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nunyabznsbabes · 2 years ago

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Katniss is like Lucy Gray this, Katniss is like Sejanus that, and yes fine that's all good and true and lovely but Katniss Everdeen is also a direct parallel to Coriolanus Snow and people NEED to start talking about this because it's driving me crazy.

Think about it: they both grew up poor and deeply vulnerable, losing parents at a very young age, with a matriarchal adult (Katniss' mother and Coriolanus' Grandma'am) who fails to provide for them emotionally and physically. They intimately understand the threat of starvation, even developing with stunted growth because of it, and their narrations in the books share a fixation on food. Throughout their childhoods, both experienced constant fear and suffered a fundamental lack of control over their circumstances. Because of this, they're inherently suspicious of the people around them. They resent feeling indebted to others, especially those who have saved their lives. They're motivated almost entirely by family and deeply connected to their communities. Both are used and manipulated by the Capitol, both are forced to perform to survive and despise every inch of it, both are thrown into the Arena and made to kill. Both have a self-sacrificial, genuinely sweet sister figure acting as their conscience. Peeta and Lucy Gray - performers and love interests with a fundamental kindness and sense of hope about them - fulfill markedly similar roles in their narrative. Both contribute to the development of the future Hunger Games, Snow throughout tbosas and Katniss towards the end of Mockingjay.

It's easy to ignore these similarities because, as mirrors of each other, they are exact opposites. Katniss is from District 12, viewed and treated as less than human; Snow is the cream of the Capitol crop, given the privilege of a name with social weight, an ancestral home, and the opportunity of the Academy despite having no more money than a miner from 12. Katniss has no agency over her life, and responds by being kind whenever she's able, while Snow justifies horrendous evils in order to continue his quest for complete control. Katniss does everything she can to protect her family; Snow does everything he can to protect his family's image as an extension of his own ego. Katniss loves her District and connects with its inhabitants on a meaningful level, but Snow is indifferent at best to his peers - the apparent "superior people" - and only engages with his community for personal gain. Katniss emerges from the Arena horrified at herself and the system, but Snow takes his trauma and turns it into an excuse to perpetuate the violence with himself at the top. Katniss cares for Prim until her death and then snaps at the loss of her little sister, while Snow survives on Tigris' blood, sweat, and tears and then torments and abandons her, presumably because she calls him out on his insanity. Snow actively adds to and popularizes the Hunger Games because of his vendetta against the Districts following his childhood wartime trauma - Katniss briefly agrees to a new Hunger Games (which is arguably a facade to trick Coin), but later definitively stops them from happening by killing Coin and choosing a life of peace and privacy. Snow is obsessed with revenge, but Katniss empathizes with the Capitolites and does what she can to keep them from suffering. He exists in a cruel system and selfishly upholds it; she exists in a cruel system and works to dismantle it for the good of her family and community, at great personal cost. And Peeta and Lucy Gray are incredibly similar, but Katniss and Peeta forge a relationship of genuine love and understanding that shines in comparison to Coriolanus' obsessive projection onto Lucy Gray.

So, yeah, Katniss is Lucy Gray haunting Coriolanus. But I bet you anything that eighty-something year old President Snow looks at her, the girl on fire, and thinks that he sees the ghost of his own past: bright and young and brilliant, emerging from a childhood of starvation with a relentless hunger for success, a talented and charming performer helping her win the Games. And that's why he's so afraid of her! Because if he sees himself in her, then he's up against his own cunning, his own talent for manipulation, his own charisma, his own genius. He reads her wrong, obviously, but it means that in his mind he's up against the version of himself that he could have been, with the nightmare army of his childhood at her back and her star-crossed lover at her side, spewing Sejanus' truths in his own voice. This isn't to say that Katniss ever achieved the level of power and agency that Coriolanus did during her time with the rebellion, but it is to say that Snow was taken down by what truly terrified him - his own morality, come to finish the job.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #katniss everdeen #coriolanus snow #president snow #lucy gray baird #peeta mellark #everlark #tbosas meta #the hunger games #thg #snowbaird

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alchemistc · 5 months ago

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Gonna be pissed as hell if Tim throws out a plotline to replace it with a three episode arc about LA on fire (what will Brad do when his house burns down?), which makes me a hypocrite and a half because here's some ripped-from-the-headlines bullshit.

Tommy's duffle lands on the bottom stair with a thump.

He glances around the space like he's seeing it for the first time - or maybe like he's just taking in the gravity of the situation. There's a quirk of his lip, an ironic shake of his head, and Buck can't quite stop himself from imagining the thought running through his mind. Despite his intentions, he'd landed here anyway.

They're both bone tired. Exhaustion seeping into their marrow, the kind of tired Buck hasn't felt like this since Texas, maybe. He wants a shower and about 48 hours of sleep.

"I'll take the couch," Tommy says, voice raspy, eyes refusing to draw towards Buck.

And the thing is.

The thing is Tommy definitely had other places to go. Other friends who would have put him up as long as he needed, people he trusted, people who cared about him. But it was Buck he'd found as things wound down, the both of them covered in soot and ash, Tommy dropping to sit beside him on the curb as they waited for relief teams to finish up at the command tent.

They'd stared at the burnt out husk of Tommy's home just long enough for the tiredness to really settle in.

"You're not taking the couch," Buck says, and flips the light switch in the downstairs bathroom. Tommy's shower gel is still under the sink, his fancy curl conditioner down to the last few dollops because he'd spent enough nights here to go through most of a bottle. They've already showered at their respective stations, but Buck knows from experience how much Tommy hates the Harbor showers ("You'd think a fire station would have better water pressure, but I'm telling you, Evan, it's about as strong as an eighty-year-old's dribbling piss.") and Buck knows he still feels like he's caked in days of grime.

"Evan," Tommy starts, and Buck can't read into that, refuses despite the way it knocks around in his chest.

"You need the rest just as much as I do," Buck argues, and Tommy's shoulders just... slump. He sighs. Nods his head. Shifts on his feet and accidentally catches Buck's eye.

The contact holds just long enough for Buck to see the tears swimming in Tommy's eyes, and he can't imagine -

It strikes Buck for maybe the first time how dumb he'd been to ask Tommy to move in here. Tommy had a life, a home, a place he'd spent a decade making his own.

He'd made a joke once about a firefighter living so close to the hills, the first time he'd had Buck over, that ironic lilt to his voice while he talked about replacing all the east facing windows the first time he experienced the Santa Ana's after moving in, and Buck had spent a good ten minutes watching the light fade from his backyard, dusk casting the hydrangea bushes in a rose-gold hue.

"If I hug you are you gonna make a break for it?" Buck asks, regretting the spiteful tone when Tommy curls further in on himself, but he ducks his head even as he's shaking it, and Buck doesn't fight the urge any longer, three long strides before Tommy's curling fists around Buck's waist and pressing his nose into the skin of Buck's neck.

("It's just stuff," he'd said, knee knocking against Buck's where they huddled together on the curb across the street, Tommy uncharacteristically fidgety as they both stared straight ahead.

"Come stay with me," Buck had responded, and felt Tommy tense so quickly he'd sort of expected him to bolt to his feet and leave.

Instead, the stillness eased out of Tommy's body all at once on an exhale, and he'd nodded out of the corner of Buck's eye. "Okay."

He hadn't quite been able to stop himself from reaching out to squeeze Tommy's knee. "Okay.")

Tommy's never been one to take more than his fair share. He breaks the hug before Buck can really get into it, sniffs once like Buck didn't notice the wetness against his neck, shifts backwards and sideways. He stops halfway through the doorframe when he catches sight of the canvas bag on the counter.

Buck just hopes Maddie actually bought the specific list Buck had sent her three hours ago. Tommy's particular about his stuff, and he'd pressed the point with his sister despite the eyebrow raise he could see in every text back she sent him. He can see Tommy doing the math - only so many people with a key to the loft, only so many people who weren't there in Tommy's neighborhood for a stretch of exhausting hours that hadn't amounted to much other than saving that purple house down on the end of the street that Tommy was always bemoaning for having a better garden than him.

"Tell Maddie thank you," Tommy says, still with that rasp to his voice that under any other circumstance would have Buck vibrating in place. When he digs through it, Buck catalogues his findings - that weird organic toothpaste Tommy swore by, the cheap electric toothbrush he refused to switch out for the better one Buck had a subscription to; a pack of briefs and socks in Tommy's preferred brand.

It's not the first time Buck has wished there wasn't a canyon between them, but he strikes the urge to quip, to smile, to reach out and try to comfort him.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he digs it free, glances at the readout and immediately feels the ire rise in his throat again. It's from Eddie, a private response to the group message he'd sent out letting everyone know Tommy had a place to stay.

Is that a good idea?

And Buck gets the point. Understands that Eddie has his best interests in mind, but he's not here, hasn't been here, hadn't been there when they rolled down the street to find three houses already fighting the blaze.

Buck can't hold in the annoyed snort, and when he glances up it's to find Tommy's eyes on him.

"I'm gonna go shower," Buck tells him, and manages three whole steps before Tommy's hand curls around his wrist.

He doesn't seem to have the words to ask, but Buck reaches back to strip his shirt over his head anyway and shuffles them both towards the shower.

It's the least sexy thing they've ever done together, if he's being honest. Buck hasn't felt this tired in years, hasn't felt this grim in years, barely has the energy to do more than scrub at Tommy's back while he rinses his hair. Perfunctory, is a term for it, except for the way Tommy leans into the press of his fingers when he suds up Tommy's hair, except for the way Buck drops his forehead to Tommy's chest while Tommy aims the showerhead at Buck's back.

This is the kind of stupid shit Buck had meant, all those months ago, even if he'd done an extremely shitty job of expressing it. This is the kind of shit he'd pictured while Josh waxed poetic about some television show and wondered if Buck saw a future with Tommy.

By the time they're rinsed off and toweled dry Buck can barely stand, but as Tommy's footfalls echo just behind his up the stairs Buck has just enough sense left to roll open the drawer he'd never cleared out, toss Tommy a pair of clean briefs and one of his threadbare LAFD shirts.

Tommy stares at the drawer long enough for Buck to pull on his own clothes. He blinks himself out of it only when Buck stubs his toe wrestling the body pillow Tommy always pretended he wasn't going to end up curled around out from under the bed.

The drawer closes with an echoing 'snick'. Tommy tosses his own towel in the hamper and makes quick work of dressing.

His hair is gonna be a nightmare in the morning. They're both gonna be absolute messes. Buck's pretty sure the only food in this place is raw flour and approximately seventy-five chocolate croissants - he's pretty sure he used up the last of his eggs trying to perfect his meringue technique.

There's a stiff moment after they slide into bed where they both just lay on their backs and stare at the ceiling, oozing into Buck's mattress. Tommy shifts first, and Buck's sure it'll be away - no matter how often they fell asleep tangled together Tommy always ended up hugging the edge of the bed, and it's not like -

"Is this okay?" Tommy asks, even as he's shifting a leg over Buck, hands finding purchase in the cotton of Buck's sleep shirt.

It's like he's been dosed, for the way Tommy's body sliding into place next to his steals all the energy he has left in him. He blinks once, twice, manages to get a hand in Tommy's damp curls in response. The rest of it can wait for tomorrow.

"Evan?" He's sinking into it too, Buck can tell - the weight of his arm and leg pressing Buck further into the mattress, the drawl of Buck's name drifting instead of sharp.

Buck hums. Presses lips into whatever skin he can find without opening his eyes - a temple, or a cheekbone maybe. "Go to sleep, Tommy," he manages, but if Tommy responds he doesn't hear it.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #stay tuned for the follow up where buck is convinced hes taking advantage of an incredibly shitty situation and tommy keeps bracing #for a knockdown drag out fight

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michelle-is-writing · 11 months ago

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Unsuspecting Suspect, Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.2k~

In movies, the "pregnant women always have to go to the bathroom" is a popular joke to use. However, what most people don't realize is that the joke is highly played down. What you see in movies is nothing compared to what really occurs.

What really occurs is getting up from bed after only five minutes of getting comfortable to go to the bathroom for the fiftieth time that day. Not to mention you've become so used to the bathroom that you don't even have to turn the lights on or anything - you already know where everything is. Plus, if you're me, then that also means picking up your husbands lazily discarded pants that are crumpled up on the floor with his gun and all of his badges still hooked on there just so you can wash your hands.

"Spencer, I know you've worked long and hard," I start, picking up his wrinkled slacks from the bathroom floor. "But if your pregnant wife has to continue bending over and picking up your pants every time she has to use the bathroom because your daughter seems to think my bladder is a punching bag," I begin taking everything off of his belt. "Then I might just have to use you as a punching bag."

"I'm sorry!" I hear him apologize from the bedroom, an ounce of laughter behind his voice. "I forget and just leave them there - I'm sorry!" Spencer repeats himself, making me bite my lip from laughter. He has eidetic memory, and yet, he still 'forgets' his pants when he takes them off everyday he comes home from work.

Taking his badge off his belt and placing it on the counter, I begin dismantling everything else as well. The last thing to remove is his gun and holster, and with this clunky thing, I try as hard as I can to not let it make a sound as I put it on the countertop. Spencer has been very quiet for the past few minutes, and if he's fallen asleep, I don't want to accidentally wake him up.

I just hope he's not quiet because he's worrying himself sick. As of lately, he's had a stalker that the BAU can't seem to figure out who they are. They know they're male, going by the style of handwriting, and they know he has a pattern. Every Tuesday, a letter is sent to Spencer's desk at the BAU, and yet, there's never a return address or fingerprints to go off of. Today was Tuesday, and for some reason, Spencer didn't receive anything. It worried Spencer a lot, but I'm just hoping the stalker has given up; however, his previous letters show no sign of him doing this which makes this all more worrisome.

"No, no, please," I hear Spencer's voice from the bedroom once more, making my eyes go wide as I quickly catch onto the fright and panic in his tone. Who is he talking to? Especially when I've been in this bathroom no longer than five minutes, and I didn't hear a phone ring or anything.

"You are Spencer Reid," My ears catch a very unfamiliar voice, causing me to fully come to a halt with Spencer's revolver still in my hand. Who the hell is in my house? And how the hell did they get in?

Silently padding over to the bathroom doorway, I try as hard as I can to crack open the door enough to see who's in our house. As I do so, I feel my heart beat a mile a minute, and the little girl in my stomach still hasn't given up on her kicking assault. "Your birthday is October of nineteen-eighty-one. Your mother,"

The man pauses to laugh, appearing as if he were trying to mock Spencer; I take this chance to open the doorway as much as I can without alerting the man, and thankfully, it seems to be a success. "The poor old broad can't decipher through her own mind - never has been able to," The man continues. "Finally, you turn eighteen, you send her away, and you go on to live your own life in college and, soon enough, the BAU,"

Slowly peeking around the corner, I see the man talking to a very wide-awake Spencer with his gun raised at him, no mask concealing his face. Instead, his entire body is covered in black material spanning from a dark turtleneck all the way down to pitch black slacks and charcoal boots. Yet, his head and face are completely visible to anyone who sees him, and going by the fact that he's doing such a thing, he thinks he's going to get away with it and not get caught. Not on my watch.

"You've spent- no, wasted! Wasted nearly eleven years of your life on a job that prevents you from actually having a life!" At the mans words, I squint my eyes while readying Spencer's gun in my hands. "Face it, doctor Reid - you are nothing! I am smart - we are smart! But you have married yourself to your job that doesn't need you; it needs me," with that, the man pauses once again, but this time, he begins to pant, obviously worked up over what he's been saying. This guy has to be one of the most conceited guys to walk the earth.

"Now," The man states, leveling his eyesight with the gun once again. "Was there anything I missed?"

At this point, I come around the bathroom corner with Spencer's gun raised at the man. Through the sights, I see the two small pieces of metal lining up with the mans head, and in my peripherals, I see Spencer warily nod his head as he glances over me with extreme and utter nervousness.

"Uh, y-yes, actually," my husband answers, swallowing down his worry as the fate of his life rests at the tip of my fingers. Now that I think about it, if it weren't for Spencer's bad habit of leaving his pants in the middle of the bathroom floor, I wouldn't have the ability to save him right now.

Just as the man turns around, I line up the sights with his head once again as I pull the hammer back, the trigger following soon after. Watching as the man quickly goes down with no life left in him, only slight convulsions surging through him now, I slowly let my hands fall back to my side as the realization of what just occurred passes through me. I just shot someone... someone who was threatening my husband's life, but still! I've never done that before, and I never want to have to do it ever again!

Within a few moments of my eyes widening in shock, I feel Spencer take me into his arms while slowly taking the gun out of my hand and tossing it onto our bed. "You did so well, love," Spencer assures me in my ear, making me slowly sit on the ground with him as shock runs through me. I'm so stunned by what just happened that I can barely breathe. "You did good, baby, you did so good. I'm so proud of you."

Despite Spencer's words running through my head, I find myself suddenly gasping as I realize something. "Baby! The baby!" I almost shout, turning my head toward Spencer as my now free hand falls to my thirty-week old bump. "Spence, the-the noise, the noise! Could the noise have hurt her ears?"

Immediately, Spencer shakes his head before moving to place his hand on top of mine, his other hand raising at the same time to wipe away the sudden rush of tears falling down my face. "No, no, she's fine, (Y/n), she's fine," Spencer assures me, gently rubbing his thumb against my clothed belly. "The muscles and amniotic fluid protect her, so when the noise does reach her ears, it's extremely muffled," he further explains, gently taking my face into his hands to turn me toward him. "But I am going to have a medic look over you and the baby when they get here, okay?"

Keeping my eyes on his, I nod before laying my head against his chest, a small sigh falling from my lips. "He was the stalker, right?" I ask Spencer, my eyes flickering up to his face as his hand reaches down to gently card through my hair.

Spencer simply nods. "Yeah, he was," he tells me, making me shake my head. "The way he spoke, it's how he wrote his letters," Spencer further explains, "He was an obvious narcissist with a superiority complex - just like his letters."

That would explain the man's words from earlier and how selfish they all were. Although, what if the cops don't believe us and arrest me in spite of what's been going on? I know Spencer wouldn't have gotten in trouble shooting him as a BAU agent, but what about me?

"Spencer, am I going to jail?" I immediately ask, my eyes growing wide as panic sets in my chest.

"No, no, you aren't, and you need to calm down," Spencer tells me, holding my head to his chest as he kisses my temple. He's trying to comfort me while also preventing me from looking over at the dead man currently lying on our bedroom floor. "You did nothing wrong, that was self-defense, and you protected me as well as save me from the man who was going to kill me, no doubt," he points out, his voice growing softer with every word. "You're awesome, love."

In response to his comment, I find myself lightly laughing with tears rising to my eyes again. That's what I usually tell Spencer when he gets back from a case and they successfully stopped a killer. Even if the case goes awry and Spencer returns home sad or disappointed in himself, I still remind him of my usual compliment. Now, much to my disbelief, the roles have reversed and now it is me who has stopped the bad guy.

Once my breathing is slowed and my panic has settled down, Spencer helps me go back to our bathroom where he makes me stay. Without wasting anymore time, Spencer grabs his phone from his side table and dials the police before walking through the house with his gun in hand to make sure there are no other intruders. Thankfully, there isn't, and Spencer soon returns to the bathroom to take me out to the living room, getting me as far away from the dead body as he can all the while making sure I remain comfortable.

Sitting behind me on the couch, Spencer makes me lie between his legs as I rest my back against his chest, his right hand rubbing soothing circles against my bump while he uses his other to dial up his team. Thankfully, soon of them are still at the office working late when Spencer calls.

"(Y/n) shot the stalker?" I hear Derek's familiar tone over the phone as Spencer explains the situation. As he goes on, the sound of sirens in the distance slowly grow closer, and the only thing I can do is hold a hand to my swollen tummy as our little girl gives the occasional kick to my ribs.

"Yes, directly in the head," Spencer answers Derek with a quick glance over to our bedroom where the dead body remains, the spilled blood from his wound no doubt soaking into floor. I never would have listed 'blood is easier to clean up' as a pro when choosing hardwood over carpet. "She shot like a trained officer."

Spencer's comment warrants a rare chuckle from their boss. "Too bad she wasn't able to help you when you failed your shooting test and needed to retake it," Hotch's voice pipes up from the background, causing Spencer to let out a little 'hey!' in response. In light of the situation, I laugh a little at that. I can remember him calling me after failing it and I had to tell him it was okay. Of course, in his mind, it wasn't.

"I don't fail tests." I remember him telling me, making me laugh. No matter what I said, he still continued on about failing the test, unable to let it go.

"The team will be here in a few minutes, okay?" I hear him tell me, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to the moment. I hadn't even realized he ended the call with his team.

Still, I nod back at him, only a few seconds passing before he's leaning over and pressing his lips against my cheek. "It'll all be okay," He assures me, making me slightly nod with another small shuddered breath. "I promise," He further assures me, sensing my anxiety. "I'd never let anything happen to my hero~"

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #bau team #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagines #matthew gray gubler imagine #Matthew gray gubler

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Greenwashing set Canada on fire

On September 22, I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

As a teenager growing up in Ontario, I always envied the kids who spent their summers tree planting; they'd come back from the bush in September, insect-chewed and leathery, with new muscle, incredible stories, thousands of dollars, and a glow imparted by the knowledge that they'd made a new forest with their own blistered hands.

I was too unathletic to follow them into the bush, but I spent my summers doing my bit, ringing doorbells for Greenpeace to get my neighbours fired up about the Canadian pulp-and-paper industry, which wasn't merely clear-cutting our old-growth forests – it was also poisoning the Great Lakes system with PCBs, threatening us all.

At the time, I thought of tree-planting as a small victory – sure, our homegrown, rapacious, extractive industry was able to pollute with impunity, but at least the government had reined them in on forests, forcing them to pay my pals to spend their summers replacing the forests they'd fed into their mills.

I was wrong. Last summer's Canadian wildfires blanketed the whole east coast and midwest in choking smoke as millions of trees burned and millions of tons of CO2 were sent into the atmosphere. Those wildfires weren't just an effect of the climate emergency: they were made far worse by all those trees planted by my pals in the eighties and nineties.

Writing in the New York Times, novelist Claire Cameron describes her own teen years working in the bush, planting row after row of black spruces, precisely spaced at six-foot intervals:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/15/opinion/wildfires-treeplanting-timebomb.html

Cameron's summer job was funded by the logging industry, whose self-pegulated, self-assigned "penalty" for clearcutting diverse forests of spruce, pine and aspen was to pay teenagers to create a tree farm, at nine cents per sapling (minus camp costs).

Black spruces are made to burn, filled with flammable sap and equipped with resin-filled cones that rely on fire, only opening and dropping seeds when they're heated. They're so flammable that firefighters call them "gas on a stick."

Cameron and her friends planted under brutal conditions: working long hours in blowlamp heat and dripping wet bulb humidity, amidst clouds of stinging insects, fingers blistered and muscles aching. But when they hit rock bottom and were ready to quit, they'd encourage one another with a rallying cry: "Let's go make a forest!"

Planting neat rows of black spruces was great for the logging industry: the even spacing guaranteed that when the trees matured, they could be easily reaped, with ample space between each near-identical tree for massive shears to operate. But that same monocropped, evenly spaced "forest" was also optimized to burn.

It burned.

The climate emergency's frequent droughts turn black spruces into "something closer to a blowtorch." The "pines in lines" approach to reforesting was an act of sabotage, not remediation. Black spruces are thirsty, and they absorb the water that moss needs to thrive, producing "kindling in the place of fire retardant."

Cameron's column concludes with this heartbreaking line: "Now when I think of that summer, I don’t think that I was planting trees at all. I was planting thousands of blowtorches a day."

The logging industry committed a triple crime. First, they stole our old-growth forests. Next, they (literally) planted a time-bomb across Ontario's north. Finally, they stole the idealism of people who genuinely cared about the environment. They taught a generation that resistance is futile, that anything you do to make a better future is a scam, and you're a sucker for falling for it. They planted nihilism with every tree.

That scam never ended. Today, we're sold carbon offsets, a modern Papal indulgence. We are told that if we pay the finance sector, they can absolve us for our climate sins. Carbon offsets are a scam, a market for lemons. The "offset" you buy might be a generated by a fake charity like the Nature Conservancy, who use well-intentioned donations to buy up wildlife reserves that can't be logged, which are then converted into carbon credits by promising not to log them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#greenwashing

The credit-card company that promises to plant trees every time you use your card? They combine false promises, deceptive advertising, and legal threats against critics to convince you that you're saving the planet by shopping:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/17/do-well-do-good-do-nothing/#greenwashing

The carbon offset world is full of scams. The carbon offset that made the thing you bought into a "net zero" product? It might be a forest that already burned:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/11/a-market-for-flaming-lemons/#money-for-nothing

The only reason we have carbon offsets is that market cultists have spent forty years convincing us that actual regulation is impossible. In the neoliberal learned helplessness mind-palace, there's no way to simply say, "You may not log old-growth forests." Rather, we have to say, "We will 'align your incentives' by making you replace those forests."

The Climate Ad Project's "Murder Offsets" video deftly punctures this bubble. In it, a detective points his finger at the man who committed the locked-room murder in the isolated mansion. The murderer cheerfully admits that he did it, but produces a "murder offset," which allowed him to pay someone else not to commit a murder, using market-based price-discovery mechanisms to put a dollar-figure on the true worth of a murder, which he duly paid, making his kill absolutely fine:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

What's the alternative to murder offsets/carbon credits? We could ask our expert regulators to decide which carbon intensive activities are necessary and which ones aren't, and ban the unnecessary ones. We could ask those regulators to devise remediation programs that actually work. After all, there are plenty of forests that have already been clearcut, plenty that have burned. It would be nice to know how we can plant new forests there that aren't "thousands of blowtorches."

If that sounds implausible to you, then you've gotten trapped in the neoliberal mind-palace.

The term "regulatory capture" was popularized by far-right Chicago School economists who were promoting "public choice theory." In their telling, regulatory capture is inevitable, because companies will spend whatever it takes to get the government to pass laws making what they do legal, and making competing with them into a crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/13/public-choice/#ajit-pai-still-terrible

This is true, as far as it goes. Capitalists hate capitalism, and if an "entrepreneur" can make it illegal to compete with him, he will. But while this is a reasonable starting-point, the place that Public Choice Theory weirdos get to next is bonkers. They say that since corporations will always seek to capture their regulators, we should abolish regulators.

They say that it's impossible for good regulations to exist, and therefore the only regulation that is even possible is to let businesses do whatever they want and wait for the invisible hand to sweep away the bad companies. Rather than creating hand-washing rules for restaurant kitchens, we should let restaurateurs decide whether it's economically rational to make us shit ourselves to death. The ones that choose poorly will get bad online reviews and people will "vote with their dollars" for the good restaurants.

And if the online review site decides to sell "reputation management" to restaurants that get bad reviews? Well, soon the public will learn that the review site can't be trusted and they'll take their business elsewhere. No regulation needed! Unleash the innovators! Set the job-creators free!

This is the Ur-nihilism from which all the other nihilism springs. It contends that the regulations we have – the ones that keep our buildings from falling down on our heads, that keep our groceries from poisoning us, that keep our cars from exploding on impact – are either illusory, or perhaps the forgotten art of a lost civilization. Making good regulations is like embalming Pharaohs, something the ancients practiced in mist-shrouded, unrecoverable antiquity – and that may not have happened at all.

Regulation is corruptible, but it need not be corrupt. Regulation, like science, is a process of neutrally adjudicated, adversarial peer-review. In a robust regulatory process, multiple parties respond to a fact-intensive question – "what alloys and other properties make a reinforced steel joist structurally sound?" – with a mix of robust evidence and self-serving bullshit and then proceed to sort the two by pantsing each other, pointing out one another's lies.

The regulator, an independent expert with no conflicts of interest, sorts through the claims and counterclaims and makes a rule, showing their workings and leaving the door open to revisiting the rule based on new evidence or challenges to the evidence presented.

But when an industry becomes concentrated, it becomes unregulatable. 100 small and medium-sized companies will squabble. They'll struggle to come up with a common lie. There will always be defectors in their midst. Their conduct will be legible to external experts, who will be able to spot the self-serving BS.

But let that industry dwindle to a handful of giant companies, let them shrink to a number that will fit around a boardroom table, and they will sit down at a table and agree on a cozy arrangement that fucks us all over to their benefit. They will become so inbred that the only people who understand how they work will be their own insiders, and so top regulators will be drawn from their own number and be hopelessly conflicted.

When the corporate sector takes over, regulatory capture is inevitable. But corporate takeover isn't inevitable. We can – and have, and will again – fight corporate power, with antitrust law, with unions, and with consumer rights groups. Knowing things is possible. It simply requires that we keep the entities that profit by our confusion poor and thus weak.

The thing is, corporations don't always lie about regulations. Take the fight over working encryption, which – once again – the UK government is trying to ban:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/feb/24/signal-app-warns-it-will-quit-uk-if-law-weakens-end-to-end-encryption

Advocates for criminalising working encryption insist that the claims that this is impossible are the same kind of self-serving nonsense as claims that banning clearcutting of old-growth forests is impossible:

https://twitter.com/JimBethell/status/1699339739042599276

They say that when technologists say, "We can't make an encryption system that keeps bad guys out but lets good guys in," that they are being lazy and unimaginative. "I have faith in you geeks," they said. "Go nerd harder! You'll figure it out."

Google and Apple and Meta say that selectively breakable encryption is impossible. But they also claim that a bunch of eminently possible things are impossible. Apple claims that it's impossible to have a secure device where you get to decide which software you want to use and where publishers aren't deprive of 30 cents on every dollar you spend. Google says it's impossible to search the web without being comprehensively, nonconsensually spied upon from asshole to appetite. Meta insists that it's impossible to have digital social relationship without having your friendships surveilled and commodified.

While they're not lying about encryption, they are lying about these other things, and sorting out the lies from the truth is the job of regulators, but that job is nearly impossible thanks to the fact that everyone who runs a large online service tells the same lies – and the regulators themselves are alumni of the industry's upper eschelons.

Logging companies know a lot about forests. When we ask, "What is the best way to remediate our forests," the companies may well have useful things to say. But those useful things will be mixed with actively harmful lies. The carefully cultivated incompetence of our regulators means that they can't tell the difference.

Conspiratorialism is characterized as a problem of what people believe, but the true roots of conspiracy belief isn't what we believe, it's how we decide what to believe. It's not beliefs, it's epistemology.

Because most of us aren't qualified to sort good reforesting programs from bad ones. And even if we are, we're probably not also well-versed enough in cryptography to sort credible claims about encryption from wishful thinking. And even if we're capable of making that determination, we're not experts in food hygiene or structural engineering.

Daily life in the 21st century means resolving a thousand life-or-death technical questions every day. Our regulators – corrupted by literally out-of-control corporations – are no longer reliable sources of ground truth on these questions. The resulting epistemological chaos is a cancer that gnaws away at our resolve to do anything about it. It is a festering pool where nihilism outbreaks are incubated.

The liberal response to conspiratorialism is mockery. In her new book Doppelganger, Naomi Klein tells of how right-wing surveillance fearmongering about QR-code "vaccine passports" was dismissed with a glib, "Wait until they hear about cellphones!"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

But as Klein points out, it's not good that our cellphones invade our privacy in the way that right-wing conspiracists thought that vaccine passports might. The nihilism of liberalism – which insists that things can't be changed except through market "solutions" – leads us to despair.

By contrast, leftism – a muscular belief in democratic, publicly run planning and action – offers a tonic to nihilism. We don't have to let logging companies decide whether a forest can be cut, or what should be planted when it is. We can have nice things. The art of finding out what's true or prudent didn't die with the Reagan Revolution (or the discount Canadian version, the Mulroney Malaise). The truth is knowable. Doing stuff is possible. Things don't have to be on fire.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/16/murder-offsets/#pulped-and-papered

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according2thelore · 1 month ago

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i just know sam is quietly pleased that he's turning 42 this year. it's a good number.

it's the last time dean will help him celebrate his birthday, but he doesn't know that yet.

he wakes up before dean, like always, taking miracle and jogging a few laps up and down their large access road, even dropping through town to pick up a few donuts from the store that he and dean frequent.

he can't jog back with donuts, so he takes the "scenic" way home, the gravel road instead of the paved one. miracle tries to eat three different pinecones. it's going to rain later today, but sam's always been a fan of the rain.

twenty years ago, he thinks, he was spending his birthday taking an ethics exam. jessica took him out to dinner at a steakhouse that they could only afford with their friend's employee discount.

ten years ago, his brother still mostly wouldn't look him in the eye, fresh off of demonhood. sam had spent the day in a medical supply store, buying himself a new, smaller brace for his arm.

today, aged forty-two, sam finds dean in the kitchen, scrambling eggs. he's still got little bruises on his neck from sam's teeth, sam's too-big shirt going past the worn-out elastic edge of his boxers. he's yawning when sam comes in, hair mussed and eyes blearily.

dean wilts when he sees the box in sam's hands.

"man, i was making your weird keto eggs. with mushrooms." he says it like sam likes his scrambled eggs with live worms or sticks of chalk, but sam dutifully--and a bit surprised--puts the donuts on the counter for later.

dean has no idea how to cook mushrooms in scrambled eggs, so they're rubbery, but sam eats it all. later, they go out to dinner in town, just their regular spot--holey jeans and threadbare flannel--and dean disappears for a bit and comes back with a slice of carrot cake. their usual waitress winks at sam from behind the counter.

sam rolls his eyes, and rolls his eyes even harder when dean whips a gas station lighter out of his pocket and nods at sam to blow it out.

"c'mon, sammy. a man don't turn sixty-two every day."

"that would mean you're what, eighty?" sam retorts, shooting him a glare. he blows it out, though. dean pesters him about what he wished for the rest of the night, even after dean reveals he's wearing something pink and small and distinctly lacy underneath his worst pair of jeans and they lie together, still breathing hard.

but, honestly? sam didn't really wish for anything.

dean hauls himself to his feet, joints popping the entire way, to let miracle--who's been scratching at the door since they closed it--back in.

sam's shoulder creaks when he stretches, and there's an ache in his lower back. he has little grey hairs at his temple. he thinks he's probably going to need glasses soon. dean flops back on the bed, making exaggerated spitting noises as sam's hair on the pillow slips into his mouth. miracle hops on the bed and steps on his stomach as she comes to lick at his face, before settling down and snoring on his calf.

no, sam didn't wish for anything.

for six more months, sam's got everything he wants.

anything he could ever need.

#lizzy writes #happy birthday sammy!

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misseviehyde · 4 months ago

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UPCYCLED

Madeline was shocked when she opened the present from her daughter to find two sexy pearly hooped earrings nestled amongst the tissue paper.

The earrings seemed familiar somehow, yet she couldn't quite remember where she'd seen them before. A slight chill ran down her spine, almost a fear reaction, yet she couldn't say why.

Her daughter Katie smiled proudly as her Mom lifted them out of the box and eyed them suspiciously.

"They're not really my style darling," she whimpered.

"Exactly Mom. You need to try something different. You've become a total social outcast since Dad left. You dress like an eighty year old spinster, spend all your time online or in front of the TV. You need to get back out there."

Madeline lowered her head and choked a sob. Her daughter was right. She was an overweight loser who spent all her time at work or sat at home wrapped up in a cardigan reading by the fire or watching trash TV. She was a total dork. Her brief relationship with Katie's Dad hadn't even lasted that long. He'd left her for his secretary, a hot high maintenence bitch who could give him what she never could.

She hadn't even had sex in eleven years!

Katie looked at her Mom... the holes in her sweater, the lack of makeup, the grey in her hair, the overweight tummy and felt pity. She did love her Mom but Madeline was frustratingly introverted. Her Mom was something of a disappointment.

Katie had been shocked and surprised to find the old hoopsd earrings in a box in one of her Mom's drawers. They were sexy and hot, so unlike anything she'd expect her Mom to own. She'd taken them to a jewellers and had them upgraded. She hoped the upcycled earrings reminded her Mom of a time when she was young. Maybe it would bring a spark back.

What Katie didn't know though was that these earrings were NOT Madelines.

Long ago, nearly twenty years ago now, they had belonged to Madeline's bully Ashley. The traumatised Madeline had stolen them as an act of rebellion and daring, keeping them as a reminder of how cruel and evil some girls could be. Ashley had been the epitome of a cruel and dominant Alpha Girl. She had been the most popular girl at school and had made Madeline's life a living Hell. That was why she had felt instinctive fear when she saw the earrings.

"Why don't you try them on Mom?" asked Katie as Madeline looked at the hoops suspiciously. There was something not quite right here, but she also felt a dark temptation to put on the earrings. With a shiver she took out her own simple studs and slid in the bitchy hoops.

They looked like something a rich bitch would wear and to Madeline's surprise she felt a surge of confidence and pride as she admired her new earrings in the mirror. Her back straightened a little and her posture became more confident.

"Wow Mom, you look great," smiled Katie.

"Yes I do don't I?" purred Madeline, ignoring her daughter. "I never imagined I could ever feel sexy again, but now I do. It makes me wish I could start over again. Be young and hot and popular again. Not that I was ever popular, but imagine if I had been?"

Madeline's lips twisted into a smile as she imagined herself as Katie's age... but hotter... worshipped by hunky boys and served by beta girls. Beta girls like Katie.

She shook her head causing the hoops to tinkle and came back to herself. "Thank you darling, I love them."

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want," smiled Katie.

"No... I want to wear them. I think I'll leave them in. They feel... good."

***

Madeline snarled as she tore through her wardrobe. It was two hours since her daughter had left and she had been in a frenzy since then.

These clothes she was wearing felt pathetic, but nothing in her wardrobe suited her either. She tipped over her makeup table. Pathetic too. No wonder her husband had left her.

She needed fashion, she needed expensive makeup. She needed to look hot.

Madeline staggered to the mirror. Her body was burning, her brow feverish. She felt like she was on fire, but it felt good. It felt like all the weakness inside her was burning up. It felt like she was becoming stronger and more powerful.

"Yesssss," she hissed as she gazed at her reflection. Could it be? Her skin looked younger, her waist thinner. Surely it wasn't possible but it almost looked like she was... transforming?

She reached up and touched the earrings. They tingled and in that moment she remembered. "These... these are Ashley's earrings."

She nearly ripped them out in fear and disgust... but another part of her suddenly thrilled at the thought. These were HER earrings now. Her foolish daughter had given them to her not even realising what they were.

Madeline groaned. These strange feelings, the changes to her body - they must be something to do with the bullies earrings. She should take them out now whilst she still had the strength to remove them.

Her hand wavered by her ear...

She moaned and a wicked smile lit her lips. Mmmmh, it was already too late. She wanted this so badly now...

She was going to become a bitch...

***

Madeline writhed on the floor in ecstasy. It was five hours now since she had put on the earrings. Her desire to remove them had completely faded an hour ago. She was damned and she didn't care. She welcomed the evil now flowing through her. She wanted to be completely remade.

She had stripped down to her underwear. Her once flabby body was drenched in sweat. Saggy skin had tightened and wrinkles vanished. Greying hair was now bright blonde and her ass was tight and round.

A demonic grin on her now young and pretty face, Madeline rubbed her pussy and screamed as she squirted again to drench the carpet with more of her juices.

"Fuck yes. Hahaha I can't wait to get FUCKED!"

Madeline?

No... she was no longer Madeline. She was Maddy now.

Maddy grinned as she imagined all the evil mean things she'd do now she was an eighteen year old bitch.

"Steal my daughters boyfriend, bully her and make her suffer... fuck YESSS!"

Maddy groaned as her already dripping pussy got even wetter. Long slutty fingernails decorated each finger now and she rubbed her sensitive clit, screaming as her warped mind filled her with pleasure.

Every inch of her was now built for narcissistic pleasure. She was a Goddess.

In her body, her soul had been warped and corrupted beyond recognition. Kindness and love were now alien emotions to this bitch. Selfishness and ego ruled Maddy's personality. She was now a spoiled brat who only cared about herself.

The earrings had corrupted her beyond recognition.

Maddy purred as she orgasmed again. She couldn't wait to go shopping.

***

"Hey loser," laughed Maddy as Katie walked into her apartment.

Her boyfriend was lying on the bed naked, drained and exhausted from the marathon fuck session he'd just had with Maddy. Seeing Katie, he blushed and slipped off to the bathroom.

"Who... who the fuck are you? What are you doing with Richard?" screamed Katie.

"Ohhh don't you recognise me dear? It's me... your Mommy. I'm still wearing those earrings you bought me. Isn't this what you wanted? Didn't you want your Mommy to be more outgoing and find a man?"

Backing away Katie screamed as Maddy leapt up and with superhuman strength lifted her up and pinned her against the wall.

"Madeline is gone. From now on you call me Maddy... or even better, Mistress. Your man is mine now and you are going to be my loyal beta servant."

"No! I won't let you..."

Katie screamed as Maddy suddenly jabbed something into her ear, then the other.

A pair of stud earrings marked with the symbol for beta.

"Oh you will. I bought these from the shop where you got these earrings improved. Turns out they make magic jewellery. Those Beta Studs won't take long to make you into my subservient slave."

Katie sobbed as she felt the fire drain from her. She could already feel a terrible temptation to serve Maddy growing within her.

"I bought ten more pairs of these beta earrings. You're going to help me pierce all your friends until they all worship me. What do you say?"

"Yes Mistress Maddy," groaned Katie as to her horror she felt an urge to worship and admire Maddy swell in her chest.

Yes... she had to serve. It would be hot to make others serve Maddy.

Clicking her fingers Maddy laughed as Richard walked back into the room.

"She's been neutralised just like I promised. Now if you don't want me to take out that stud earring I gave you, you better come here and fuck me again."

Richard grinned and bent Maddy over the bed whilst Katie watched happily subservient.

Yes... life was going to be better for everyone from now on. Maddy would make sure of it.

THE END

#evie hyde #bitchification #f2f transformation #f2f corruption #corruption #bully #earrings #hoops #evil bitch

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theworldsileftbehind · 2 months ago

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The worst part? Well I know it sounds a bit stupid but for me it was the brine.

Starts with some jackass in the brass with a dick to measure setting off something nuclear up on the surface. Sometimes you can hear it down under, sometimes not.

It doesn't matter if it's a real crust popper or a firecracker, if it goes off in the wrong spot you're fucked.

Look, they don't teach you this in boot, but the ice up there isnt all one piece yeah? There's layers, and in those layers you get pockets. Lithium brine usually, sometimes other salts. So when one of the genius rocket jockeys up there slaps the big red button theres a chance they crack one of those puppies open.

Close to the surface it's a problem. Big loud vent, blasting supercooled ice into low orbit along with anything unlucky enough to be above it.

Down below? Thats where it gets BAD. Crack opens and you get a stream of brine sinking like a tub of rocks. It's what, maybe eighty, a hundred below freezing? Flash ices regular water on contact.

So now you got a pillar of death a hundred meters wide coming down at you like a depth charge.

Dead quiet.

If you're lucky you have sonar pointed up when it happens so your pilot can pancake the crew a moment and dodge.

If you're running dark though? You only find out it was coming when you and everyone else get thrown outta your bunks as it grabs the sub. Freezes you in.

We were running an op with our sister crew when they got caught. Some frantic yelling over shortwave while we tried to figure out what happened. Ice hit them in the stern, instantly froze around the rear half. Snapped the prop shaft like a twig.

I remember the moment they figured it out. Someone screamed on their end. Leaned against the hull, skin stuck like a rook's tongue on the airlock during hazing. Cold started coming through even with the insulation.

It got real quiet really fast.

We tried to free 'em. Risked the mission with a torp into the ice above them, see if we could sever the column and tow them out. Brine was still flowing in there, spilled out and just froze them faster.

We started to lose shortwave when it passed their comms. Last thing we heard from them was a call to keep going. They'd wait out the thaw and catch up after some repairs.

We did.

We just left.

I like to think that I heard a thump about a half hour later when they blew their payload, went out on their terms. Can't be sure, but I'd like to think so.

Only other option is that they're still in there, last breaths crystalized to steel that won't see light till all the stars are cold and dark.

So yeah, I'd say the brine was the worst part.

- A serviceman's interview on their time in the ice war.

#ice war #europan ice war #submarines #europa #dying in space #creative writing #death cw #thalassaphobia #claustrophobia

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minminbunny · 9 months ago

Text

Stalker X Stalker AU - Dom! Lee Minho/Sub Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"Good morning, gorgeous," you whispered, taking a few silent photos from the roof into Minho's room. His sleeping body looked so precious with Dori snuggled against his face. You shuddered an exhale, licking your lips as you pulled away. Minho chuckled, watching you through his phone, "Kitty, you look so desperate," he cooed, zooming in. You realigned your camera, disappointed to see him sitting up, "It's too early, darling. You should sleep more," you whispered, watching Minho scroll on his phone.

Minho crossed his legs, his back facing the window, "Aww, they're sulking," he chuckled, endeared by your obvious pouting. You hummed, watching the time on your watch, "It's almost here," you whispered, keeping your camera in exchange for a burner phone. The parcel arrived at Minho's doorstep, "I didn't order anything," he murmured, bringing it into his room. You gulped, shakily calling his number.

Minho felt his phone ring and picked it up, "Hello?" he asked, making your breath hitch. You turned on your voice modifier, "Hope you like the gift, darling. It's curated for you," you said, breathing heavily. Minho bit back a smirk, "How did you find my address?" he asked, faking a worried victim. You shivered at his voice, "You shouldn't sign random forums, pretty. You wouldn't know who's getting them," you said, before hanging up.

Minho faced away from his window, chuckling into his palm. Making it seem like it was crying with his shaking shoulders. Guilt swirled within you but you knew the gift would cheer him up. Minho wiped the tears in his eyes, "Such a sweetheart," he cooed, tugging on the ribbon. The box was a stunning red with a cream coloured ribbon.

Minho lifted the lid and his eyes widened, "This isn't fair, kitty," he smiled, seeing his favorite pudding, cat treats for his children and a lovely looking letter. He shuddered, smelling a tinge of blood coming from the letter, "As much as I don't like knowing you got hurt, kitten. You really do excite me," he groaned, opening the letter. It wrote:

"To my dearest darling,

Was my gift to your satisfaction, I wanted to make you feel special. I hope I didn't scare you too much. The way your face lights up when you take a bite of pudding makes my heart swell. I'm always watching, gorgeous. Please dream of me.

Your admirer,"

At the bottom of the letter lies a kiss mark, Minho gulped, tracing the perverted stain, "Fuck, your lips look pretty," he whispered, checking his phone if you were still on the roof. After seeing the empty rooftop, he kissed the mark and held the letter close to his chest, "Definitely one for my collection," he chuckled, opening a secret door being his clothes, a room filled with pictures and items you've used before. "I wanted to extend our little game but after today. I don't think I can hold back," he chuckled, messaging his friend to set him up on a blind date.

You huffed, getting dressed for a date you don't want, "Lix, I told you. I'm not interested in dating right now," you sulked, letting him comb your hair. Felix chuckled, "It's just one. Plus, Jisung said it was their treat. So, you get a free meal and have a good time," he said, patting your shoulders. You frowned, "I guess," you murmured, looking into the mirror. Felix really dolled you up, your lips plump and glossy.

Your eyebags covered nicely. It was a total one-eighty from your usual attire. Felix nuzzled his cheek against yours, "Ready?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. You gulped, "Ready as I'll ever be," you said, grabbing the necessaries. Minho loosened his tie, "It's time," he whispered, waiting for you at the table. He laced your glass with sleeping powder, hoping this date would go smoothly. You exhaled, pushing open the door.

You faked a smile and looked for the table number. 'No way,' you thought, seeing your darling, sitting where your date was suppose to be. Excitement flooded your senses, 'Is this a dream?' you thought, making your way to the table. You tapped the table, "Are you Jisung's friend?" you asked, trying to be calm as possible. Minho smiled, nodded his head, "That's me. My name's Minho," he introduced, reaching out his hand.

You wanted nothing more than to screenshot this moment like an otome game, "Nice to meet you, Minho," you said, taking his hand. Minho crossed his legs, hiding his growing bulge, 'My name just glides off their tongue. I can't wait to hear them cry it,' he thought, gesturing you to sit down. You took a sip of water, finding the taste to be odd but you didn't want to ruin the mood, "Have you ordered?" you asked, wondering why the table didn't have any menu.

Minho nodded, "I have, it's allergen free. I didn't want to you wait long for dinner," he said, pouring you more water. You beamed, "Thank you for your consideration," you said, sipping more of the water. Minho allowed his mind to spin, your pretty smile, your stunning figure, the way you dressed up for the occasion. A brief thought of jealousy surged through his thoughts, 'They dressed up not knowing it was me. Does that mean that anyone would've since my kitten like this?' he thought, gripping his knife.

You anxiously glanced peeks at him, his pronounced jawline, his piercing eyes, the veins on his arms. 'Fuck,' you thought, trying to keep your eyes from rolling back at the thought of his fingers pounding your hole apart. The waitress placed your dishes on the table, "Enjoy," she said, walking away. You jolted from your dazed, smiling at Minho, "Dig in," you beamed, eating your dinner.

Minho did the same, watching your movements get more sluggish from the powder. 'Don't worry, kitty. I'll take great care of you,' he thought, enjoying the night.

You groaned, waking up in an oddly familiar room. One you've only seen through your digital camera. One you've come to love over the years. You tried to sit up, only to feel your wrists tug against the bed frame. Minho chuckled, sitting by the window the whole time, "Slept well, kitten?" he asked, moving towards you. He stroked your hair, gently grazed your arms and thighs for any weapons you kept hidden.

You gulped, pressing your legs together, trying to hide your dagger between your thighs. Minho clicked his tongue, "Now, now. Good kittens don't hide dangerous things," he cooed, brushing his hands between your inner thighs. His smirk grew, feeling a leather holster. He unclasp the holster and placed it aside, "There we go, all helpless for me," Minho chuckled, brushing your hair.

You couldn't help but feel aroused, every sense in your body melting into his dominating presence. Minho hummed, "For a perverted little kit, you sure are obedient aren't you? Did you like watching me, sweetheart. Do you touch yourself while stalking me?" he asked, holding your neck. You moaned from the pressure, you eyes hazy with pleasure, "I do. I'm sorry, Minho. I'm sorry," you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Minho cooed, tightening his grip, "You're not sorry at all, kitten. I love hearing your unbashful moans when you ride your pretty little dildo," he chuckled, loving the confusion on your face. "What?" you whispered, staring up at him. Minho traced your bottom lip, "You should really close your windows, kitten. It was so easy to hook up a camera in your room," he said, booping your nose. You moaned at the realisation, "You know everything?" you asked, desperation lacing your tongue. Minho kissed your forehead, "Everything, kitty. You're not the only one who's been watching," he chuckled, stroking your cheek.

NSFW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"Hhgh, hah, hah," you moaned, riding his cock at a relentless pace. Minho chuckled, spanking your plush ass, "Clench for me, kitten," he growled, thrusting his hips upwards in tandem with your bounce. You did as told, your ribbed walls contracting around his girthy veiny hot cock, "Hah! Good, so good," you whined, burying your face into his chest.

Minho groaned, his fat cockhead kissing your tiny crevix with each thrust, "How many times have you imagined this, kitty? Tell me," he growled, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You hiccuped, gasping and moaning into his chest, "Every other day. Needed you, needed you so bad," you sobbed, licking his puffy nipple.

Minho groaned into your hair, his face buried in the scent of your shampoo, "Yeah? Needed my Fat. Throbbing. Cock. dragging within your swollen little cunt, huh? I watched you play with that girthy dildo the other day. Tell me which is better, kitty. My cock or that toy?" He rambled into your ear, his tongue licking your earlobe with a lewd squelch.

You whimpered, shuddering within his hold, "Your cock. Yours Minho," you cried, tears dripping onto his chest. Minho grunted, pumping his thick shaft up your cunt, his hand reaching down to rub your puffy clit, "Say my name. Say it," he growled, picking up the pace. You arched your back, clawing his chest in sheer pleasure, "Minho! Min, Min, Hhgh," you whimpered, your thighs sore and aching.

Minho groaned, feeling his cockhead ease beneath your cervix, "Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel your obsession," he hissed, feeling you clench hard around his shaft. Broken moans escaped your lips, drool got mixed with your tears and snot. "Hah, hhgh, cumming!" You gasped, creaming around his throbbing cock. Minho groaned, his head pounding from your tight searing cunt.

"Fuck, fuck, hah," you moaned, his semen coating your inner walls white. You panted, catching your breath from the raw intensity. Minho kissed your forehead, "You can't escape me now, sweetheart," he whispered, licking your jaw. You clenched around his sensitive cock, "Neither can you, darling," you beamed, staring into his equally possessive gaze.

AMAB

Minho groaned, his fat cockhead kissing your tiny prostate with each thrust, "How many times have you imagined this, kitty? Tell me," he growled, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You hiccuped, gasping and moaning into his chest, "Every other day. Needed you, needed you so bad," you sobbed, licking his puffy nipple.

Minho groaned into your hair, his face buried in the scent of your shampoo, "Yeah? Needed my Fat. Throbbing. Cock. dragging within your swollen little hole, huh? I watched you play with that girthy dildo the other day. Tell me which is better, kitty. My cock or that toy?" He rambled into your ear, his tongue licking your earlobe with a lewd squelch.

You whimpered, shuddering within his hold, "Your cock. Yours Minho," you cried, tears dripping onto his chest. Minho grunted, pumping his thick shaft up your hole, his hand reaching down to rub your puffy cockhead, "Say my name. Say it," he growled, picking up the pace. You arched your back, clawing his chest in sheer pleasure, "Minho! Min, Min, Hhgh," you whimpered, your thighs sore and aching.

Minho groaned, feeling his cockhead ease against your prostate, "Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel your obsession," he hissed, feeling you clench hard around his shaft. Broken moans escaped your lips, drool got mixed with your tears and snot. "Hah, hhgh, cumming!" You gasped, creaming between your torsos’. Minho groaned, his head pounding from your tight searing hole. "Fuck, fuck, hah," you moaned, his semen coating your inner walls white. You panted, catching your breath from the raw intensity. Minho kissed your forehead, "You can't escape me now, sweetheart," he whispered, licking your jaw. You clenched around his sensitive cock, "Neither can you, darling," you beamed, staring into his equally possessive gaze.

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teddywesworl · 1 month ago

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obviously blinking red light by @cuips-not-cute is freaknasty steddie pornography but all of the things i remember most clearly from its one hundred and eighty-three thousand words and counting are 1. the emotional beats and 2. the experiments. and like yeah omg they're so stupid i can't believe they figured out a way to have a kiss taboo while kissing etc etc but there's something really cool happening in there with regards to the idea of how an audience alters not only a person's actions but also their internal experience of those actions. how many people are being performed for? how many layers of performance are under that microscope? the metaphoric eye of the camera, but also the looming judge and jury, but also individual outsiders who receive only partial truths like nancy, but also, like. each other. plus each dumb boy's personal model of how he thinks the other must perceive him, which tells us more about the dumb boy with the model than the dumb boy being modeled in that moment. hall of mirrors ass kinky E rated fan fiction. you should read it.

🌻

#brl #steddie #FIC REC

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skeletonh0e · 9 days ago

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Papa Bone

Request: Some headncanons (maybe a small one shot but it's up to you) about Sans being Frisk's "father"?

I'm so happy that I'm not the only one sees them like that! (≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

A/N: I went with a one-shot, and surprisingly, haven't done one for Classic yet. I'm slacking on my fan girl duties. I did include some Y/N x Sans content, but it's mainly Frisk & Sans focused.

The reader is gender neutral, Frisk is non binary, they/them pronouns used for both. I didn't spell check this, fuck it we ball.

"I don't think your kid likes me,"

Sans turned to you, he's smiling but bone brows are furrowed in slight confusion. Clearly he didn't expect this to be the thing you opened with, "....frisk?"

"Nooooo Sans, the other human you adopted." Sarcasm oozed heavily from your voice.

He chuckled, "adopt is a bit of a strong word."

"What else would you call it?"

You....had him there, Sans would be the first to admit he didn't treat Frisk that well upon first meeting them. He had his reasons and a gut feeling that ended up being wrong in the end, but that had long since passed. He's warmed up to the kid, especially now that they're all on the surface.

If they weren't hanging out with Toriel, they were with him and Pap. And while he's not the most responsible or even the best guardian....he's started looking out for the kid. Taking that protector role more seriously with each passing day.

After a moment he shifts his tone to a more serious one, "not that i'm calling you a liar but uh...don't think the kid doesn't like anyone."

"Yeah, that's the thing. They're normally so chatty and fun loving around everyone but me," you huffed, not angry at Frisk just the situation in general. "They barely acknowledge me unless I pester them, c'mon....you've seen it right?"

He had, Sans always noticed more than he let on. Though he seemed to have underestimated how much it bothered you, he assumes this was just another one of Frisk's quirks....the kid was sweet but also...odd he'll admit. "well, normally i'd say the kid just needs time but we both know that don't apply here."

Frisk befriended nearly eighty percent of the underground when they were being attacked, them not warming up to anyone was odd. Especially Y/N, who had been nothing but friendly toward the kid

"Can you talk to them?" You asked finally, "Like...I know they don't gotta accept me as a second parent or whatever, if they just like me for no reason well- fine. I don't like it but fine. I just wanna make sure I didn't do anything wrong."

There was no change in his expression. Even as his partner, he could be hard to read sometimes. However, something does soften in his gaze. "sure, i'll see what i can do."

There was a knock.

"What?"

"you're supposed to say, who's there, c'mon your mom is the master at this. has she not taught you?"

The door is opened, Frisk has a slightly annoyed expression. "Knock knock jokes are lame,"

Sans chuckled, "tough crowd tonight."

Frisk rolled their eyes, wandering back into their room door still open, indicating Sans was free to follow in. Which he did, leaning against the door way as the kid returned to the idle task of messing around with some of the trinkets they had...something looked like a puzzle. Sans would chalk that up to Papyrus' influence.

There's an awkward pause, which Frisk instantly took to mean there was about to be a more serious discussion at hand. Though nothing could have prepared them for what was about to happen next,

"sooo....y/n."

Frisk stopped and tensed, "....what about them?"

Further confirmation something deeper was going on here. "you like 'em?"

"Have I done anything to indicate I don't?"

"you didn't answer the question."

Frisk went silent. Sans waited for a bit, but no response. He took a few steps closer toward the kid, "it's okay if you don't, it's just-"

"Are you two going to have kids together?"

Eyelights vanish and he stands there.....there was nothing on this green earth that could have prepared him for this and he's speechless for a good solid moment before daring to speak again. "....pardon?"

"You two love each other a lot," Frisk explained, "You'll probably get married eventually, right? Have a big ole' wedding? Have a dozen weird monster babies?"

"you're moving at a mile a minute here kid, i'm struggling to keep up?" not that he was opposed to anything mentioned (well not a dozen kids the one he has right now is enough-) but the kid was chatting like it was all just going to just happen tomorrow in the span of a few minutes.

"....where am I in that future?" Frisk asks finally, the puzzle pieces were already starting to come together but Frisk keeps elaborating. "I wanna like them, they seem cool...but....I just keep thinking you guys are gonna have your own family. Your own kids. Ones that are actually yours and- it's not like Mom isn't enough for me. But I like having you around and I..."

They don't wanna lose that.

The feeling in the bag of bones chest was both bitter and warm, the silence lingers for a bit before Frisk gets their hair almost violently ruffled.

"Sans!?"

"lighten up bucko, kids ain't even a guarantee. I do already have one," it's teasing, but friendly and loving. "and even if- i repeat, if me and y/n go that route...you really think i'm gonna deny them a chance to have a big sibling?"

Frisk wanted to keep looking annoyed, but they can't. There's a change in their expression. They perk up, noticeably excited and endeared.

"no one's going anywhere kid and I have a feeling y/n wants you around to." There's something tender in his smile. "so if that's what's bothering ya, don't worry. it ain't gonna happen."

A pause and then, Frisk hugs Sans.

"....thanks dad."

Silence lingered after that, while most were probably aware that was the dynamic the two had...it was the first time Frisk ever called him that. And it was....sweet. No other way to put it.

Sans returns the hug, ruffling their hair more affectionately this time. "nothin' to thank me for kid."

"....you think y/n would be done to get some nice cream tomorrow?"

He chuckled, "yeah, yeah i think they would."

#🤍💀🎙 your comedian (classic sans)#sans x reader #undertale sans x reader #one shot #classic sans x reader #sans x y/n #sans x you #frisk dreemurr #papa bone #i love then your honor

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evillama666 · 2 months ago

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“Shut up and listen to the music”

Logan Howlett x reader

He’s old. I have no doubts that he’s heard a lot of different fucking music. He’s the kind of guy to listen to ‘Dad music’. That’s the same music I listen to… Anyway the same with art, I think music would also be therapeutic for him. He also totally knows how to play guitar along with some other instruments (:

Summary: Cuddling and listening to music together

Tags: Well obviously cuddling… Fluff, just chillin’, rock music specifically mentioned

Word count: 4143

Oh look... Another man I want to look like

Those fucking arms!

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

“Wow. An authentic eighties record player.” You say, looking at the record player in the corner of his room. It looks nice. Like it's brand new. He must have taken well care of it- “It’s not. I bought it last year.” He chimes in, leaning over your shoulder. Ok, well now that makes sense why it looks new. He invited you over to listen to music. He’s heard a lot, and lived through a lot of different music genres and eras. Of course, he’s still always being introduced to something new. Music is never ending. He isn’t a fan of the modern pop and rap the teenagers at the mansion have made him listen to. However, modern rock he’ll die for. He listens to a wide range of music, but rock is his go to. This man has also listened to a lot of old country music before and some ‘biker’ music. He likes bands like early Metallica and Black Sabbath. He’s personally met Ozzy Osbourne. I just know it.

Tonight he’s letting you pick the music. Anything you like. He’s got a lot of records. They're all well taken care of just… Some look a lot older than others. They're faded and have that yellow tint to it that happens to paper. “If this is new, why are some of these records so old?” You ask, carefully flipping through them. “I had to replace the player. I've had records for a long damn time.” That you can see. They seem to be one of his only possessions he’s had throughout his life. You pick up a Mötley Crüe record. The edges are a little worn, but it’s relatively nice looking.

“Seen them live.” He says casually as you set up the record. He’s the kinda dude that’s basically seen every band ever live. He can’t name all the concerts he’s been to off the top of his head, but if one of their songs comes on, he’ll go ‘Oh, I've seen them live.' (My mum does that all the time with metal bands lol) “Did you ever do your hair like them?” You tease while setting the record on the player.

“Yeah.” He says with a simple shrug as he heads to the bed. He pats the spot next to him and you immediately follow. You settle down next to him, resting your head on his chest. “Those cool music dads ain’t got shit on you.” That gets a low laugh from Logan, making his chest rumble. He wants a nice, chill night. The work of an X-man is stressful, y’know? So there’s going to be lots of cuddles! He wraps his arm around you, holding you close to his side.

Music with heightened senses is definitely different, especially live music. He can hear every little breath of the singer, their footsteps on stage, every beat of the drum, or each string strummed on the guitar. But what he really likes when listening to music? The way your heart syncs up with the music. It’s one reason he invited you over. He loves the way your heart sounds. He’s learned the way your heartbeat calms when you cuddle with him, or the way it speeds up when you're rambling. If he’s overwhelmed, he focuses on the sound of your heartbeat as a way to calm himself.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you settle on his chest. You’re only half focusing on whatever song is playing. How could you focus when the hottest man ever is snuggled with you? However he looks so tired right now. “Long day?” His eyes are heavy and he responds quietly. “Always.” You rub his cheek with your thumb as a way to show your sympathy. “So that’s why you wanted cuddles?” He simply nods, closing his eyes, focusing on the music playing. Well, time to show this man some love.

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He opens his eyes in surprise. Then he gets another kiss to the face, then another… and another. He’s surprised for a second before relaxing. He knows there’s no fighting this. But you're not getting away with this without a few kisses in return. He grabs your chin to make you still, then reciprocates a kiss on the lips. He smiles as he watches the heat rise to your cheeks. “Ya picked good music.”

You take a second to actually listen to what you picked. You can’t help but sound a little cocky. “Of course I did.” Logan smirks at your cocky tone. Seems like some of him is rubbing off on you. He pats your head affectionately, too tired for a real response. A few songs pass before you decide to pull the blanket over the two of you. He loves when you spend the night because your scent lingers in his bed for a few days. “Ya shouldn't have done that.” The hell is he talking about? You two cuddle under a blanket all the time... The look of confusion is evident on your face. “Done what? Grabbed a blanket?” Your look of confusion amuses him.

“Nah. Got all cozy. Ya gonna have to flip the record after this song.” You silently kick yourself. You completely forgot you've got to flip records and replace them. Why didn't you just listen to Spotify? That’s more ideal for cuddling. But no, you had to have the ‘experience’, huh? You sigh, dreading the end of the song. Why did it have to end as soon as you got cozy? The universe is definitely against you. “Why can’t you just do it?” You whine.

He shakes his head in amusement, a small smirk on his lips. “You picked the record. Gotta flip it.” You huff as you wait for the end of the song. Then you stay in bed for a minute after it ends before dragging yourself out of bed. Out of that perfectly warm bed, with a nice soft warm fuzzy blanket, and a handsome man. Yep, the universe is definitely against you for that one. You go over to the record player, silently cursing it, before flipping the record. You can’t even enjoy the music as it plays. It just had to ruin the moment.

But your scowl relaxes as you see Logan tiredly waiting for you to snuggle backup with him. Ok, maybe having to flip the record wasn't so bad. You did get to see Logan impatiently waiting for you to come back. You crawl back into bed; it feels colder now, and find your position on his chest. “You can pick the next record.” He can hear the lingering annoyance in your voice. “So I have to flip it?”

“So you have to flip it.” You repeat as confirmation. You’ve got at least half an hour before the record stops. And you want to hear Logan play at least one record. He said you can pick tonight’s music, so it’s stuff you like, but you also want to hear something he likes. Though all the records he owns he likes. There’s not much conversation between you two. First, he’s usually quiet. Second, he’s tired. And you both agreed for a much needed relaxation night. But to make up for the lack of words, there are lots of little touches, some kisses, and lots of cuddling. Sure, he’s not doing much since he’s tired, but you can tell he appreciates your love by the small lazy smile on his lips.

It feels too soon when Mötley Crüe dies out. At least it’s not you getting out of the bed this time, but you still don’t like his absence. And to make it worse? He’s taking his sweet fucking time picking out the next record to put on. After what feels like eternity, he finally picks a record. You don’t recognize it. It sounds old, it’s got that staticky sound to it. There aren’t any vocals, purely instrumental. It’s an acoustic guitar with something soft in the back. “What is this?” You ask as he slides under the covers with you. His voice is soft, relaxed. “I dunno. I don’t remember ever getting it. But I must have liked it. I’ve played it a couple times before. I thought it’d be a good way to relax.”

“You know, I've heard music holds memories. Sometimes Alzheimer's patients remember something when listening to certain music. Or they remember feeling a certain way…” Your voice is equally soft as his. He finds your little antidote interesting. He thinks for a moment before speaking. “I remember… always feeling calm listening to this.” A small ‘awww,’ leaves your lips. You can feel your heart soften. “I could search the record up for you.”

“No.” He answers immediately. Then his voice softens again. “I don’t want to know. I just want to enjoy the feeling it brings me.” Could this man get any sweeter? You nod, not wanting to ruin anything for him. It’s not like a lot brings him comfort in this world. If this record does, you don’t want to ruin it. “It’s nice.” You respond, closing your eyes to focus on the song. Logan can tell how tranquil you feel. Your heartbeat has slowed.

When the song eventually ends, you open your eyes to find Logan looking up at the ceiling in thought. You’re a little cautious. “What if you learned how to play that song?” You’re not sure how he’d feel about that, since he was adamant about not wanting to know anything about this record. What if actually learning the song brought up memories? However, his eyes soften in thought. It’d be a nice new memory to create. He doesn't say anything, though. He’s not sure, but he hasn't decided against it yet.

“Does it have another side?” You say, glancing at the record player. “It does.” He responds simply. You’re still a little cautious. You’re attempting to keep your voice extra soft. “Are you… going to play it?” No answer. A minute of silence goes by before you quietly speak up again. “I… I’d like to hear it.” That finally seems to draw him out of his thoughts. He looks at you before sliding out of bed to flip the record. He looks like he’s still distracted, but he also looks very calm. His movements are nice and relaxed.

He crawls back into bed with you. He’s actually letting himself enjoy a moment. That’s rare. But enjoying this moment with you here is even better. This is the calmest you’ve ever seen him. He mentioned once, another time, you two were listening to music, that he can hear your heartbeat sync up with the music. You found that so interesting, and he even explained the science behind it. So, wanting to hear how his heart is, you lay your ear to his chest. It’s low and steady, but strong enough to feel against your ear.

He can tell what you're trying to do. It’s a little difficult without heightened hearing, huh? He doesn’t mind, though. He likes when you lay on his chest. He reaches his hand out, messing with your hair. His eyes are holding such gentleness. This song did this to him? Well, you and this song did this to him. Who knew music could have such a deep emotional effect on someone? You can’t help but wonder what this song was like for him in the past. What caused him to feel so calm because of it. It must have been something good, even if he can't remember. Maybe that’s why he likes music so much.

You listen to the last bit of the song before it fades out. You wish there was more to it. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “You pick next.” His voice has its gruffness back to it, but it’s still relatively soft. You go over to his collection of records, looking for something that might be relaxing since that seems to be the mood right now. Then you find a particularly worn out case. The edges are crumpled, the image is very faded, you can barely make out the words, and it’s got a certain smell to it.

Well, let’s try this one. You very carefully put away the one that just finished, not wanting to damage it at all. Logan’s head perks up when he recognises what’s playing. Something old he doesn't remember specifically. “I told you to pick songs you like.” You shrug as you make your way back over to the bed. “I also want to listen to things you like. And who says I don’t like it?” A small laugh escapes his lips. You're already cuddled back against his side. “It’s like eighty years before your time, kid.”

Ok, fair enough. It probably doesn't even exist on Spotify, but that doesn't mean you don’t already like it. Actually, it’s barely played yet, but you like that Logan likes it. “Well… I didn't think any of the rock bands I like to listen to are nice to relax too, and that’s kinda the mood that's going on here.” He can’t fight with that logic. “I like this one. I don’t listen to it as much as the others, but I like it.” The song currently playing is piano, still no vocals. It’s a bit hard to hear over the static, but still nice.

“Do you like Mozart or Beethoven? Have you ever met them?” You’re always poking fun at his age, but seriously now? He makes a face before cracking a small smile. “I think that’s a bit before my time, but I have listened to them. A bit too dramatic for my tastes.” Your focus shifts to the current music playing. It’s very soft. You can see where he’s coming from. You close your eyes, so you can really focus, and he pulls you closer. You gotta admit, the song is pretty, but it’s a little annoying trying to fight to hear it over the static. Really makes you think about how times have changed, huh?

Logan is feeling softer now, getting more cuddly. Now that you know the power music holds over him, you're totally going to use it to your advantage. You want cuddles, but he’s not in the mood? Pop on this record. He won’t speak? Pop on this record. Brooding? Fight? Need him to relax? Find an old record.

He pulls you flush to his chest. He pushes his nose into your hair so it’s the only scent he can smell. He doesn't need to be picking up on the scent of whatever's in the microwave downstairs right now. You wrap one arm around his neck, your other hand lightly ruffling his hair. So soft… You notice he’s gotten some more grey hairs. First off hot, but ageing doesn't really affect him, so it’s not from that but more from stress. Why can’t you just take away all this man’s stress? Well, cuddles seem to do a damn fine job with that, but not entirely. But it’s all you can really do right now.

You’re now lightly scratching his scalp. This man loves when his hair is played with, but only when it’s you. It’s like it melts all his thoughts. That’s what he needs. “Thank you, baby.” He mumbles into your hair. “For what? Coming over? Cuddles?” You ask, not sure what he’s thanking you for.

No answer.

Not like it’s all that important, though. He thanked you so you can tell he’s comfortable. This record is much longer than the last one. The last one only had one song on each side. You still wish there was more. For Logan, so he had more to listen to. It’d be nice if you could find more music by whatever artist that was, but you swore to yourself not to look up anything related to that record. You don’t want to ruin it for Logan. It was clear it carries sentimental value.

The soothing music is nice. Too nice. You're dozing off, but you're fighting it. You were supposed to have a whole night of this! You two have only played three records! He can feel you fighting it, though. “Just go to sleep if you're tired, dumbass.” You are literally so comfortable right now. It’s tempting. The warm bed, soft blanket, Logan’s embrace. It's all tempting. “But we were supposed to make a night of this.” You protest.

“We can continue it in the morning. Just go to fucking sleep if ya tired.” At Least he's being understanding… Kinda. You know you will not win this. You’ve fought him in the past and never won. He’d hold you close to his chest until you fell asleep. “I don’t wanna.” Logan’s brows raise at your tone. You sounded like a whiny little bi- kid. “You wanted to have a relaxing night, so let’s have a relaxing night. We can’t make a night of this if it’s morning. I thought tha-”

“Then just shut up and listen to the music.” He cuts you off before you can keep rambling. His voice came out a bit harsher than expected. He always listens to you ramble. Just tonight, he’s not in the mood. How can he relax with you yammering? So you fall quiet. But to make up for being quiet, you rub his cheek while peppering his face with kisses. That got his mood to cheer up. He doesn't even fight the small smile tugging on his lips. He sinks down in the pillows behind him and lets you do whatever the hell you want to him. His hand is idly stroking your back..

This is a good way to fight falling asleep, having something to do, and he seems to enjoy it. His lips find your neck and trail a few kisses down to your shoulder. His beard scratches your neck, but his soft lips make up for it. He can tell by the way you squirmed it tickled, so he rubs his cheek against your shoulder. Does this man realize how cute he is? A small giggle leaves your lips. That’s what he wanted. Now he’s satisfied. Your laughs are one of his favourite sounds.

He knows the record is going to end soon. He’s memorised how long each and every single one is, so he’s pulling you close before one of you inevitably has to pick another one. You, however, are blatantly unaware that the last song is about to end. Just as you’re leaning into his embrace, the room falls silent. “DAMNIT!” Your little outburst makes Logan chuckle. He lets you go so you can pick something else. “Actually, pick something you’ve listened to before.” You reluctantly nod while rolling your eyes and pulling yourself away.

Your music isn’t really something you can relax too. How does he not get that? You flip through the records. There’s actually a lot more that you recognize than you thought there would be. Then you grab ‘Queen’s greatest hits’. Not exactly calming music, but it’ll work. “Have you seen them live?” Logan glances at the record you picked to know who the hell you're referring to. Oh… That brought up some memories. “A few times, actually.”

You replace the record, feeling more natural with setting them up. “Lucky. I wish I coulda seen them live.” Logan is reliving some memories right now. He seems to have a pleasant look on his face, though. “Wish I coulda met that man. He’s an inspiration.” (Logan is cannonly Bi. I think Freddie would mean a lot to him. He means a lot to me) “Same.” You say, resettling into the bed for like the eighth time. Bohemian Rhapsody is the first song playing. Such a classic.

Queen songs are a bit on the longer side, so you have more time to cuddle with Logan before the record needs flipped. That’s the only downside to this night, but you're growing used to it. When ‘Somebody to Love’ starts playing, Logan didn’t realize just how many feelings he would be hit with. That song connected to him on a personal level when he heard Freddie sing it live. Now he finally found somebody to love. It’s you.

You’re not sure why Logan’s all cuddly all of a sudden, but are you going to complain? No. He’s rarely like this. I’m telling you, just play some old music if you want something out of him. Giving into Logan’s clingy side, you snuggle impossibly close to him. It’s perfect right now. It’s what you wanted and what he needs. He buries his face in your shoulder so you can’t read his face. “What are you doing?” You ask tiredly.

Still no answer. Why is he like this? You try to pull away so you can see his face, but his grip is too tight. Welp, you're not getting out of this one. With a sigh, you relax into his embrace. “Logan, after this one, put on something relaxing. I’m ready for bed.” He huffs in amusement. About damn time you admitted you were tired. He already knows exactly what to put on. He pulls you to his chest as you doze off. By the time the music ends, you’re half asleep. Logan gently pulls away, so he doesn’t wake you. You can faintly hear whatever he put on. He turns off the lights before he comes back, pulling you back to the spot on his chest. His favourite spot for you to lay.

You fell asleep already while Logan has not. He’s quietly watching you as you sleep while listening to the music in the background. The sight of you makes something in him stir. He tries pushing it down by going to sleep. It’s not like he can listen to those thoughts when he’s asleep, right?

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of soft music. It takes you a second to actually process what’s going on. Logan’s room in the mansion is pretty small, so you can see him in the kitchen making coffee from the bed. He stirs your coffee before making his way across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing you the mug of coffee. “Mornin’ baby. I made you some coffee.” Something's off. This feels oddly domestic, and that’s not really Logan’s forté. “Thanks.” Taking a small sip, you're pleasantly surprised by how good it tastes. He must have remembered the way you take it. Actually, he memorised and practiced making it, but he’s not going to tell you that.

“Are we continuing music night?” He picked some gentle music as a nice way for you to wake up. “Thought we could.” He responds with a simple shrug. You take another sip of coffee. It’s way better than what you could have made. “More cuddles?”

“Yea, more cuddles. Just gonna put on a new record.” With that, he gets off the bed and chooses something new to put on. Then he comes back over, laying on his side of the bed. You chug down a bit of coffee before handing him the mug. Before you have time to ask, he's already putting it on the nightstand for you. He’s gotten used to this. Now that the mug is no longer in your hands, you settle down on his chest. It’s the perfect spot to lie. “We should make a day of this.” Logan leans back against the headboard, making sure you're comfortable. He hums in response. He could call Xavier, tell him he wants a day off, he deserves it, but why would he make anything easy for the old man? He’s just not going to show up. “Sounds good.”

You don’t give his answer a second thought. All you care about is cuddling with your man. You don’t get too much time together with him being an X-men and all. The coffee really didn’t do much, you could fall back to sleep. His presence just makes you feel so safe. He knows this. As you settle on his chest he lights up a cigar. Oh yea. He’s gonna be here for a while. He always uses a cigar to help relax.

His chest rises, and he closes his eyes as he takes a deep puff, holding it for a second until he feels its effect. He blows the smoke out slowly, away from you. He waves his hand for any smoke that swirls around you. “You’ve got me to yourself for the whole day, peanut.” You snuggle closer so he can’t get up, even if he wanted to. “You’ve got lots of cuddling to catch up on.” A small smirk grazes his lips. Now that’s a punishment he can live with.

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

Took me forever to finish because I hurt my wrist and all

#Logan howlett x reader #Wolverine x reader #Wolverine fanfic #Logan howlett fanfic #Wolverine #logan howlett #X-men #X-men wolerine #fanfic

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 14 days ago

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Babes, I have a request, so hear me out 😌

(Only if you’re comfortable with that stuff ofc😭)

2006 (Braxl) or current Axl and reader having dinner with reader’s parents (reader is younger than Axl ig)

And reader is like “daddy, can you pass me the salt please?” And she meant her father, but both Axl and her father react

(Idk this is kinda cringe and cliche but whatever 😜)

A/n: Last fic for this week, kinda proud of myself for doing it, also I REALLY REALLY WANTED TO WRITE THIS IDC THAT IT'S CLICHE AND CRINGE I NEEDED IT

Warnings: None really, there's kissing and stuff but nothing more, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Axl watched as you did your makeup in the bathroom, a tiredness in his eyes, his shoulders slumped slightly. "They're not gonna like me." He grumbled, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Does it have to be black tie?"

You came from a very different life than Axl did. Your parents were rich, they got you the best education they could, loved and supported you through everything giving you the freedom to be who you were without the confines of money to hold you back. "They're going to love you, you're the kind of man they wanted me to be with." You assured, pecking his cheek before going back to work on your appearance.

When Axl met you he just thought you were drop dead gorgeous, he also thought you were way too young for him and would just find him creepy if he started talking to you, but that sparkle in your eyes told a different story. When he was younger he had nothing but abusive parents, people always gave him handouts and when he started making money off of Guns he paid for everything for everyone, meals, gas, whatever it was he was paying, because he wanted to do what everyone had done for him.

"And yes, it does have to be black tie, it's a nice restaurant, you like nice restaurants." You mused, Axl just shook his head and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. After paying for everything for everything he started to wonder if people liked him for him or his money, it got to him. You already had money, you'd get nothing for being with him other than a name for dating older men. You weren't a gold digger, you already had gold, you weren't using him for fame, you had your quiet life as an artist.

"I'll dress nice, but I don't have a suit." He mumbled, walking out of the bathroom back to your shared room.

You watched him go. "Really? Not one?" You called after him, trying to recount a time you'd seen him wear a real, proper suit.

"Not a one, sweetheart." He called back, already heading into the walk-in closet. You let out a heavy sigh but couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You finished getting ready, making sure you looked nice and proper in your red dress. It was long and shaped your figure while being loose, draping over your curves with a short slit up the side. Axl came out of the closet in blue jeans, a red button up and a black suit jacket, Ostridge skin cowboy boots to pull it together. It could be worse, he still had his assless chaps from the eighties hanging in there.

"You look gorgeous, love." He purred, nearing you with a fur coat, draping it over your shoulders and pulling you for a kiss. It was supposed to be sweet and quick but you found yourself chasing his lips for more, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back down for more. Axl took the hint and guided you towards your shared bed, taking a seat on the edge and lifting the skirt of your dress up so you could sit in his lap, finger tips faintly gliding up your thighs, ghosting over your skin. "Maybe we could just stay here, huh? Wouldn't that be better?" He asked, shrugging his jacket off and draping his arms around your waist.

"No, we have to go." You said, the words lost their meaning as they were mumbled against his lips. "We have to leave soon or we'll be late." You made no move to get off his lap, letting Axl deepen the kiss by slipping his tongue past your glossy lips which seemed to get your head straight and you pulled away. "We have to go." You stated firmly, getting off his lap and fixing yourself up while he laughed.

Axl stood up and fixed your dress for you, pulling it down as far as it would go and then coming back to pull it up, not missing the opportunity to grope your tits and make you giggle.

You spent the ride there fixing your makeup, Axl bobbed his head along to the music, singing along to Queen and Aerosmith as they came on. You hugged Axl's arm to your chest, heading into the fancy restaurant looking like man and wife, which you weren't yet but you wanted to be.

A hostess led you to your table where your parents already were. "I told you we'd be late." You mumbled, leaning up to Axl so only he'd hear. He just shook his head and smiled at your parents, pulling your seat back for you.

Things started off a little awkward, Axl was sure your parents would hate him and already prepared for that so their politeness was treated... oddly, but with a short explanation things settled down.

Your dad asked about Axl's financial situation, he was in a rock band but how was he really doing? "That doesn't mean anything, you can look and act rich however you want, it doesn't make you rich, this could be a front for something we'll never even know of." He rambled, cutting up his food. You blew on your pasta nervously.

Axl reach over under the table and squeezed your thigh reassuringly. "I have money, I don't waste it on booze or drugs... I-I like throwing parties, but that's not a crime, is it?" He asked with a chuckle. Your parents were courteous enough to laugh along.

Your parents didn't need to love him, you just wanted them to like him, to approve of your relationship because Axl was a good man and he treated you right, even if they didn't see it.

Axl was telling a story, which was good because those could drag on for hours and he was a good storyteller, as long as he was going off about something they couldn't ask about his wages or tours, groupies or some other twisted horror. However, you'd heard this story before. Your parents seemed intrigued but you just stared down at your food, trying to remember how it ended. It finally hit you; Slash got drunk, Axl carried him to bed, and the man pissed himself -Axl had to hide it from the woman he was with.

"Daddy, can you pass me the salt?" You asked abruptly, cutting Axl off.

"Of course, sweetheart." Axl said, already reaching for the salt. He didn't realize his mistake until his hand collided with your fathers. He looked up and saw all eyes on him, your father looking ready to kill him, your mother shocked beyond her years, and you... Your face was redder than a tomato and your eyes bugged, jaw slack.

You blinked slowly, Axl pulled his hand back and looked back to your dad. "Sorry, I thought my hand was closer so I just went..." His voice faded out the longer he spoke.

Your father handed you the salt and you shook it over your pasta before setting it back down. "I think we're done here." Your dad said with a heavy sigh, pushing his chair back.

"Wait, daddy-"

"Are you talking to me or the man ten years younger than me and forty years older than you?" He demanded. You stammered for a response. He looked to your mother. "We're leaving." She didn't argue, also wanting out of this atmosphere now.

Axl leaned over to you. "Do we get the bill, or..?" He asked, reaching into his pocket.

"No, daddy, you can't just leave- daddy!" You stood up, getting his attention. "I love him, daddy, you can't change that, just be happy he loves me back!" Your table was near the back and it wasn't a very busy night but still some heads turned. "Can't you just do that?"

He looked to you, then Axl, then back to you. He was quiet for a long several moments before finally speaking up. "If he truly does make you happy, and he really does love you... I guess I can't get mad at the life he lived before you."

After some more talking and paying the bill you got back in the car with Axl, who let out a heavy sigh before looking to you. You stared back at him, brows furrowed and eyes wide. "You reached for the salt." You muttered.

Axl snickered. "I-I swear, ok, it was closer-"

"You reached for the salt!" You hit him in the shoulder with your small bag while his giggles grew to a belly laugh. You slept with your back turned to him and didn't speak to him until he brought you ice cream.

#guns n roses #gnr #gunsnroses #gunsnfuckinroses #guns and roses #guns n roses imagine #guns n roses fanfic #gunsnroses is god #guns n' roses #axl rose gnr #gnr fanfiction #gnr x reader #gnr fic #axl rose #w axl rose #axl rose imagine #axl rose smut #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose x reader

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