#like the banality of evil really

[videogamelover99]

Pausing my program of BSD analysis to quickly talk about VNC because

I had started the anime fully thinking that Vanitas was A) a Vampire and B) THE Vampire of the Blue Moon. This is a little bit the anime's fault, as they had introduced the Vanitas story if the opening scene, and it's likely that this was the actual plan for the mangaka in the beginning.

So I spent the first few episodes being like "yes ofc it makes sense that Vanitas is acting all high and mighty. He kind of his. His disguise is kinda shit too, like how does he explain the fangs??" and viewing every interaction hinting at his backstory as "Vanitas doesn't consider himself a good person because he was the one that caused the maladies in the first place. No he's changed and is trying to fix it, but he carries that guilt with him" and it makes perfect sense! Noe calls his deeds noble and Vanitas laughs because Noe doesn't know anything.

But then turns out that yes, Vanitas is in fact just a human boy (well, mostly), and honestly, this was the most brilliant choice the writer could have made. Vanitas's self-hatred doesn't make sense but it's not supposed to make sense. It's the self-hatred of a child that internalized guilt over simply being alive. Survivor's guilt, if you will. And it doesn't matter that his father loved him and supported him because he saw the way the adults missed his mother, and without someone directly counteracting it his first thought was "It's my fault".

He way children and childhood trauma is portrayed in VNC is so good?? It's real, because what caused that trauma wasn't just cruel adults, sometimes terrible things just happen.

...Then again, it doesn't help that there's like ONE main character adult who isn't a terrible person.

[bookish-bogwitch]

Unhinged Fic Rec Wednesday

This weekend I had the pleasure of inhaling Do As You're Told (50k, T) by @roomwithanopenfire. I somehow missed it when it came out a year and a half ago, and I decided to binge-listen with TTS while finishing a quilt. Bad call, because I spent half the time gaping unseeing at the sewing machine, completely enthralled.

This fic disguises itself as a fun little Watford-era magickal mishap. Simon accidentally casts a compulsion spell that makes Baz obey everything he's told. While maintaining a light tone, the story takes the implications of that seriously.

You know how in some fics, the real antagonist isn't a character, but trauma, or lack of communication? Well, here the antagonist is the human capacity for cruelty. It's not torture porn or anything; there's no violence, no gore. But the fic reminds us again and again of how everyone--good people--can be selfish, even sadistic.

It's uncomfortable, and challenging. There's this devastating moment near the end that felt like the author holding up a mirror to the reader who's telling themselves "but I would never..."

And it's a sweet, cute get-together. @roomwithanopenfire is some kind of magician for pulling this off. It's a lot more fun than I'm making it sound.

Do As You're Told (50k, T)

[here-there-were-dragons]

i have to wonder what super hardcore militant vegans think should be done about obligate carnivore animals, because in all my painfully-rapidly-approaching-30-years i've literally never actually seen anyone give a clear consistent much less halfway feasible answer on that

[vividxp]

this sort of nonsense is why housing is expensive and continues to rise. homeowners want to keep it that way and make sure they're heard locally where the decisions get made because they are privileged over renters and people who would like to live somewhere but can't because it's too expensive.

This is part of a thread and it's just a litany of bad excuses and greed.

People, a lot of times gentrifiers, get theirs and want to screw everyone who could come after them because of 'neighborhood character'. If this sounds like red lining and segregation redux that's because it is. Because that's where it started.

And it's one thing if you live in a place like NYC or LA where you could get paid to match. There are other places like Miami that has LA prices but Florida wages so housing is even less affordable than you'd think compared to the typical high rent places. It's bad and the people who are affected have the least amount of power to change it and it drives me crazy.

[the-sea-anemone]

one of my favourite quotes from the article i'm trying to get published is from a ukrainian who lived through the german occupation: he's talking about the local collaborator who administered their village during that time and describes him as "a man devoid of principles, but also of any particular wickedness." because like. that just sums it up a lot of the time, doesn't it?

[llycaons]

the great is quite good. quite good

[furby-organist]

> Concept, Alastor takes advantage of his fanbase that's really into True Crime to go over cases caused by capitalism & greed, not individual killers :)

> His brain is cooking. True Crime Thursdays on 1450 KLXT or something. He'll work on it.

[illuminatedquill]

“Evil is boring. Right? I kinda believe in the banality and mundaneness of evil. Evil is just selfish impulses, which at the end of the day are really easy to understand. It's easy to understand why people do bad things. It's like ‘Yeah, okay, you're selfish and scared and cruel, I get it.’ Being good is complex and beautiful and hard.”

- Brennan Lee Mulligan

[caffeineandsociety]

There's a specific genre of shitty antisemitic joke that I have seen fly under the radar (as it was designed to) a LOT more often lately - especially since Kanye started going full mask-off nazi - so I feel the need to issue a warning about it. Namely, the genre is jokes that get spread around by people who aren't willfully antisemitic because outside of conspiracy brain rot land, it appears that the point of the joke is absurdism.

As an example, let's examine the 23-and-me lizard DNA test that I've sadly seen floating around unquestioned.

Because, see, to the average person who isn't willfully antisemitic, this genre of joke comes off as nonsequiturs, or hilarious mistakes - you, as a person with some level of basic observational and critical thinking skills, living on Earth and not in whatever batshit mirror dimension conspiracy theorists think we live in, might very well end up getting a giggle out of it because, HAH, we KNEW those DNA ancestry kits were a scam! If you're not a deliberate antisemite but not really up on the dogwhistles, it doesn't scan as anything awful because you're put in mind of things like feeding a photo of something decidedly not human into that one selfie-to-anime neural net, which sometimes works and produces interesting results because the thing is looking for specific patterns and trying to make anything fit - not things like blatantly lying about doing something like that in the hopes that normies who see the absurdity and want to have a laugh at a scummy company's expense will pass it along to people who unironically believe that Jewish people are actual literal lizard aliens and the test proves it.

This is the same strategy that guy at the game awards pulled. You, a person living in reality where the main source of political corruption is just the basic consequence of an economic system that makes power pool in the hands of anyone willing to exploit enough people, a world of banal mundane evil, know damned well that QAnon-pizzagate-satanic ritual abuse cult conspiracy bullshit is, well, bullshit, if you're even familiar with the details of what they believe at all. When someone crashes the stage and thanks Rabbi Bill Clinton, you may very well laugh because to YOU it is a blatant absurd nonsequitur.

Problem is that to someone else, someone who's deep into that shit, it's either someone letting the truth slip, or someone backing the deep state into a corner - whichever is more convenient to believe.

This is one form of how the far right uses memeification (CW: the example discussed in the link is a rape "joke") - it means something totally different to the in-group than it does to the out-group. To you, it's funny because it's nonsensical; to them, it's fun because they think they're onto something huge and they're about to blow this shit wide open and it's going to be their great moment of triumph.

I cannot stress enough that no matter how absurd an antisemitic conspiracy theory sounds to you, there are people who believe it, unironically. There are people who unironically believe that Jewish people are very literally not human and no amount of evidence to the contrary will ever change their minds. There are people who believe that we're born with horns and tails and pointed ears and have them surgically altered to fit in with good Christian humans like some kind of extremely high-stakes game of Among Us. There are people who believe that we steal, ritualistically abuse, and kill Christian babies. These beliefs, while fringe enough that, yeah, most of you who this post is aimed at have never heard them in the wild before very recently, are not nearly as fringe as you probably think they are. Just look at fucking Kanye. This asshole has more fans than there are Jewish people in the world.

So I'm begging you to please, bare minimum, be careful of "absurdist" jokes about Jewish people, especially if they reference lizards, money, banking, or government power. Also, you may see Jewish people debating how religious laws may apply to fictional creatures, but outside of that context you should also be wary of any time Jewish people are mentioned in the same sentence as vampires, dragons, goblins, zombies, fantasy demons, or any number of other fantasy creatures known for greed, feeding on humans, or both.

If the reason it seems funny to you is because you'd have to be really stupid to believe it's true or makes any kind of sense - it's probably looking for you to spread it to people who are, in fact, that stupid.

[thesoftboiledegg]

"Unmortricken" was a lot. In fact, it might have been a little too much.

To start, I loved the glimpse of what exists outside the Central Finite Curve. The visuals were stunning and reminded me of M.C. Escher's drawings. The Jetson-like family was a nice touch--if anything can happen, who says they can't have different animation styles? All those colorful portals make me wonder what's lurking just out of sight.

It's also funny that the space outside the Curve is full of Rick's favorite thing: crystals. If he took a trip there, he'd come back with his pockets stuffed with gemstones.

Evil Morty's reappearance gave us a decent character study. Since he wasn't the antagonist, we saw him interact with the C-137s as a regular person. Morty's a little impressed, and Rick has a grudging respect for him. Others have called Evil Morty the Rickest Morty, and I agree: similar intelligence, similar technology and similar bloodthirst.

I was glad that he left in the end because that's what his character arc is about anyway. He doesn't want to be part of anyone else's story, not even another Morty's.

However, that's also part of the issue that I had with this episode. Seeing Evil Morty was great, but it was also a little...pointless? You could've had the same story without him. He's not working with Prime, and he has no ties to C-137 after "Rickmurai Jack," so it felt like the writers just said "Hey, you know what would be cool?"

I'm not against writers having fun and giving the audience what they want. "Spider-Man: No Way Home" (yeah, groan at me, Marvel haters) is fan service in blockbuster form, and it was one of the best theater experiences I've ever had.

Still, if Evil Morty came back, I think he should've had a separate episode. The episode juggled C-137 Rick, Morty, Evil Morty and Prime Rick pretty well, giving them satisfying interactions with each other, but no Evil Morty would've meant more relationship development for the C-137s.

Evil Morty's backstory also didn't reveal much about him. I mean--yeah, we all figured that he had an abusive Rick and got fed up. The fact that he had a "regular" Rick instead of a deranged lunatic does make a point about the banality of abuse. Monsters aren't always raving maniacs who torture people in their basements. Ordinary people can wear you down with a slow drip of toxicity and neglect.

I enjoyed this episode, and Evil Morty's return was exciting, but cramming the series' two biggest antagonists and storylines into twenty minutes was a little overwhelming. New plot developments kept showing up, too: Rick found Prime! Prime's various lairs! Omega device! I would've preferred a two-parter.

I'll admit that if you told me that we'd see Evil Morty and Rick Prime in the same shot, I never would have believed you, but here we are.

On that note, Prime's characterization was perfect. No attempt at a cutesy, sad backstory; he's a laughing monster until the end. And is it really the end? He has regeneration abilities, but C-137 acts like he's dead and even gives up the search. This leaves us with a few options:

C-137 killed him.

Prime fooled C-137 into thinking that he's dead when he isn't.

C-137's keeping him alive for later use.

Hopefully, this is more complicated than it looks because I'll be disappointed if this is the end of Prime. He's a brilliant reflection of C-137: the Rick he'd be without his tiny shred of humanity.

And Prime's a maniac, but he tells C-137 the truth. Rick broke into Prime's house. He pretended he belonged with this group of strangers. He latched on to Prime's grandson because he never had his own. His brutal, violent streak never went away no matter how long he tried to play house.

Prime says "Admit it! You would have been me!" In season three and parts of season four, Rick was close. His love for his family--love that he pretended he didn't have--and desire for their approval just barely pulled him back. But what kept that spark alive? How close was he to becoming a cold, unfeeling shell?

In the end, C-137's not satisfied after he destroys Prime--and weirdly, I'm not satisfied, either. Beating Prime to an unrecognizable pulp doesn't bring Rick's original family back. It doesn't erase the atrocities that Rick's committed. It doesn't make his grief go away. It doesn't change the fact that Rick teetered on the edge of turning into the monster that he despised.

What's more satisfying is that Rick didn't turn out like Prime. His Morty doesn't give two shits about Prime, but he loves him. He hugs him in relief (come on, Rick, hug him back already!), cries out "Rick? Rick!" and shakes his body when he thinks he's dead, and talks excitedly as they return home.

Rick's going to therapy, which Prime would have mocked. He went from having nobody to living with FIVE kids if you count Morty and Summer. Even he and his Jerry are pretty tight.

Rick knows this, but he still feels empty all the time. Vengeance doesn't work, drinking doesn't work...wouldn't it be easier if he just switched off his humanity and laughed at everything, even his own death?

But now that he knows how it feels to be loved, especially by his hypothetical grandson, I think he'll always find himself at the Smiths' doorstep.

[rafetopia]

𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧

- 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

pairing: businessman!rafe cameron x fem!businesswoman!reader

genre: smut -> 18+!!

words: ~3.6k

warnings: use of a sex toy in public, rafe & reader switch dynamics, (potentially) exposing someone naked to the public?, swearing, being blindfolded and handcuffed, choking, name calling, unprotected p in v

summary: after an attempt of ruining your chance to convince a room full of rich investors goes horrible wrong, rafe has to deal with the consequences

note: this is a repost from my old blog (dreamingwithrafe)

“Rafe…” You moaned as his tongue made its way down your neck. “I have to practice this again…”

“Hmmm.” He hummed, as he softly mobbed on your earlobe, knowing just how much you loved that. “Then go…” He continued as his hands traveled under your skirt, landing in your already soaked panties.

“I…” You whispered, trying to find the right words, but all you could think about were his hands under your skirt. “I really should…”

“I said, then go.” He whispered, his hands now slipping under your panties, tracing circles around your clit.

“Hmmm you are so evil.” You mourned.

You knew exactly why he did what he did, why he showed up 15 minutes before your presentation, swinging you onto your desk the second he waltzed into your office. He knew how much it would distract you, after all he couldn’t have you being better than him.

“And you love it don’t you?” He smirked against your neck as he let his fingers slide into you, causing a quiet but sweet moan to escape your lips. “I knew it.”

“Just… Just be quick.”

His fingertips were tracing slow circles over your clit, making you want to rip away your clothes and underwear so his fingers and your skin wouldn’t be separated by something as banal as fabric. “Hmm, we’ll see about that. Brought a little surprise for you.” He grinned devilishly, as he reached into his pocket. You wanted to see what it was but quickly pushed your chin up so you couldn’t look. “Nuh- uh, princess, I said surprise didn’t I?”

His mouth went back on your neck but now moving up, towards your ear, knowing that once he got there he’d have you completely.

“Now, open up your pants and close your eyes for me, would you, princess?”

You did as you were told but something inside of you told you, that maybe you shouldn’t have. Your gut was proven right once you felt cold material sliding down your entrance, followed by his fingertips, making sure that everything fit as it should. You were about to open your mouth and protest when he pulled out his finger and softly pressed it against your lips. “Shhht.” He whispered, before he continued, “Now be a good girl and suck.”

He slid his finger into your mouth and you did as you were told, sucking up every bit of your juice on his fingertips. “Good.” He hummed. “Now lean back and relax.” He smirked playfully. He then pulled your pants down and got down on his knees, ready to send you to heaven before you had to convince a room full of white middle aged men why it was an amazing idea to supply the middle east with solar energy.

He was about to eat away all your sorrows when someone knocked on the door. “Miss (Y/LN), it’s time, they’re ready for you now.” A friendly female voice said.

“Shit.” You spat out, as quiet as possible, hoping the woman on the other side of the door didn’t hear you. “I’m coming, gimme two minutes.”

You pushed Rafe away from you and quickly jumped up from the desk.

“What, you don’t think I could’ve finished you in two minutes?” He asked, disappointment flickering through his voice.

You ignored him, while you pulled up your pants as quickly as possible before taking your phone and fixing your hair.

“Rafe have you seen my hairbrush? Black, small little thingy with spikes on it?”

“Y/N Don’t you think I know what a hairbrush looks like?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think It fell under the table when I pushed you on it.” He bent down and looked under the table himself, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him anyways.

He got back up and handed you your object of desire. “Told you.”

You gave him a smile and quickly started fixing the mess on your head while he poured you a glass of water. “Now drink this, baby. You need to hydrate.” You nodded and emptied the glass immediately. “Now remember, you and your dad have been working on this for over two years now, you got this.”

“Would you stop with all the smothering, Cameron? I’m not nervous.” You smirked. “You can stop pretending like this wasn’t part of your plan”

“What plan sweetheart?”

“Oh shut up, you know exactly what I mean.”

He stepped forward until he was only inches away from you. The smell of his cologne intoxicated your senses, almost making it hard for you to concentrate.

“I don’t need a plan, babygirl, we all know they are going to choose “Cameron Development”, they always do.” He grinned devilishly. “No go out there princess, you don’t want to be late, now do you?”

You stared back into his eyes, not breaking eye contact for one second. “We will see about that.” You smiled, before you grabbed your back and left the office.

Rafe stayed back for a second, looking around for the toy he put inside you but the moment he realized, you never put it out it was already too late. He closed the door behind him, with the biggest smirk the world had ever seen.

The room was already full of investors and potential business partners you were supposed to convince. They were still talking and laughing, not paying any attention to you which gave you room and time to set up your laptop. You would lie if you’d say you weren’t at least a little bit nervous but you tried your best to hide it. You had been working towards this moment for many months now, sure originally to present with your father but since he had an emergency meeting in california you had to do it alone now.

You took one last sip from the water bottle hanging out of your bag before gathering your cards and waiting for the crowd to get quiet. They noticed that you were ready and just before you were about to open your mouth, the door in the back to the meeting room opened.

The moment your eyes met his, you were met with a grin on his face, so wide you were sure his mouth was touching his ears. It was then, when you realized, you fucked up.

You wanted to walk out of the door to take it out but Anna, your assistant shook her head, signaling it was too late for that.

You shot Rafe a warning glare, telling him that if he tried anything there would be consequences but deep down you knew he didn’t care. He owned you now and for the duration of this presentation, you were at his mercy and his mercy only.

Your fears quickly became reality a few minutes after your introduction. You were about to introduce the bigger concept of your project when you felt a sudden vibration between your folds. You tried to hide your surprise but it was almost impossible no one noticed. You saw the smirk on his face, knowing that he wouldn’t stop there, that he’d probably keep going and going until you reached your breaking point, until you messed up and broke down in front of all those people.

But Rafe clearly seemed to underestimate you. You had incredibly good focus if you wanted to and you prepared yourself for months. So you set your focus back to the presentation, completely ignoring the vibration between your legs. It wasn’t easy, sure but it was doable until Rafe went up a level. Even though you were good at what you were doing, you also mustn’t underestimate him.

Fine. You thought to yourself. You wanna play? Game on.

You put all your senses together and pushed through. You still had a lot to go through but you were sure, if you would just focus enough, you would be able to push through. Not with Rafe Cameron though.

He saw how you tried to fight him and it only encouraged him more. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to do this, but Rafe Cameron never played fair. The truth was, he never stood a chance against you. It was the way you presented yourself, the way you held yourself, the way you spoke, your beautiful chuckle when you misspoke or casually built in a joke to make the investors laugh.

He saw the way you looked at him, everytime they laughed or someone asked you an interesting question which you answered perfectly. You challenged him, as if you almost wanted him to go on, as if you wanted to prove something to him. So he did. He went up another level, just to see if you could handle it. And you could. You felt the vibration traveling through your body, almost making it impossible for you to keep standing but you put on your poker face and pushed through. And again and again.

You told them about the importance of your project, about the necessity of solar panels in the middle east and why your company would be the perfect fit for the project. You baffled them away with your knowledge, your presentation and your smile. Everything was perfect, you were perfect and he couldn’t have that.

He hated every single word that came through your mouth, everytime you smiled he could feel his blood boiling because he knew. He knew that he couldn’t distract you, he knew he didn’t stand a single chance against you, you were just too good.

So he went up to the maximum level and he didn’t just change the intensity, he also changed the rhythm to something that made it way harder for you to concentrate. You let out a loud whimper, causing everyone in the room to look up at you. You looked at Rafe, who sat there with a wide and evil grin, waiting for you what to do next. He expected you to become red and lose your rhythm but you didn't. Instead, you looked him right in the eyes and smiled.

“Sorry, gentlemen, cramps are really bad today.”

They smiled at you, some more uncomfortable than others but they believed you. Rafes gaze darkened, if you were closer to him, you were sure you would have heard his pulse rising to the maximum. His face turned red, he tried to hide it but he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do now. You won.

That didn’t stop him from trying to make it as hard for you as possible though. You managed through but it wasn’t exactly easy. You smiled at the round of applause you got, and answered all the questions asked. You expected Rafe to raise a hand but he didn’t. He sat there for a while, just staring at you before he stood up and stormed out of the room.

While you finished everything up, he wandered through the hallways, trying to think about what to do next. He found himself in the bathroom, bracing his arms on the sink as he tried to calm down and gather himself. He turned on the water tap and took a deep breath as he buried his face in the pool of cold water that he had gathered in his hands. Washing his face with cold water, had always helped him calm down again, when he felt his anger taking over. It was actually something that you had shown him once, after you found him at the island club, screaming into his phone because his dad threatened to cut him off once again.

He gathered his thoughts and walked back into the hallway where he quickly spotted you, shaking hands with one of the investors. He hid behind the nearest corner he could find, trying to eavesdrop on what you were saying but all he could hear was the sweet sound of your laugh, followed by an even sweeter “thank you Mr. Bass”. He then heard your heels clicking on the floor, becoming louder and louder with every step you took and before he knew it, he had pulled you behind the corner, pressed against the wall with his hand on your mouth.

He felt you smirking under his skin, only strengthening the feeling of stone cold rage that shot through his body.

“What’s wrong baby?” You asked, mockingly after you took his hand and removed it from your mouth. “You don’t look so happy.” He didn't say anything, his thoughts clouding his mind, making him unable to form any words. You noticed it, only amusing you even more. “What? Are you mad because your little plan didn’t work out?” You laughed, “Don’t worry baby, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

His dark gaze burned right through you, making it hard for you to keep eye contact but you pulled through. This was a game that he started and there was no way in hell you would let him get away just like that. But Rafe didn’t plan on going, no. He was angry, oh so angry and that anger needed to go somewhere and before he knew it, his hand was wrapped around your throat, causing you to gasp for air. But you weren’t scared, you thought it was cute how easy it was for you to provoke him like that, how easy it was for you to control him. He tightened his grip but it only caused you to smile even more.

You had trouble breathing and even though you weren’t particularly scared, your heartbeat told a different kind of story. He looked at you, his eyes traveling from your eyes down to your lips and back up again, as if he was debating on what to do next.

“Come with me.” He pressed through his clenched jaw, as he let go of your throat. His hand quickly grabbed your wrist as he pulled you into the utility room next to the elevator. Before you knew it he had spun you around, his hand pressing you back against the door as he smashed his lips on yours.

The kiss was filled with passion and rage, the combo you loved most on Rafe. It made him rougher and faster in his actions, something that made your knees weak by the simple thought of it. Your hands traveled down his crotch where you were met with his already hardened erection. You felt him flinch under your touch followed by a soft moan escaping his lips. He swung you around again, trying to push you on the table behind him but you were quick to stop him.

“Uh Uh, baby boy.” You smirked. “You think I’m going to let you take the lead on this after what you just tried to do to me? We are going to play, but on my terms, with my rules. Do you understand?” You asked, waiting for an answer but were met with nothing but silence.

You smiled, as your hands traveled through his hair, pulling it back so he would have to look at you. “Do you understand?” You asked again, with an angrier tone this time.

“Yes. Yes ma’am.” He whispered, almost sounding intimidated.

“Good.” You smiled, “Now sit.” You signaled to the chair next to you and he did as told. “Now close your eyes for me, pretty boy.” You whispered into his ear as you got behind him. You leaned over his shoulder and removed his tie, while planting soft kisses on his neck, causing him to let out soft moans. You then used it to tie his eyes, leaving him completely vulnerable in front of you. You smiled at the sight of it, before walking around the chair to face him again. You kneed in front of him and opened his belt, while he leaned back into the seat. You gently pushed the material of his pants over his legs and then did the same with his boxer, until he was exposed completely.

“What are you going to do to me?” He asked quietly. His voice was steady but you could hear the nervousness peaking through his words.

“Shht, relax baby, no need to get nervous.” You answered, softly but he knew she shouldn’t listen to you. After all, the two of you had been playing this game for a while now and he knew that he took it too far this time.

You slid your left hand into his, as your right one brought his dick into your mouth. He gasped at the sudden contact and let his head fall back into his seat. You let your tongue slide over his tip, saliva building up as you tasted the salty drop of precum on your tongue. You slowly started sucking, pushing him in further and further with each movement until you swallowed him whole. Rafe tried to hide his moans, not wanting you to know how much he enjoyed this but you knew better. You felt his dick twitching around in your mouth, signaling you that he was close and just when he was about to release himself, you slowed down, almost stopping. He wanted to protest but you quickly put your finger on his lips, signaling him to keep quiet.

You then went on again, but this time you circled your tongue around his length, never pulling him in completely. His breathing got faster with every time your tongue slid over him, and you felt his nails burying themselves into your hands, almost causing you to flinch in pain.

“Please (Y/N)...” He whimpered. “I…”

“Mhh, speak up, pretty boy, what do you want?”

“Please ride me…” He whispered, clearly trying to suppress another moan.

“I might.” You chuckled, “But you better be loud or I stop. Need everyone to know what a needy boy you are for me baby.”

He gave you an eager nod, before pulling you closer to him. His hands landed perfectly around your waist, very impressive, considering that he was still blindfolded. You quickly got rid of your panties and climbed on top of him, letting him slide into you in one motion. You both gasped at the sudden contact, as your walls wrapped up around him, hugging him tightly, as if they never wanted him to leave again. “That’s it, baby boy, just like that.” You whispered into his ear, as he let out soft moans with every movement you made.

You started slow and steady, wanting to feel every inch of him as deep as possible. Rafe’s hands slowly traveled from your waist down to your cheeks, supporting your movements. You felt his fingers dig deeper into you every second, a sign that he enjoyed what you were doing. You bent down and started kissing his neck, leaving marks all over his skin, for everyone to see. You wanted everyone to know who he’d belong to, especially those greedy interns from “Trenton Investments” that somehow earned themselves a spot in his audience. The more you worked on his neck, the more you felt his pulse under his skin fasten, as you worked him closer and closer towards his orgasm. You moved your kisses from his neck, back to his lips where you let your tongue dance around his mouth. He tried fighting for dominance and for a split second you even let him. He was distracted, his whole attention only belonging to you. He started using his right index finger to massage your clit, while you sped up your movements. The both of you moaned out in sync, as he dedicated his whole attention to your mouth and clit. He was concentrated, so concentrated that he didn’t notice your left hand grabbing towards your bag to your left.

Having no vision was only to his advantage, as he listened closer and closer to your breathing, bringing not only himself but also you closer and closer to the edge. He got more and more confident the more time passed and the louder your moans got, and you had never been the quiet type.

“That’s right, pretty boy, just like that!” You screamed, as you let your head fall back into your neck. You felt his dick twitching between your walls, as your screams got louder and louder. They were music to his ears, such pretty sounds when you screamed his name, so pretty that he almost missed the *click* sound, followed by a cold and tight feeling of metal wrapped around his wrist.

“What the fuck…” He whispered, as your movements stopped suddenly, just when the both of you were about to finish. “What are you doing?”

You climbed down from him, almost laughing at the sight in front of you. There he was, the oh so powerful Rafe Cameron, Chief Project Manager for Cameron Development, naked from the waist down, blindfolded and tied to a chair. How adorable.

You got dressed, fixed your hair and gathered your things before you walked up to him one last time. You bent down and placed a soft kiss on his lips before leaning to his ear.

“You picked the wrong girl to play this game with, Cameron. Good luck.” You whispered, smirking. You even lifted the tie, so he would at least be able to see that you put the key on the table right next to him, just far enough for him to be out of reach but close enough for him to see.

“What the fuck, you can’t leave me here like this!” He yelled, “Come back!” He paused, as he tried to get himself free. “(Y/L/N) you fucking bitch get back here or you will regret this! I swear to god, you will regret this!”

You then turned around smiling and left the room, leaving Rafe Cameron at the mercy of the poor soul that would walk into the room next.

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[aziraphales-library]

Hey y'all, first off, thanks for the great work you're doing!

I'm looking for Aziracrow fics with like,, one of them as an FBI agent and the other as art consultant or something like that. I already checked if there's anything in a possible art heist tag, I also looked for crossovers with White Collar, which has a similar premise, and I didn't really find anything. Maybe there's nothing, but I thought maybe you'd have an idea :) Thank you!!

Hello! So, the best I can do is fics in which one of them works in law enforcement of some kind, and the other works in either a different department or completely different job, and they work together in some way. Hope this was the kind of thing you're after!...

Containing Seeds of Destruction by feathereddino (T)

Lower Tadfield is a rural, sleepy little village that is trying to be a town. The crimes that Police Constable A.J. Crowley usually responds to are mundane but never evil. His husband, police psychologist Dr. A.Z. Fell appreciates that their combined caseload reflects that banality. That all changes in 2008 with a call about an abandoned baby. Adam Young's surrender will spark a series of events that will impact their village, their careers, and their personal lives.

What Will Destroy You by EveningStarcatcher (E)

London, 1888 Police Inspector Aziraphale Fell forms an unlikely alliance with Reporter Anthony Crowley to investigate the Whitechapel Murders. Can they solve the mystery and stop the so called Ripper before he strikes again?

Tadfield's Finest by angelsnuffbox (E)

The sleepy town of Tadfield is thoroughly shaken by the arrival of DI Crowley. Where barely anything ever happened before, there is now a bustle of low grade criminal activity, and everyone knows where to point the blame. Gabriel thinks he's a bad omen for the town, many others are quick to agree. Meanwhile, Aziraphale from SOCO just thinks he's hot. Ridiculously so.

and salt the Earth behind you by sunrisesinthesuburbs (E)

Detective (well, Profiler actually, not that anyone seems to care) Aziraphale Fell should have dropped his one and only Criminal Informant the moment he realized he was already falling in love with the man. Alas, he's never had good ideas regarding his self-preservation: when Anthony Crowley calls, he always comes. He will always come. If this wasn't already very bad, his feelings are apparently reciprocated and, in the meantime, his unit has to catch the worst serial killer Washington D.C. has probably ever seen. Crowley has no intention of leaving Aziraphale to deal with this on his own; Aziraphale has no intention of letting Crowley do something stupid just for his sake. Ah, if only love could ever be something easy. “Sometimes I wish I’d met you in a park.” Crowley’s hands move lower, down, down until he reaches Aziraphale’s palms and intertwines their fingers. There isn’t a single chance this gesture can fall under the umbrella of ‘plausible deniability’. Though nothing about this sort of impromptu confession could. “A park, uh? Nice.” A squeeze. “I always imagine something like a library. Or a bookshop or, not sure, whatever place is full of books.”

For His Eyes Only by AFrenchFanWriter (M)

Anthony J. Crowley has been an MI6 spy for 10 years, completing successful mission after successful mission under the guidance of his quartermaster, Aziraphale Fell. But this life is starting to take its toll on him as he is getting older; and when, one day, his past comes back to haunt him, Crowley realizes that it might be time for him to hang up his gun and face all the things he has left unaddressed… (Yep, it is basically a James Bond/Q AU!)

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

- Mod D

[bitchmael]

extremely half-formed thoughts hours but i like that black sails as a "villain origin story" (as it were) for long john silver, one of the most storied pirates there is (because among other things he's entirely fictional), shows us a series of pirate captains who have constructed larger-than-life personae for themselves to feature as the monsters in other people's stories, and shows us the (almost always) deeply personally painful histories that went into making them and then refuses to give us that for long john silver. he's not a monster from a children's story but nor does he have the kind of compelling personal history of (say) flint or vane or rackham or anne bonny. he's just fundamentally selfish in a way that's ultimately pretty banal & ordinary imo, but he's put into this position where his selfishness is able to exert a massive influence on the people around him that makes him seem like more than he is. & btw i don't mean this as like a criticism of his character i think it works really well. what if evil were just boring. what then.

[opal-owl-flight]

Ooh boy, so, how do all the agents feel about the 70mil quota? And the fact it's at 90 mil last I checked....

Also, agents favorite grizzco weapons?

(They dont have fave grizzco weapons bc they dont want to associate with this sleazeball corporation KWJWKJ

More stuff abt the feelings below, though!)

Watching the decimation happening before her, Neo3 can only lay on the ground and cry. Thats everyone. Everything shes done. Shes known. Stolen away in a single night. All her power is nothing before the might of the eternal hunger of this banal evil.

What else can be done?

Her captain comes over, carrying a single egg. She starts, theyre not supposed to be on the field.

Is...it over?

They held the egg close, their voice, barely above a whisper. An apology.

"Im sorry."

She smells the devastation in their scent. Their mask hid nothing. And at that moment, they didnt even try. The marks of dried tears glowed on their face. Their voice is hoarse. Their form slumped, exhausted.

She knows theyve been trying to negotiate peace between the surrounding nations for several years, at this point. Alongside everything else.

Theyre fighting her fight.

What a dishonorable salmonid she is. Laying herself down like this, sneaking around - but she knew better than to do anything rash, now. She knew that will get her killed, or captured, or worse. She cant...she cant risk her captain getting injured again. They just got better.

"Really, I am."

At their soft words, she moves closer to them. Gentle, yet calloused hands, pick her up into a gentle hug. In this hug she can smell their guilt. In this hug she can smell their despair, their powerlessness. And yet...the scent of quiet fury simmers beneath.

They were just like her, in ways she didnt know yet. They too, ran away from their clan, after believing themself a dishonor to them. To save themself. They too, were dragged into a war their ancestors waged. Forced to carry the hopes and dreams of an age long gone.

The dream has changed, but they fight on, all the same.

She hugs them back, feeling the scars under their gear, the oldness of their body. Theyve been fighting longer than she has. With what she can only imagine is a spirit that can rival an elder survivor.

Shes a survivor, too, even if her means were more dishonorable than she wants it to be -- this over-reliance on others to fight her fights instead of doing it all herself, especially an elder survivor -- Has she stooped that low? Elders were meant to stay back, to watch over everyone. This one can barely fight for long anymore. What kind of salmon is she? (Just like 3, shes yet to fully realize the value of accepting help.)

And yet theyre here.

A squid who smelled of yearning, haunted by a past that they drag the dead weight of, ever forward.

Haunted by the specter of what they couldve been. Haunted by their mistakes. Yearning to be a squid that theyre not, anymore. To take the harm their entire nation has done and carry its consequences, all on their own. Be that hero, just like before.

...

And despite all that, their painful joints and trembling form, memories that drown them in yearning, theyre here. Still here. Fighting for their future. Her future. Everyones future.

"...Rest...now." they whisper. "Even one...saved...is still a life."

Their hands trembled, too. Maybe thats why theyre not signing. She held the egg they saved, gingerly, in her hands.

It reflected her face. It reflected her captain.

Its so fragile. All of it.

[sith-shenanigans]

The thing about the Omelas story is that I don’t hate it, actually.

Don’t get me wrong. Usually, when I think about it, it drives me up a wall. I also—on the subject of responses to it—didn’t really like The Ones Who Stay And Fight. (Most of my reasons are said, better, in this article. Not the part about the tone, but that it shot for ambiguity and ended up in “somehow, the clearly magical power of child suffering made more sense than intolerance being a memetic virus that can only be solved through police murder.”) I’m fond of responding to trolley problems by asking who’s tying people to trolleys, and then insisting that it is morally relevant that someone tied those people to the tracks, because you wouldn’t be deciding who lives and who dies if someone hadn’t made the deliberate choice to put those people in mortal peril for no pressing reason.

(I like to think I’d save the five people. I think a lot of us would most likely panic and do something entirely unhelpful, and in practice, I have no idea if I’m one of them, because no one has ever tied anybody to a trolley track in front of me. It just hasn’t come up. But the ideal would be to save the five people. That’s not my answer in the organ-harvesting version, though, because it’s bad for everyone to live in a place where a surgeon can decide to kill you for your organs, no matter how many people doing it just this once would save.)

But I don’t dislike the story that Omelas came from. I don’t even dislike trolley problems, unless people are trying to insist that the context doesn’t matter. (The context always matters.) The problem is that everyone treats Omelas as a trolley problem. “Here’s a utopia where one innocent person has to suffer horribly. Is it worth it, to keep so many other people from suffering? Would you stay and be complicit, or would you walk out to go anywhere else?” The child is the central feature of Omelas, the only thing that matters. The child is nonnegotiable. You can’t rescue them, you can only walk away.

But the narrator did give us the chance to believe, before adding the child in.

Omelas is described to us as half place and half thought experiment, by a narrator that adds things as they go, a narrator that says this at close to the opening:

As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy.

And goes on, in the narrative, to consider the reader’s opinion, to ask what they’ll believe.

I wish I could convince you. Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time. Perhaps it would be best if you imagined it as your own fancy bids, assuming it will rise to the occasion, for certainly I cannot suit you all. For instance, how about technology? I think that there would be no cars or helicopters in and above the streets; this follows from the fact that the people of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category, however – that of the unnecessary but undestructive, that of comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc. – they could perfectly well have central heating, subway trains, washing machines, and all kinds of marvelous devices not yet invented here, floating light-sources, fuelless power, a cure for the common cold. Or they could have none of that: it doesn't matter. As you like it.

[…]

But even granted trains, I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, don't hesitate. […] Surely the beautiful nudes can just wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of the needy and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and (a not unimportant point) let the offspring of these delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all. One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt. But what else should there be?

Omelas is a story being told to a listener, a utopia being described; the reader is an implied participant in a conversation, the narrator reacting to what they said where the page couldn’t hear. And so, after all of that, the narrator says:

Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing.

And the narrator goes on to describe the child, the terrible price, the self-justifications that people employ. Because the listener doesn’t accept the festival, the city, the joy—only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. So the narrator engages in “the treason of the artist” (if you can't lick 'em, join 'em) and regales us with the child’s sorry state.

[…] They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there snivelling in the dark, the other one, the flute-player, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer.

Now do you believe in them? Are they not more credible?

I don’t think we’re being asked, as readers, to consider whether it’s worth it, though it’s certainly something we can consider if we want. But the narrative seems quite clear that it isn’t: to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. A description of Omelas, of why Omelas should be believed in, but how could that be anything but a condemnation of a city powered by a forsaken child?

And, of course, everyone wants to ask—why don’t we free the child, why don’t we comfort the child, why don’t we change things and take the risk of making everything worse? Why is the best thing we can do to walk away?

Because we needed the utopia to have suffering in it, to believe it. Because it couldn’t be real until there was a cost, a price, something cruel and unfair to balance out the scales. Something had to be wrong with Omelas, as the narrator spun it up before us. Yes, perhaps we could save the child, perhaps we could ruin everything, perhaps we could be heroes—wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that be the story we want, here, where someone is suffering and only we (who are of course more compassionate than everyone else) can fix it? That would make it a real utopia, if we could kick down the doors and fix everything ourselves.

But it would have been better to believe that Omelas could exist without someone suffering for it, when we were asked.

[lilydalexf]

You are welcome for the lists! This one is fics recs for "Orison". They are all related to that episode, though they're not all angsty smut fics. So it's not quite the ask, but I hope you and others enjoy the stories! Another Dark Forest by @aloysiavirgata Post-Orison sex Anyone with a Gun by V. Salmone (Punk and Sab) Mulder, Scully, and a gun. Atomic Split by Pteropod The world is glued together by the strong force, the weak force, the electromagnetic force, and gravity. Better Angels by wonderland (@amplifyme) “She’s okay, Maggie, I promise... No, no, just forget whatever you might hear. Don’t even watch the local news. She’s okay. She’s safe and resting. I got it.” Jesus, how many times had he had this conversation with her, or one very much like it? More than he’d ever wanted to. Black Hole Season by Penumbra (@mashnotesofthemythopoeic) Mulder muddles through the aftermath of Orison. Ceremony by @darwin-xf What’s left when words fail? Cold Comfort by Joann Humby When 3 men die, the killer seems to have a story to tell, but is it the same one that people are hearing? X-Files are dangerous, very dangerous if you're working alone. Exorcist Stairs by Elanor G Scully is adrift and on her own after the events of Orison. A chance encounter forces her to confront the banality of evil... fluorescence and night on all sides by audries (@audriesfic) He steps over a corpse to touch her. Ghast by @leiascully (No summary provided) Glub-Glub-Glub and Calming Spells by PostApocolypticAlien (@scullysexual) “you can stay here, tonight. for as long as you’d like.” / “Hey babe, babe, wake up.” The Devil's Instant by Maria Nicole Post-ep for Orison Incorruptible by Anjou A submission for an epistolary challenge on the Scullyfic/E-muse list in January of 2000. Set mid-season 7, immediately after the events of Orison, when Scully has been faced with an evil from her past. Mytharc heavy. i have your dreams and your teeth marks by audries (@audriesfic) Also in the trunk of the car: the latest edition of JAMA, The Amityville Horror on VHS from Blockbuster, Moby Dick, a Jewel CD, a bag of clementines. Her still-closed Bible. - post-orison. mulder takes scully on a witch hunt. there's nail polish involved. Imperfect Shadow by Nicknoc In a dark time, the eye begins to see, I meet my shadow in the deepening shade. Intuituve Reasoning, I Say Obsessive, You Say Compulsive, and I Can Eat Glass by Mish You can’t fool *all* of the people, *all* of the time. / Kosseff vs. Mulder - one analysis, seven minute time limit. / A late night distress call shatters the calm. The Nearness of You by a_steady_wish Her first night back in her own bed after the events of Orison, and Mulder is there to comfort and love her. Neptune's Ocean by M. Sebasky (No summary provided) Nothing Apart by Dyann Zimmerman What happened after the events in 'Orison'. Noyade by Rocketman Noyade--(french) whirlpool. Of Ladies Most Deject And Wretched by Circe Invidiosa and Helen Quilley (@invidiosa) It wasn't a question worth answering...post Orison. Orison by @scullywolf The aftermath of Pfaster's attack takes its toll in more ways than one. Possession by @mldrgrl Based on this prompt request: Mulder and Scully have both dealt with abductions and kidnappings where they were held against their will. I imagine that it took a while for them to feel comfortable with any type of bondage. I think it’d be interesting to explore how or when they became comfortable with that and if it felt really empowering the first time. I especially see Scully having reservations at first but maybe requesting it. the praxis of a water bed by skuls (@ghostbustermelanieking) Five of the first times Scully woke up in Mulder's bed. Right Here by @smalldisbeliever The soft thud of her duffle bag hitting the floor marks their arrival at her apartment. It’s been a little over a week since Donnie Pfaster tore through the space.

Sedimentation by Maria Nicole Musings on the edge of sleep Sins Remembered by rah What happens after they leave her apartment. soap bubble memories by @softnow five times mulder and scully showered together + one time they bathed. Some Nights by otto_tis_eratai Or "Six times Mulder and Scully slept together, and one time they did something more". A collection of seven one shots, all post/mid episode (although it can be also read as one story). Some fluff, some angst, some hurt/comfort elements, eventual smut, a lot of friendship. Submerged by hellsteeth (@wexleresque) Mulder helps Scully cope with her post-Orison anxiety Taller Than Other Waves by amyhit (mayhit) She read Salem’s Lot at ten years old, was brave enough to kiss her partner by thirty-five. That Was Then, This Is Now by @mldrgrl The difference between how Scully deals with the aftermath of Donnie Pfaster in Orison v. Irresistible.

Unintended Consequences by Sarah Segretti Just when you think you know how you’d react to a horrific event, life steps up to surprise you. Scully and Mulder deal with the aftermath of the Pfaster shooting. Untitled by @aloysiavirgata Prompt: alternate post-Orison where Scully doesn’t get to her gun and Mulder is the one that kills Pfaster. Untitled by @aloysiavirgata Prompt: Scully to Mulder: Make me feel alive again... Untitled by @o6666666 Prompt: can't wait to read their argument for anniversary date. who would win??? Walls by Ellie I can't hold out forever; even walls fall down. An Orison post-ep. The Weight of Water by @dashakay The aftereffects of trauma are sometimes unexpected.