagonist. He feels more like a setup for Kazuya.

We barely get an introduction to him, and at almost no point do we see him behaving like a proper threat to Kaiji. From the start, Kaiji has an advantage: he knows about Maeda, and Miyoshi is helping him which Muraoka doesn't know. Now, yes, Kaiji does start losing: and it's the big matches that he's losing, but even so it never feels like it's because Muraoka is a formidable opponent, it's more that Kaiji made a mistake. Muraoka is just kind of a guy. The only threat he represents is "Kaiji loses a bunch of money he doesn't have" which is big for Kaiji, but doesn't really offer much for an 'arc villain'.

The only person who has a threatening energy is Kazuya: who, throughout the entire arc so far, Kaiji keeps trying to figure out who this person is and how he knows who Kaiji is, and whether or not he's going to blow his cover and screw him over. Kazuya's the actual opponent here.

It's not really the match itself that has weight, but rather the guy watching (and enabling) as things play out.

[tj-crochets]

So in a good news/less good news thing, I might have found out the cause of the Unexpected Floor Time! I got my blood test results back and my sodium was on the very very low end of normal. Still technically in the normal range, but very not normal for me, so my issue may have been that this week I am more sodium Georg than usual???? I mean I do have salt wasting syndrome but also I eat so much salt every day and I am on medication to help me retain salt better (fludrocortisone! it's great!) So anyway that's why I have not got much crafting done this week. I've been extremely tired and unsalted lol Oh wait the good/less good format! Okay so good news is might have an answer and it's not any of the worse options, less good news is that I need more damn salt lol

[aksemmi]

what bothers me about the laika thing here is like, most people being treated as martyrs were killed by an ~enemy, right, maybe sometimes their own "side" bears some responsibility but they die because they chose to fight for a thing and were killed for it, or they didnt choose to fight at all but someone killed them for something about them. or maybe some people died in PVE while trying to do something, like if you drown trying to save someone. or they intentionally carried out a suicide mission. but when someone who was killed intentionally by others is treated as a martyr usually this means thinking the forces or people who killed them were wrong to do so. but laika was nominally* killed in the name of advancing space exploration, her killers and the ones who wronged her were the scientists and officials and government trying to do that, not some opposing force. and she did not decide to make that sacrifice herself. laika could perhaps be a martyr figure for movements against animal testing, in that case treating her as a martyr for how she should not have died would make sense. but if she is being treated as a martyr for space exploration, which seems to be what people are doing that ive seen, that kind of implies approving of how she was nominally killed in the name of space exploration, like if the romans put up statues of slaves they worked to death in the mines *my impression is that in sending up laika was more about political posturing and trying to look impressive than actual meaningful research but i am not that familiar with the details

once again annoyed at the iconization of laika, a dog who was killed brutally against her will (for little to no scientific value! as acknowledged and explicitly regretted by her trainer oleg gazenko, who considered the mission unjustifiable in retrospect), not some kind of holy martyr for space exploration

[lucid-daydreaming-archive]

this is like the third time ive had to post something like this but you guys need to stop treating unodum like a celebrity or fangirl over him or act like its some sort of gift to be talked to by him or especially treat his friends weirdly because they talk to him regularly. ive gotten word that his friends are being treated as special just because they have connections to him and being asked to like say stuff to him or whatever??? which is legitimately very very gross behavior. cause its not only really uncomfortable for uno but it gets very awkward and uncomfortable for me and his friends. im aware my popularity in the regretevator fandom is largely because im associated with him and in all honesty from the START that concept has made me pretty upset. neither me nor his other friends want to be seen as special just because we’re close to him. its part of why i didnt make much outside of the blog AND why i just abandoned the blog and the fandom altogether. i think a lot of you guys are a younger audience and are still learning internet etiquette and social boundaries, but this needs to be a lesson in how NOT to treat others on the internet, especially content creators. this isnt to say dont attempt to build friendships with people you think are cool and feel like you have things in common with, but you cant go into that with the mindset of “i worship you notice me.” you need to understand that no matter how popular your favorite creator is, theyre literally just a person. thats it. just a person. not a god, not a character, just a person. im really fed up