#seriously its like withdrawal again

[meraki-yao]

Dads come home the kids miss you

[transamus]

Why did you drink an energy drink at 10pm?

i like the taste :-( blue berry red bull........

[zhongrin]

zhongrin © 2024 ❥ do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or feed into ai.

muzzled.

featuring... ❥ wriothesley

involves... ❥ afab!reader, fem!reader, muzzle, restraints, teasing (reader → wrio), feral!wrio, sweet & degrading petnames used, mentioned collar & leash at the end, not proofread

wriothesley was starting to regret agreeing to this.

the thing is, you’d lit up like a christmas tree as soon as he nodded, and the way your hooded eyes coupled with your signature cheeky grin were intoxicating in itself. he couldn’t help but growl from behind the muzzle you’d fixed around his mouth - that wasn’t part of the agreement, but it seemed like you, like the impudent-yet-endearing individual that you were, had planned this from the start.

“you look so good like this, wrio~” you hum, now stepping closer to tap on the black metal, crooning as if you were talking to an adored pet, “and now you can’t use those teeth to bite me, pup.”

he growled. the cuffs - his handcuffs, the one he always carried around - jangled behind him as he tried to move his limbs out of habit. part of him burned when you treat him like this. it was both pleasant yet humiliating, arousing and infuriating, to be reduced to a tamed dog, chained to its place.

your boyfriend received an amused chuckle from you. wriothesley’s eyes sharpened, his thighs flexing when he felt your weight descend upon him, sitting across his lap as if you belonged there. which you did. and he would have welcomed you with kisses and his arms wrapping around your waist if he weren’t in such… predicament.

seriously, why did he agree to this, again?

the man watched intently as you slowly traced the hard planes of his muscles highlighted by the black bodysuit, the heat and tension of being unable to grab and hold you driving him mad by each second. all he could imagine was him flipping your position, holding your body against him, and—

“you drive me crazy whenever you wear something like this, you know?” his thoughts halted from your words, breath hitching as he felt your hand grope and kneaded against his pecs.

“truly, sweetheart? more than when i’m naked?” though his voice strained, he challenged, cocking an eyebrow up as his lips tugged into a boyish smirk.

you huffed and punished him with a hand coming down to rest against his inner thigh, so close and yet so far from his growing excitement, the bulge evident against the dark grey pants. “still cheeky? i’ll have to remind you that you’re currently under my mercy.”

“only because of these blasted restraints and goddamn muzzle, doll,” the gravel in his voice deepened the timbre of his voice, causing an involuntary shudder to run up your spine, “the moment i get out, you know who’ll be under whose mercy.”

“ohhh? then you better work hard~” you sang, leaning in unabashedly to lick and nibble on his neck. a rewarding groan from your boyfriend was all it took for you to start to earnestly mark his skin, red-purples blooming on the exposed part of his neck and shoulder. the fact that you couldn’t mark his favorite spot - the junction of his neck - was both a blessing and a curse to wriothesley. he had half a mind to beg you to rip his accursed bodysuit off somehow, though he knew it would be hard to do considering the situation.

his wrists strained against the metals, a hiss escaping through his clenched teeth. you eyed his escape attempt in amusement, withdrawing from his neck only to place your lips near the base of his ear, “aww, poor puppy… bet you never thought your cuffs would be used against you, huh? or have you thought about it before? naughty, naughty…”

“shut up,” he shivered, wishing he could turn and shut you up with a deep kiss, but this stupid contraption—

a strangled groan of your name left his throat, his thighs twitching when your hand on his thigh moved to cup his bulge, fondling softly from behind the clothing, “fuck, shit-”

yet as soon as it started, it ended. wriothesley subjected you to a fiery frustrated glare by his icy cold eyes; you were truly going to be the death of him at this rate.

“you fucking brat.”

the nickname shot a rush of desire into your core. you knew you were succeeding in riling him up in that direction when the sweeter petnames were replaced with that kind of filth.

you wanted him feral, and it seemed like you were getting your wish if you could keep this up.

“who, me?” you giggled, knowing it would irate him further, “oh, but i’m just getting started, darling.”

you shifted to face him directly, completely straddling him on his chair. the lust-filled eyes of your lover were affixed on you, unable to tear away as your hands moved to unbutton the blouse you had; one button at a time, slowly exposing more and more skin. with every inch revealed, you watched as his adam’s apple bob, his eyes dilating, breathing visibly picking up when he realized you had opted out of wearing a bra today. shakily, momentarily, his gaze dropped lower to your skirt. what if.

“like what you see?” his vision shifted back to your face at your taunt. with all the buttons off, the cloth slipped down your shoulders until you maneuver it to drop onto the ground.

“you… naughty, evil, teasing-” his words died on his tongue when your hands - oh how pretty they would look cupping around his cock - moved themselves up your ribs to cup your breasts. your dainty fingers fail to appreciate them fully, in his opinion; unable to hold the soft plumpness properly, too small to knead properly. it should have been his hands, massaging and making you moan and writhe. should have been his calloused fingers that flicked your pert nipples, making you whine needily and tremble like that.

“unlock the cuff,” he gruffly ordered, chains clinking loudly as he tried to pull and tug against them, “right now.”

you tilted your head, pausing to bat your eyelashes innocently at him. you had no idea how much he wanted to see those pretty lashes wet with tears as he bit and mark and fondle your skin all over right now. oblivious to the picture he had on his head, where he held you down and pinned you on the bed as he ravaged you senseless.

instead of giving him salvation, you gave him sin. more of sinful provocation; your moans loud, one of your hand slowly trailing down your abdomen to slip beneath your skirt. the fact that he could picture your finger gathering slick from your slit, delving into your folds to then rub your swollen clit with your abundance of slick — yet being unable to witness the sight obscured by the stupid piece of clothing, was maddening. a crime, even.

did you have to slip your hand beneath your panties? or did you also decide to forego them just like you did with your bra? and did you have to moan so prettily while looking directly at him like that?

“damn it- you unfair little-!”

his cock was straining so hard against his pants, it hurt. you hummed, both amused and aroused at the words falling from his lips and the loud creak and clang of metal chains and wooden chair scraping against the floor. you knew he wanted to touch and taste you, you knew he was going to devour you if you kept this on. you knew you probably should stop teasing him so cruelly like this.

you waited for a particular word to slip out of his lips — the word that would stop your little game altogether.

but only curses and snarls left your lover’s lips, and you relished in the pure, unfiltered want on his expression. your fingers delved into your sopping cunt, a breathy moan and a shudder racking through your body as you pleasured yourself on top of his lap, slick dripping to stain his pants.

wriothesley’s breaths were ragged and loud, his jaw locked and clenched, eyes shifting between your expression, the hand fondling your breast and perked nipple, the way your other hand moved beneath the skirt— it was all too much, too much—

you gave him a knowing, sultry smile, and he could swear he entered some kind of hypnotic daze as you pulled your hand away from under the flimsy skirt, your dainty digits covered in wetness. his mouth opened automatically, tongue out as he tried to inch forward, chasing the honeyed treat.

the metal muzzle tapped against your fingers, just as your kind smile turned mischievous.

wriothesley

snaps.

you didn’t realize the chains broke until your vision shifts, your center of gravity thrown off balance. your back slammed against the hard surface of his desk, your breath stolen out of your lungs as you lost your bearings, confusion flooding your mind. you’d barely realized what had happened when you felt your skirt ripped away, your legs pushed apart and your knees kissing your ears before your beloved’s cock plunged into the wet, sopping heat. eyes rolling to the back of your head, your back arched as he started rutting, sparks of pleasure blooming rapidly in your senses.

wriothesley couldn’t even spare a moment to talk as his hips moved so deliciously, the hardened cock dragging against your spongy walls with vengeance. this was what you’d reduced him to: a mindless, ruthless beast only caring to take and take and take, after finally having the prey you bared and dangled in front of him. preys shouldn’t have taunted their predators, but you went ahead and did it anyway.

“w-wrio- oh- f-fuck-”

a deep snarl, and the hands you tried to reach out to touch him slammed back down on the desk. you inhaled shakily and almost moaned outloud just from the sight of him on top of you, still muzzled, silver blue eyes glaring down at you. untamed and feral, the merciless slam of his hips continued, blunt head reaching into the deepest part of your pussy as it convulsed around him. the sounds of your coupling filled the room, and your mind melted from the onslaught of pleasure, senses succumbing to the carnal lust you’ve inflicted upon your lover.

amidst the feral snarls and mind-numbing oxytocin, you barely heard his voice, panting and rough with unbridled need, “gonna cum,” the grip on your hands moved onto your hips, keeping you in place as the brutish thrusts started to turn uncoordinated, “gonna breed this perverted pussy. it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? you wanted to be fucked stupid like this? huh?”

broken moans left your throat, head spinning as the arrhythmical slaps of his hips against yours brought you teetering towards the precipice of euphoria. it took all you could to nod in agreement, and wriothesley’s smirk widen, a pleased growl reverberating within his throat as he felt his cock throb, ropes of sticky cum flooding into your deepest part. the warmth flooding into you triggered your own climax, spongy walls clamping down to milk him within the tight channel.

you exhaled shakily, quivering as the intense orgasm left you sensitive all over, body tingling as it relaxed, limp against the hard surface of his work desk. wriothesley panted on top of you, his breathing heavy and almost strained as his smouldering eyes saw your boneless body under him.

he bent down, and you would have thought he was about to kiss you if not for the contraption obscuring his mouth—

“you didn’t think that was enough for that stunt you pulled on me, did you, brat?”

your breath hitched as he ripped away the metal muzzle off his mouth, flexing his jaw and massaging the red imprint it made onto his skin. he dangled the item above you, eyes hooded and dark and mean.

“this time, why don’t i let you wear this? i already have a collar and a leash prepared for you to match, after all.”

❥ banner picture © nqrse ー hoyofair 2024

[vcod1n]

i see a lot of people talking about how they think neil decided/knew what he'd do in this scene here

but in all honesty i think he knew as early as this scene, and any moments prior to what we're shown in the film

regardless of what media may portray, from personal experience (though i cant speak for everyone), decisions such as neil's circumstances are not thought of lightly, and take an extended era of mentally depleting decision making to even seriously consider

look at him here, the tired look in his eyes as his father praises him only when he's finally compliant with mr. perry's persistent demands

only when his father leaves do we see him alleviate that drained look—however, he does so with this off putting smile, visibly not one with genuine comfortable intent,, its dissociative, uneasy; he's thinking of his dad ('s office)

and then he sits back and really thinks about it, sort of coming back to reality with the overall atmosphere of this scene itself … he's reconsidering (as one does), maybe not taking it as seriously since he's had these thoughts for so long

and so charlie and knox and meeks all step out, confronting him about it, and of course neil talks back about talking back and such, evidently a little jealous that they're comfortable in what their parents have laid out for them—what they're able to accomplish

he's envious because, to him, their free,, free in their choices, their future, and he wants that; yet the only way in his mind to obtain that, is through death

and here, in this part, when charlie mentions the annual, neil still replies in his harsh tone about how he "doesn't give a damn about any of it," which provokes this estranged, slightly confused look amongst the boys, deeming this as something out of character for neil

withdrawal from interests and goals is a very important sign if someone is experiencing ideation, and this is exactly what neil is doing—maybe this could percieved as simply brainwashed under his father's ideals but neil being neil (the neil who specifically went against his father's wishes for his acting passions) most likely would do this,, he himself is disconnecting.

in this final part, we see that smile again, the rest of my theorized context to it shown in the background with the expressions on each of the boys faces—this isnt like neil, and therefore they're worried

lastly, before it clips away, neil switches the subject in the height of its tension, an attempt to drag away his friends' attention from his unusual behavior

he doesn't want them to know—perhaps he himself doesn't want to know, but they all do, even if only on surface level

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[loveemagicpeace]

🪐Saturn in your life🪐

🦋One thing you should know about Saturn is that Saturn is the planet of restructures, authority, discipline, represent the older people,responsibilities, good and bad karma. And Saturn is protector. He will protect you from the accident & in general from the things that can go wrong. With saturn, we can put too much stress on ourselves and push ourselves over the edge and become exhausted from it. The planet is known for its reality and practicality. Also by a tendency to excessive strictness. His expectations may be too high. Powerful Saturn in the chart it can indicate that we want everything in ours control life to the extent that we consider ourselves to be unsuccessful if we fail to achieve the goals we set for ourselves set themselves. There are some things about Saturn again. 🦋

✨Saturn in 1st house-Saturn in the first house makes the individual very difficult, self-centered or serious. The individual takes himself and life very seriously. You are ambitious, persistent and stubborn. You secretly want to do things in your way. In your own way, you deal with resistance, arbitrariness, etc. In some cases, you want to control others. You are inclined to thinking, withdrawing from the world, thrift and caution. The individual plans, predicts, moves forward slowly and surely. You usually value ​​good reputation and honor very much. Things take a long time to come true. You are also prone to accidents due to negligence or divine intervention. They also showed disappointments, sorrows and heavy responsibilities. You can often feel lonely deep down.

☁️Saturn in 2nd house-Saturn in the second house makes the individual thrifty and conservative, but has an abundance of energy. You have a need to acquire wealth and property. Life progress is delayed or difficult. Saturn in the second house it produces circumstances that do not allow the individual to take full advantage of certain circumstances that may appear in his life. There are constant misdirections, delays that are extremely problematic, and lack of opportunities due to lack of money. At the same time, it can make you a person who works very carefully with money. People will never fool you. But it can create pressure to be able to have money because you can feel that without it you have no power or you are not enough. Saturn here can find enjoyment and live in the moment.

🦋Saturn in 3rd house-these people are very intelligent, smart, thoughtful. They have good concentration and great depth of thought. When they compare themselves to other peers, they feel that they are smarter because their thoughts are much more structured and focused on the chosen topic. A person with Saturn in the third house can be stubborn and dogmatic, if you realize that you are in danger through inappropriate information, you value ​​the knowledge that have been achieved on the basis of experience and practical observations, which you then structure in your memory. A person with Saturn in the third house is very careful when driving vehicles, so accidents and accidents are not very likely.

🫧Saturn in 4th house- The positions of Saturn in the fourth house can be connected with the domestic atmosphere, private matters, relations with parents and family dynamics as a whole. Saturn in the fourth house strongly cools all relationships in the home environment.Home and family may be completely satisfactory, clean and orderly from a formal point of view, but there is emotional emptiness, repulsion and coldness among family members. Maybe it's hard to find or get love. But it is not necessary (some people have a very good relationship with their mother and the mother can be very caring). Here there can be many connections with the father (it is possible that the father is always somewhere on the sidelines or you do not feel a connection with him). You can already feel more independent and less connected to your family at a young age.

⚡️Saturn in 5th house- The ambivalence of this position is manifested in the simultaneous overestimation and underestimation of one's own abilities and talents. A person with this position is not able to openly show his love, but can express it through material forms, for example through gifts. You long for recognition and praise everywhere, because you cannot find it in yourself, and you are so demanding of other people that in the end you can remain alone. These people can be too serious when it comes to having fun. It's hard for you to be childish. You may also be embarrassed to show off your talents or be seen. These people should find their inner child.

🪐Saturn in 6th house you will be happiest when you do work that is related to you and is not tiring. In fact, it is good for these people to do something that is easy and calm. A job that is too stressful can indicate serious health problems and can make you sick many times. The pressures at the workplace are sometimes so difficult that a person is no longer there able to perform his work correctly and with high quality, because he is deeply dissatisfied, hurt and frustrated. Daily habits and tasks (for example, hygiene, cleaning, house order, principles of behavior, etc.)are very precisely determined, as the individual demands absolute order and compliance with the established rules. This position indicates great persistence and patience, which is why a person often keeps a job or a workplace. A person's health is most strained when the individual is stressed day and night with the problems and disappointments he experiences in life, and he sleeps poorly, does not feel well, eats improperly and does not exercise enough.

❄️Saturn in 7th house- these people tend to find true love only later in life. They may have some relationships or one that can change their life. These people can be careful when choosing a person because sometimes they can go too fast into a relationship, which can end up being a big disappointment. You can also be afraid to go into a relationship or you are afraid of disappointment. Maybe you take it very seriously and don't like to get involved with people who aren't serious. Many times you like people who respect themselves and are more like Capricorns or have such traits. These people can also be focused more on people with whom they can be practical and can do something together. This position indicates a marriage with a person who is loyal, extremely hard-working and has a great sense of humor. The other partnerships are also loyal, hardworking on or responsible.

🌙Saturn in 8th house- These people are very connected to mysteries, transformation, things related to death. This position indicates financial problems of a marriage or business partner who is not as well off as the individual. Therefore, this was shown by the lack of benefits in business relations or marriage. Life can be limited by lack of resources. But at the same time, he can bring a person into his life who helps him and together they achieve great power and do business together. Saturn in the eighth house showed a slow death. Old books claim that Saturn in the eighth house, if it is in an unfavorable position and in a water sign, indicates the danger of drowning. They claim that if it is affected by Mars or Uranus, it can mean the danger of accidents that are fatal. Of course, these are just indicators. All I would say is that people with this position can be more optimistic because it will bring them a lot of satisfaction in life.

☔️Saturn in 9th house-you can find faith in something or the meaning of life. That way you will be able to make yourself happy. Too much pessimism can lead you to dissatisfaction and sadness. These people should be spiritual and believe in something. Finding a place that makes them happy is the only way they will be able to deal with saturn. Saturn in the ninth house often indicates the individual's separation from his homeland or the desire to move on to another country. If it is in a good position with the Sun, this is a good indicator of a personality devoted to religion.

💫Saturn in 10th house- It produces an individual with a personality that is highly focused, hard-working, disciplined, level-headed and diplomatic. An individual can have a one-sided view of life that is egocentric. Progress in life is assured, but slow. Saturn in the tenth house is difficult to identify without aspects and sign. In general, it indicates ambitions and the need for a position in society. They have to observe life well and make the right decisions. Sometimes you can push yourself too much when it comes to career business and reputation. You want it all and you can consider yourself as being unsuccessful if things are not going into the way you want it to be.

Saturn in 11th house- Saturn in this house usually means few friends or problems with them. It can also mean that the person has older, more serious friends. This position usually brings an ambitious person whose hopes and dreams are not they have solid foundations. This position indicates a person who wants to succeed in society. It can also indicate that you are too serious when it comes to friendship and that you can quickly resent and leave. You can be a person who is firm and knows what you want and has hard-set goals.

🛼Saturn in 12th house-Saturn in this house causes the person to be modest and timid. A person struggles and has many opponents. This position indicates that he works without recognition or works in solitude. Saturn in this house makes an individual who has hidden pains and disappointments. It is also an indicator of going to prison unjustly. However, it should be understood that prison can be in physical or psychological form. It can also mean being trapped in your own thoughts. But it also means that you can understand life much better than people. This placement leads to a disciplined approach to spirituality, mysticism, and the subconscious mind. Saturn here can also have a hard time letting go.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🦋🩵🫧

[revelboo]

would you ever think about writing something with the elite trine/starscream, thundercracker, and skywarp x a human reader ...... perchance .......... i am a hungry little peasant child, digging for scraps of poly trine x reader on the side of the road which is called tumblr .......... [TAKE UR TIME . OR DONT DO THE REQUEST ITS OKAY SERIOUSLY !!!!!!!!! GENUINELY YOURE SUCH A GOOD WRITER AND ITS SO INSANE THAT THE STARSCREAM X READER HCS HAS 33 POSTS ...... SINGLE HANDEDLY FEEDING US STARSCREAM LOVERS]

All I heard was reverse harem Seeker smut 🌶️ 18+ no plot here. Mass displaced mechs

Trine x Reader- sharing (stand-alone)

• Big servos flex against your hips and pull you back against a warm frame. It’s the feel of denta gripping your shoulder hard enough to bruise that gives away that it’s Skywarp. Little stinging nips along the curve of your neck that are intended just to make his brothers angry. Marking you. One of his big hands slides up to curl around your throat, the other down your front.

• Biting again as he cups your slick flesh, you make that little breathy sound of need that drives him crazy. Hips rocking against his hand in invitation and he’s generous today, not teasing. Pressing a servo into you and stroking until you’re moving against him to ride his palm. So needy. “You started already?” Growling as he looks over at Thundercracker, he nips that soft skin again, ignoring the question. He’d never shared anything very well. Star can be as angry as he likes after he’s finished with you. Withdrawing that slick servo earns him a little noise of protest, but as he urges you down, bending you over, you submit willingly. Needing this as much as he does. Wings lifting stiffly as he tries to ignore Thundercracker watching, he buries his spike in your wet heat.

• Groaning as he drives deep, you feel his servos tighten on your hips and then he’s rutting against you. Rough and fast, almost too much. And he’s growling in your ear, a rumbling stream of Cybertronian you can’t understand as he claims you, his bigger body caging yours. What’s it say about you that you don’t mind being shared by them? That your body responds the same way to all three Seekers. Hunger and heat. Skywarp shifts against you, thrusts becoming more urgent to send heat coiling through you. Impatient, hard strokes and then his rhythm falters and he bites again, hard enough to break the skin. The sharp sting tangling with the pleasure to drive you over the edge as he buries himself deep to release.

• Thundercracker watches Skywarp drag his glossa against your shoulder, his red optics bright as he slides out, a hand stroking affectionately down your spine. “Such a good pet,” Skywarp chuckles, teasing. Thundercracker knows he needs to wait for Starscream, that he’s going to be mad enough, but as you roll onto your back, thighs parted and slick, he’s moving without thinking. Dragging you to the edge so your legs hang over and burying his spike inside you. Curling himself over you, he rolls his hips and slides a hand under the back of your head. Lifting you enough he can reach and explore your mouth as he lazily rocks himself inside you. Taking his time to tease you both.

• For being the most affectionate of the three, Thundercracker’s mouth is pure sin. That glossa of his stealing inside, turning that warm kiss into something urgent and wholly at odds with the slow stroke of that big spike buried inside you. If Skywarp has no control, Thundercracker has too much. Your body heating again, needing more and being denied. Hooking your legs around his waist to buck your own hips against him, chasing that high he’s denying you.

• “Again?” Starscream vents as he lets himself inside and scowls. Skywarp laughs from where he’s sprawled, servos curled lazily about his own spike watching Thundercracker and their human. As annoyed as he is with them, he’s not too surprised. It’s so easy to rile you up. Always so eager and needy. Able to keep up with their needs. Thundercracker growls, hips moving faster, the wet sound of their bodies meeting mingling with the little noises of their human lost in passion. Your head thrown back, thighs trembling as Thundercracker bucks into you, his wings shuddering with his own release.

• Your body is still humming pleasantly as Thundercracker pulls away with one last kiss against the corner of your mouth. Head back and heart racing, you tremble as servos curl around your knee. Starscream, his expression calculating as he takes in your sweat slick skin and the mess his brothers have made. His expression growing tight before it passes. The complaint doesn’t come as he vents and buries himself inside you, that familiar spike stretching you. Bowed over you, thrusting deep his optics hold your eyes. And somehow your tired body responds for him, winding up again. Needing this. Him.

• Eyes dark with passion stare up at him as he takes you. Sometimes he regrets agreeing to share you. Wishes he’d kept you to himself, but he doesn’t regret how sharing you has mended the strain between them. You’re his. Always will be, but theirs too. Rutting against you, feeling your soft hands on him, he knows this is right. A trine united over something precious that they need to protect at all costs. Wings trembling as he pounds into your wet heat, he chases after as you arch under him, moaning his name as you milk his spike. Shattering.

[princessbrunette]

asking rafe for a nutting vid? it's okay if you don't want to write tysm!

u r so real for this request !

☆🫖➛🎀*.☽

rafe was going away for a week, some business trip with his dad that he couldn’t get out of. naturally, you found a week to be a very long time — so the evening before he leaves, he’s at your place to spend some time with you. the time finally comes where he has to leave to go home, and you’re clinging onto him, teary eyed and pouty.

“you can survive a week, kid.” a smirks, squeezing your hips where the two of you stand in the dimly lit hallway infront of your front door, not wanting him to go just yet.

“its a long time… and you’re not a good texter. not even gonna get to talk to you much.” you huff, already finding problems with his plans to go away. he licks his lips, shaking his head as he stares off, cupping the back of your head affectionately as he thinks.

“well what do you want me to do, huh? not like i can back out of it. time will fly, you’ll barely notice i’m gone.” he shrugs, trying to be as reassuring as he can possible muster up. he was learning still, being a boyfriend wasn’t really second nature to him.

“buuuuut…” you look at the ceiling, trying to come up with another reason he should stay, moreso trying to keep the conversation going on for longer to delay him leaving. you stifle a giggle. “i’m going to be left unsatisfied. s’not very nice of you.”

“unfortunately, you are going to have to do some of the work for once n’get yourself off. think you can manage that?” he drawls, keeping his voice low as he holds you closely to him. if he hadn’t fucked you within an inch of your life earlier on to tide over your withdrawals for the week to come — you might’ve tried to initiate something right there and then to convince him.

“will you call and help me?” you bat your lashes, putty in his arms.

“gonna be with my dad 24/7. don’t think he’d… appreciate that.” he blinks and you slump. after a silence, he opens his mouth to speak — attempting to once again say goodbye for the sixth time before an idea strikes you and you interrupt.

“wait, rafey do you think you could…” you get shy on him, giggling and dropping your forehead to his chest. he draws back, shifting on his feet with a slight impatience.

“what? hm?”

you look up, a seriousness held in your gaze and you fiddle with his shirt button again. “could you… make me a video? to help me?” you smile and he thinks he’s being mocked so he sighs, lips pressed together petulantly.

“the hell do i look like to you, hm—”

“rafe please, just — just a video of you making yourself feel good… you know, the ending… with the sound on.” your voice is quiet, not quite knowing how he’ll take it. he lets out a long exhale through his mouth, shaking his head as he thinks before shrugging.

“alright— maybe, okay? i’ll— i’ll think about it. now can i get a kiss because i am leaving.” he puts his foot down, knowing you’ll keep finding reasons for him to stay.

you feel he has pretty much dismissed your request, so you dismiss it too— forgetting all about it as you sulk in bed that night, nighttime routine finally done as you prepare to go to sleep. infact, you’re literally about to put your phone down when your phone dings.

one attachment from rafe.

you open the message, but as soon as you do— your phone rings, the contact picture of him steering his boat flashing up on your screen.

“hello?”

“its done, alright — and you’re only getting one of these videos so i suggest you wait until you really need it to watch it. yeah?” his voice sounds through your phone and a grin spreads onto your face, realising what he’s talking about.

“oh thank you rafe!” you all but squeal and you practically feel him roll his eyes through the phone.

“yeah, yeah— and don’t let me find out you’ve shown that shit to any of your friends, okay? this is just for you.”

“of course not, rafey… do you want anything in return?”

“you send me any freaky shit when i’m with my dad and i’ll wring your neck when i get home. this is just — it’s just to get you through the week… because apparently you can’t live without dick.” he sighs tiredly, a tinge of amusement in his tone telling you he’s being lighthearted in his own fucked up way.

“thats your fault.” you giggle and he hums, the sound of sheets ruffling on his end.

“alright, gotta be up early so i’m gonna head to bed. be good, yeah? i’ll text you when the jet lands, you’ll probably just be waking up at that time.”

“okay rafey, night!”

you actually make it all the way to thursday without using the video. you were tempted — don’t get it twisted, but there was part of you that wanted to hold out, make yourself really need it before you reward yourself.

you find yourself home alone, missing rafe and horny — so you end up on your bed, finger hovering over the play button.

“alright, this is for you baby. don’t ever say i don’t do shit for you.” you hear him first as he adjusts his grip on his phone, using one hand to film his crotch and the other to pull down his boxers — hard, pretty cock springing out. his hand disappears off camera for a second, and returns with a glob of spit in his palm, smearing it all over as he starts to jerk off.

aside from sighs and moans, he’s quiet for the most part until closer to the end — his tip red and throbbing and he gets more desperate. “this kinda shit gets you off, huh? probably gonna hump that little hand like i caught you doin’ that one time. ‘was real cute, baby.” his voice is breathy and you can tell he’s practically talking himself through it, pushing himself closer to his orgasm.

he’s right, your hand is down your panties— rubbing your clit and spreading your thighs as you let out whimpers of your own. “fffuck. you — mm— you wish you were cummin’ on this right here, don’t you? yeah, leavin’ a mess. as usual.” he grits his teeth, stopping for a moment to grip the girth of it in his fist, letting a bead of precum slide down his knuckle.

“shit, you wanna see me cum don’t you baby. dirty fuckin’ girl — wanna see me blow this fuckin’ load for you, huh. oh shit.” he groans, bordering on a whimper before more moans and curses follow, dripping all down his hand before the video cuts off, your boyfriend catching his breath. you continue to rewind it, rewatching until you hit your own peak, whining and moaning his name despite his absence.

he’d had a busy day, so it was no surprise he hadn’t called — and you knew you’d get in trouble, but you send him a picture of your messy, drippy cunt afterwards anyway, simply captioning it ‘loved ur vid rafey <3’

he calls almost instantly, to tell you off.

☆🫖➛🎀*.☽

[lees-chaotic-brain]

Its always about gojo being clingy, but what if reader will be clingy and we will pepper him with love♡

Thanks for sending in requests! I love hearing from you guys, like seriously, it makes my day. Invade my ask box with requests or just to ask questions about me anytime!

I really like this idea. I'm kinda mad I didn't come up with it tbh lol.

CW: fluff, a little angst, spoilers for the first half for season two, female reader, trust issues, betrayal, cuteness

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Gojo x Clingy Reader

Gojo Satoru hadn't realized how much he needed, how much he craved to be loved, until he met you.

Before he met you, he had been fine with physical and emotional contact, sure, but it wasn't like something that he enjoyed and sought out.

The first time he met you was in high school.

Instantly, he had noticed how beautiful you were. Even then he had admired how you freely doled out affection, and always wanted to be around those you loved.

Not only that, he always felt a little envious of those you freely gave out love to, like your partner at the time, or Shoko, your best friend. Although, he was so dense back then even he didn't realize he was jealous.

While he always appreciated and savored the hugs and high fives you gave him, he didn't realize that he wanted more until much later in life.

After Suguru left, everyone in your small group of friends became a little more distant, and drifted apart as the years went by after you graduated high school.

Then you re entered his life, as beautiful as you had been, if not more. But your signature signs of affection, and open and loving personality was subdued, the pain of Suguru's betrayal causing you to withdraw into yourself.

This was the first moment that Gojo realized how much he missed you. The you that once burned so brightly with warmth and care, not the version of you that stood before him now with prominent eye bags, a forced smile, and barely an ember of what you used to have.

From that moment forward, it became his personal mission to help you heal. To become comfortable with loving and trusting the way you used to be.

It took time and a lot of effort, but after jokes, reminiscing about high school, getting coffee, being there for you on the hard days, holding you when you cry, and constantly reassuring you that he wasn't going anywhere, you began to open up again.

And somewhere along the way, he realized two things.

One, by helping you with your anxieties and guilt and hurt over Suguru, he had begun to heal a wound he didn't even know he still had.

Two, he had fallen completely and hopelessly in love with you.

For the first time since Suguru had left, your smiles reached your eyes, genuine and sweet. You began showing affection again, leaning your head on Shoko's shoulder, patting the students on the shoulder or high-fiving them, returning Gojo's hugs after the two of you spent hours talking about all of your good memories from high school.

After a lot of thought, and late night rants to Shoko, he asks you out.

You agree happily, telling him that if he had waited any longer, you would've just asked him out to get it over with.

And once you started dating, hoo boy, if he thought you were affectionate and clingy beforehand, he had another thing coming.

He comes home from a mission?

You're waiting with his favorite dinner and all the baked goods his sweet tooth could desire.

You insist on feeding him as you sit on his lap, informing him that it was your job as his girlfriend to take care of him.

Afterwards, taking a bubble bath with him, washing his hair, massaging his scalp is a must.

Then you wrap yourself around him and order him to cuddle you for hours on end.

And if he thinks he is going to get away with leaving your side for even a second over the course of the next couple days, he's wrong.

Part of it is you needing reassurance that he isn't going anywhere. The other part of it is just your nature. You need to take care of the people you love, to cuddle them, cook for them, hold them, love them. It's just how you are.

If it was anyone else, Gojo would probably find it annoying and overbearing, doubting their intentions, or just flat out disliking it. But if it's coming from you, well that's a different story.

If it's coming from you, there is nothing he wants more than for you to love him, because your outgoing and affectionate personality was part of the reason he fell in love with you in the first place.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Note: This is a little shorter than my normal fics, sorry. I really loved this idea and couldn't wait to write it, so I started it before remembering that I'm swamped with schoolwork. I'm so sorry, I hope that I did it justice even though it was a little rushed. Feel free to send in any more requests you might have!

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“some wounds that cannot be wholly cured”

What will be the most likely consequences of Morgoth’s crown wound on Galadriel? Let’s us explore the possibilities, clues and foreshadowing:

The parallel between Galadriel's series arc and Frodo's arc as well, and you can look at... you know... a couple... sort of commoneries they have. You know, Frodo getting stabbed by the Morgul blade and Galadriel getting stabbed by the crown of Morgoth. And you know, his, sort of like, push and pull relationship with the Ring, her push and pull relationship to Sauron, which is basically the Ring personified. Hum... there's some interesting things to look at and unpack there across the series. - J.D. Payne 

Galadriel/Frodo and Sauron/One Ring parallels in “Rings of Power”

At the same time he struck at the feet of his enemy [Witch King of Angmar]. A shrill cry rang out in the night; and he felt a pain like a dart of poisoned ice pierce his left shoulder […] With a last effort Frodo, dropping his sword, slipped the Ring from his finger and closed his right hand tight upon it.

“I fear, Sam, that they believe your master has a deadly wound that will subdue him to their will […] He is not slain, and I think he will resist the evil power of the wound longer than his enemies expect. I will do all I can to help and heal him. […] Findol will lead you onward, he shall see you safely to Rivendell.”

“What happened at the Ford?” said Frodo, after they had recovered. “It all seemed so dim somehow; and it still does.” […] “I don’t know.” Frodo answered. “They [the side and shoulder] don’t feel at all: which is an improvement, but” -he made an effort- “I can move my arm again a little. Yes, it is coming back to life. It is not cold,” he added, touching his left hand with his right.

In “Fellowship of the Ring”, Frodo is injured by the Witch King of Angmar, using a Morgul blade. In spite of being physically healed by Elrond, this wound never fully heals, not even after the One Ring is destroyed and Sauron is defeated. And on its anniversary, Frodo becomes seriously ill.

In Two Towers, Frodo can sense the wound whenever the Witch King is nearby:

a Rider, all black, save that on his hooded head he had a helm like a crown that flickered with a perilous light. Now he was drawing near the bridge below, and Frodo's staring eyes followed him, unable to wink or to withdraw. […] Here, yes here indeed was the haggard king whose cold hand had smitten down the Ring-bearer with his deadly knife. The old wound throbbed with pain and a great chill spread towards Frodo's heart.

Frodo also got a nasty scar for life:

One evening Sam came into the study and found his master looking very strange. He was very pale and his eyes seemed to see things far away. “What’s the matter, Mr. Frodo?” said Sam. “I am wounded,” he answered, “wounded; it will never really heal.” But then he got up, and the turn seemed to pass, and he was quite himself the next day. It was not until afterwards that Sam recalled that the date was October the sixth. Two years before on that day it was dark in the dell under Weathertop. Time went on, and 1412 came in. Frodo was ill again in March, but with a great effort he concealed it, for Sam had other things to think about.

“Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf. “I fear it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?” Gandalf did not answer. Return of the King

This wound forever changes Frodo, and it’s only a blade forged by Sauron, what consequences will Morgoth’s very own crown, a object filled with dark magic, have on Galadriel?

If Frodo’s wound is anything to go by, the hypothetical consequences will be it will never heal; and, straight out of “Harry Potter”, the wound will hurt whenever Sauron is near.

And can 2x08 already have provided us with some foreshadowing on this?

Galadriel's case

First things first: Morgoth’s crown is not a Morgul blade, per say. “Morgul-knifes” were dark magic weapons forged by Sauron in Minas Morgul, to gift the Nazgûl. This is necromancy, and they, indeed, turned victims into slave wraiths to the Nine and to Sauron himself (and this was the goal in stabbing Frodo, for him to surrender the One ring).

The difference here is: the tip of the Morgul blade would remain inside of the victim to complete this wraith-transformation process (this happened to Frodo, and the tip had to be removed); and the sun would vanish/destroy them (this also happens in “Fellowship of the Ring”, when the Witch King leaves the blade behind).

We know neither of these things happened with Morgoth’s crown (which was forged by Morgoth, and reforged by Sauron, to fit himself). And I highly doubt Morgul-blades had the power to destroy Sauron’s physical form, either (this is another misconception: he lost the ability to take on “fair form” after the Fall of Númenor, not physical form).

Unless we are assuming Sauron “took notes” from this event with Galadriel, and perfected the method with his own Morgul-knives, but his overall attitude and his smile of victory seems to imply he knew exactly what he was doing in this scene.

Which leads me to the next theory: blood binding. The entire fighting sequence appeared to be a charade building towards one moment: Sauron binding Galadriel to him. He did, after all, stabbed her with a dark magic object infused with his own blood (Adar used it to destroy his previous physical form, in 2x01).

2x01 / 2x08 parallels: “Only blood can bind.” (Adar; 1x05)

We saw Sauron mind-communicating with Galadriel after the stabbing. To me, this scene marks the beginning of his grouping of her mind, for thousands years to come (because we haven’t seen this in the show, yet).

Visually, we have some clues that seem to indicate this, indeed, happened:

These shots can imply blood binding theory is correct, and Sauron might have transferred some of his powers to Galadriel. This is not mere “camera work”: in the first screenshot it’s Sauron looking down at Galadriel, and the second is Galadriel waking up. The effect on both is the same; hinting a sharing power between them.

And Sauron didn’t do this “by accident”; not only he’s been a master in blood magic for over thousands of years (probably for longer than Galadriel herself has been alive), but this was his intention ever since 1x08: “you bind me to the light, and I bind you to power.”

Then, "Rings of Power" appears to have taken some inspiration from these dark veins on Galadriel's chest in her "elf-witch" form in Peter Jackson adaptation of "The Hobbit", for Sauron's wounds from Morgoth's crown in 2x01:

We can see the dark veins appearing on his neck, face and forehead:

Interestingly enough these are the same veins on Frodo’s wound from the “Fellowship of the Ring” adaptation (2001), so I’m not sure why Peter Jackson decided to place them on Galadriel’s chest, in 2014.

Anyway; can this be a clue towards something? Will we see this version of Galadriel in “Rings of Power”?

In Tolkien lore, Galadriel is a powerful “elf-witch”, an Elven queen of great magic and power, however in "Rings of Power" we haven't seen her either dealing nor displaying any kind of magical abilities. Yet. Having her blood bound with Sauron can be the show’s explanation for her source of magical power, as well as to why she never faces him directly, working against him from afar, and why Sauron couldn’t conquer Lothlórien unless he went there, himself; as well, as for Sauron’s grouping of her mind for thousands of years into the future, and how Galadriel is able to see into his mind, as well.

The Unexplicable Wound on Galadriel's Face:

A mysterious wound appears on Galadriel’s face, and some fans seem to think this might have been an error in editing. But, is it, really?

We know, for a fact, Sauron didn’t cut her face; he didn’t had time for that. Galadriel cuts his face, he turns around and goes for the stabbing in the next minute. But, in the meantime, the wound is already on her cheek (and is the same as the one she cuts on his face):

However, there’s another character with the same wound:

And this wound isn’t meaningless, because the scar is still visible on Galadriel’s face, even after her healing by Two of the Three Elven rings of power. She had several cuts on her face, but they were nearly gone but this one (besides the obvious camera focus).

And this scar looks off, because it doesn’t look like a cut scar, but a burn mark, almost.

Even stone cannot hide the mark of one whose very hand is flame unquenched. He was here... Sauron was here. Galadriel arrives at Forodwaith, 1x01

But what does this mean? When did Sauron ever touched Galadriel's cheek? He touched her chin, in 1x08. And how is Elrond connected to all of this? Why do these three characters share the same scar, in the same place?

Because the "Elrond in the tent" in 2x07 was not Elrond, at all. It was Sauron. Context: here, here, here, and here.

[odetojupiter]

this is a surprise to no one but i’m thinking of the twins again. cause i don’t know whether we’re told when tilda developed her drug addiction but considering her erratic behaviour surrounding the twins birth im assuming she was already using prior to the twins arrival. and if she was using before, during, and after giving birth, that introduces so many heartbreaking possibilities for the twins.

this one ran away from me (they say, as tho they don’t always)

i see people saying they just couldn’t take andrew or aaron seriously because they’re five foot even cause that’s a funny height apparently and i just think: did u know a long term impact of prenatal drug use is impaired growth? add that to potential malnutrition and yeah suddenly it’s not that funny anymore. besides andrew being short probably made him seem like an easy target to his abusers which is what made it necessary for him to learn to defend himself in the first place sooo

other impacts of prenatal drug use: altered brain development, cognitive and behavioural issues, damaged communication/language development, newborns can be born addicted and subsequently go through withdrawals (called neonatal abstinence syndrome, which has a long list of symptoms and can cause newborns to be hospitalised or worse). in any context, this is a horribly traumatic thing for a baby to go through but then consider this:

andrew’s brain is already struggling to develop properly thanks to his mother’s drug abuse. and then you add on frequent repetitive abuse including but not limited to several occurrences of child sa. already a 7 year old brain is not wired to be able to cope with that. tie that in with his significant abandonment issues stemming from first his mother and then every subsequent family he stays with giving him up. his own narrative tries so hard to doom him, and he responds to that the only way he can: through anger. violence. how else was he supposed to respond? yes this is more andrew defence bc it seems there’s been a sudden influx of andrew hate and it boils my piss

that brings me to a new point: andrew as a newborn. and his foster family does not want to give him the extra attention he needs as a baby born through prenatal drug use. so they give him up. again and again. so

but to talk about aaron for a sec - not only could he have been born addicted, but being breastfed by a drug user (it’s up in arms whether tilda would breast feed) also has its symptoms - can make the baby sick, can ruin its sleep, cause later behavioural issues and even transfer the drug to the baby. aaron, living with tilda, was also doomed to follow the narrative.

[literatooru]

pairing: f!reader x gojo satoru

flufftober 2024!

“What’s this?” the irritation in Megumi’s voice is easy to detect, especially since Gojo’s been its target more times than he can count. This child is easy to exasperate, and Gojo turns out to be a pro at exasperating others. That, and he can clearly see the annoyance marring his face since its poking through the hole Gojo cut. “I said I wanted to be Ghostface!”

Satoru finally stops pursing his lips and takes his hand off his waist to pinch the the white fabric covering Megumi’s body.

“Here’s the ghost part,” he says, giving it a light shake for emphasis. “And here’s your face!” he adds, pinching the kid’s face with his other hand. He manages to withdraw his touch just in time to avoid Megumi’s hand flying toward his wrist. Satoru sighs with a shrug that doesn't really look too apologetic. “I’m sorry, little dude. This is what I found.”

“Don't call me that,” Megumi retorts, teeth gritted and hands balled into fists under the blanket.

“But you are a little dude. I mean, just look—” Gojo gives a dramatic gasp and takes a wide step back, raising a finger in front of Megs and giving it a wag. “Okay, pause. No shikigami. Do you wanna repeat what happened last time? Fine, I take it back, you’re not a little dude,” he gives in. Both Megumi and Gojo himself are aware that it’s a lie.

Megumi lets out a grumble and mutters something under his breath (that Gojo definitely can't let anyone else hear because then it's his ass on the line) and starts heading to the kitchen, yet another exasperated, sharp exhale abandoning his lips when he steps on the sheets and almost tumbles to the floor.

He’s barely managed to get a short distance away from the white-haired man when he hears the front door unlocking, Gojo letting out something that sounds like an odd mixture of a gasp and a squeak, and suddenly Megumi’s grabbed by the collar (through the sheets) and yanked back to stand behind the tall man’s body.

“Hey! Sweet darling… angel,” Gojo greets you as soon as you step in.

You immediately narrow your eyes at him and look around, trying to spot anything out of order. Everything seems okay, except for the clear small disturbance taking place behind the Satoru.

“What did you do?” you say, suspicion lacing your voice.

“Me? Pff, noth- ow! Did you just bite me?” he says without missing the chance to add an indignant scoff as he whirls around to face Megumi.

Megumi steps to the side and walks over to you, bunching up the sheets in his hands so he doesn't trip over again.

“What did you do?!” you repeat, this time in a yell, and you hurry to Megumi to inspect the hole in the sheets. “Did you seriously cut a hole in the sheets? This is not even how you’re supposed to do it!”

Satoru waves a dismissive hand in the air and huffs.

“I’ll just buy another one,” he says.

“You can't keep breaking stuff just because you have money, Satoru!” you say, letting out an exasperated sigh that almost rival’s Megumi’s. “Megs is supposed to go to a costume party. How is he supposed to do that without a costume?”

“If we're being frank here, I’ve always thought he had “I came dressed up as myself” vibes,” Gojo murmurs, this time more gloomily as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

He doesn't like feeling like he disappointed you, nor when you raise your voice because then he’s clearly disappointed you. It sucks, and now what other option does he have, really, other than sulking?

“Take this off, Megs,” you say, your voice hushed as you grab the now tattered sheets and pull them off him, bunching them up before tossing them to the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo says, offering you a little pout that he hopes will sway you to forgive him. You simply scowl. “I got sidetracked.”

“Taking 60 pictures of a random dog in a bee costume,” Megumi mutters.

You give Gojo a deadpan look that has him raising his hands in defense.

“Come on, Megs. How many times have you seen a bee-dog? It was the most adorable thing ever! I had to get a picture to show y/n.”

“Oh, don't start.” You point a threatening finger at your boyfriend.

“Okay, okay, I’ll figure it out!” Gojo claps his hands together and shoots a look at the bag right next to your feet. “You got the mask?”

“Yeah.” You kneel to open the groceries bag and push the bags of candies to the side to take out the mask Megs asked for. “Ghostface,” you say, pointing at the mast with your index and looking at Satoru with both eyebrows raised.

This time, he gives you one of his winning smiles. Your lips twitch, and he suppresses a chuckle. Works like a charm every single time!

“All right then! Give it to me, I’ll help him get ready. Come on, Megumi!” he sing-songs in a way that's sure to get a grumble out of the kid.

“Ugh,” Megumi huffs. Satoru smiles.

A secret that’s not so secret? He’s learned to love the kid to death.

“Huh. You actually pulled it off,” you say, hand on your chin as you hope the smile threatening to take over your face doesn't show.

Gojo notices though, and he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him until you're pressed against his side. Your body automatically snuggles closer to him.

“Told you I’d figure it out,” he says with pride.

You both stand there in silence as you watch Megs walking towards the house, greeting a couple of kids that run past him. You can’t help your smile when he shows up the fake knife with splotches of red paint that Gojo put together last minute.

“Where did you get the robe?” you muse quietly.

Gojo’s body stiffens for a brief second before he forces himself to relax, but it's enough for you to notice, and soon enough you’re watching him through narrowed eyes with furrowed brows.

“Well…”

“Satoru. Spill.”

“...remember that dress you wore to Shoko’s party?”

A horrified gasp escapes your lips, and Gojo laughs as he easily deflects the punches being thrown his way.

"I liked that dress!"

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll buy you another one!”

“Stop saying that!”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Insurance companies are making climate risk worse

Tomorrow (November 29), I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

Conservatives may deride the "reality-based community" as a drag on progress and commercial expansion, but even the most noxious pump-and-dump capitalism is supposed to remain tethered to reality by two unbreakable fetters: auditing and insurance:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reality-based_community

No matter how much you value profit over ethics or human thriving, you still need honest books – even if you never show those books to the taxman or the marks. Even an outright scammer needs to know what's coming in and what's going out so they don't get caught in a liquidity trap (that is, "broke"), or overleveraged ("broke," again) exposed to market changes (you guessed it: "broke").

Unfortunately for capitalism, auditing is on its deathbed. The market is sewn up by the wildly corrupt and conflicted Big Four accounting firms that are the very definition of too big to fail/too big to jail. They keep cooking books on behalf of management to the detriment of investors. These double-entry fabrications conceal rot in giant, structurally important firms until they implode spectacularly and suddenly, leaving workers, suppliers, customers and investors in a state of utter higgeldy-piggeldy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/29/great-andersens-ghost/#mene-mene-bezzle

In helping corporations defraud institutional investors, auditors are facilitating mass scale millionaire-on-billionaire violence, and while that may seem like the kind of fight where you're happy to see either party lose, there are inevitably a lot of noncombatants in the blast radius. Since the Enron collapse, the entire accounting sector has turned to quicksand, which is a big deal, given that it's what industrial capitalism's foundations are anchored to. There's a reason my last novel was a thriller about forensic accounting and Big Tech:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

But accounting isn't the only bedrock that's been reduced to slurry here in capitalism's end-times. The insurance sector is meant to be an unshakably rational enterprise, imposing discipline on the rest of the economy. Sure, your company can do something stupid and reckless, but the insurance bill will be stonking, sufficient to consume the expected additional profits.

But the crash of 2008 made it clear that the largest insurance companies in the world were capable of the same wishful thinking, motivated reasoning, and short-termism that they were supposed to prevent in every other business. Without AIG – one of the largest insurers in the world – there would have been no Great Financial Crisis. The company knowingly underwrote hundreds of billions of dollars in junk bonds dressed up as AAA debt, and required a $180b bailout.

Still, many of us have nursed an ember of hope that the insurance sector would spur Big Finance and its pocket governments into taking the climate emergency seriously. When rising seas and wildfires and zoonotic plagues and famines and rolling refugee crises make cities, businesses, and homes uninsurable risks, then insurers will stop writing policies and the doom will become undeniable. Money talks, bullshit walks.

But while insurers have begun to withdraw from the most climate-endangered places (or crank up premiums), the net effect is to decrease climate resilience and increase risk, creating a "climate risk doom loop" that Advait Arun lays out brilliantly for Phenomenal World:

https://www.phenomenalworld.org/analysis/the-doom-loop/

Part of the problem is political: as people move into high-risk areas (flood-prone coastal cities, fire-threatened urban-wildlife interfaces), politicians are pulling out all the stops to keep insurers from disinvesting in these high-risk zones. They're loosening insurance regs, subsidizing policies, and imposing "disaster risk fees" on everyone in the region.

But the insurance companies themselves are simply not responding aggressively enough to the rising risk. Climate risk is correlated, after all: when everyone in a region is at flood risk, then everyone will be making a claim on the insurance company when the waters come. The insurance trick of spreading risk only works if the risks to everyone in that spread aren't correlated.

Perversely, insurance companies are heavily invested in fossil fuel companies, these being reliable money-spinners where an insurer can park and grow your premiums, on the assumption that most of the people in the risk pool won't file claims at the same time. But those same fossil-fuel assets produce the very correlated risk that could bring down the whole system.

The system is in trouble. US claims from "natural disasters" are topping $100b/year – up from $4.6b in 2000. Home insurance premiums are up (21%!), but it's not enough, especially in drowning Florida and Texas (which is also both roasting and freezing):

https://grist.org/economics/as-climate-risks-mount-the-insurance-safety-net-is-collapsing/

Insurers who put premiums up to cover this new risk run into a paradox: the higher premiums get, the more risk-tolerant customers get. When flood insurance is cheap, lots of homeowners will stump up for it and create a big, uncorrelated risk-pool. When premiums skyrocket, the only people who buy flood policies are homeowners who are dead certain their house is gonna get flooded out and soon. Now you have a risk pool consisting solely of highly correlated, high risk homes. The technical term for this in the insurance trade is: "bad."

But it gets worse: people who decide not to buy policies as prices go up may be doing their own "motivated reasoning" and "mispricing their risk." That is, they may decide, "If I can't afford to move, and I can't afford to sell my house because it's in a flood-zone, and I can't afford insurance, I guess that means I'm going to live here and be uninsured and hope for the best."

This is also bad. The amount of uninsured losses from US climate disaster "dwarfs" insured losses:

https://www.reuters.com/business/environment/hurricanes-floods-bring-120-billion-insurance-losses-2022-2023-01-09/

Here's the doom-loop in a nutshell:

As carbon emissions continue to accumulate, more people are put at risk of climate disaster, while the damages from those disasters intensifies. Vulnerability will drive disinvestment, which in turn exacerbates vulnerability.

Also: the browner and poorer you are, the worse you have it: you are impacted "first and worst":

https://www.climaterealityproject.org/frontline-fenceline-communities

As Arun writes, "Tinkering with insurance markets will not solve their real issues—we must patch the gaping holes in the financial system itself." We have to end the loop that sees the poorest places least insured, and the loss of insurance leading to abandonment by people with money and agency, which zeroes out the budget for climate remediation and resiliency where it is most needed.

The insurance sector is part of the finance industry, and it is disinvesting in climate-endagered places and instead doubling down on its bets on fossil fuels. We can't rely on the insurance sector to discipline other industries by generating "price signals" about the true underlying climate risk. And insurance doesn't just invest in fossil fuels – they're also a major buyer of municipal and state bonds, which means they're part of the "bond vigilante" investors whose decisions constrain the ability of cities to raise and spend money for climate remediation.

When American cities, territories and regions can't float bonds, they historically get taken over and handed to an unelected "control board" who represents distant creditors, not citizens. This is especially true when the people who live in those places are Black or brown – think Puerto Rico or Detroit or Flint. These control board administrators make creditors whole by tearing the people apart.

This is the real doom loop: insurers pull out of poor places threatened by climate disasters. They invest in the fossil fuels that worsen those disasters. They join with bond vigilantes to force disinvestment from infrastructure maintenance and resiliency in those places. Then, the next climate disaster creates more uninsured losses. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Finance and insurance are betting heavily on climate risk modeling – not to avert this crisis, but to ensure that their finances remain intact though it. What's more, it won't work. As climate effects get bigger, they get less predictable – and harder to avoid. The point of insurance is spreading risk, not reducing it. We shouldn't and can't rely on insurance creating price-signals to reduce our climate risk.

But the climate doom-loop can be put in reverse – not by market spending, but by public spending. As Arun writes, we need to create "a global investment architecture that is safe for spending":

https://tanjasail.wordpress.com/2023/10/06/a-world-safe-for-spending/

Public investment in emissions reduction and resiliency can offset climate risk, by reducing future global warming and by making places better prepared to endure the weather and other events that are locked in by past emissions. A just transition will "loosen liquidity constraints on investment in communities made vulnerable by the financial system."

Austerity is a bad investment strategy. Failure to maintain and improve infrastructure doesn't just shift costs into the future, it increases those costs far in excess of any rational discount based on the time value of money. Public institutions should discipline markets, not the other way around. Don't give Wall Street a veto over our climate spending. A National Investment Authority could subordinate markets to human thriving:

https://democracyjournal.org/arguments/industrial-policy-requires-public-not-just-private-equity/

Insurance need not be pitted against human survival. Saving the cities and regions whose bonds are held by insurance companies is good for those companies: "Breaking the climate risk doom loop is the best disaster insurance policy money can buy."

I found Arun's work to be especially bracing because of the book I'm touring now, The Lost Cause, a solarpunk novel set in a world in which vast public investment is being made to address the climate emergency that is everywhere and all at once:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

There is something profoundly hopeful about the belief that we can do something about these foreseeable disasters – rather than remaining frozen in place until the disaster is upon us and it's too late. As Rebecca Solnit says, inhabiting this place in your imagination is "Completely delightful. Neither utopian nor dystopian, it portrays life in SoCal in a future woven from our successes (Green New Deal!), failures (climate chaos anyway), and unresolved conflicts (old MAGA dudes). I loved it."

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/2023/11/28/re-re-reinsurance/#useless-price-signals

[star-girl-05]

Bedhead: One

James Wilson x reader

Part Two Part Three Part Four

~★~❤︎~✦~

“That's not fair” you eye his naked torso to his bedhead. You're seriously contemplating calling in and spending the rest of your life, the day with him. Not that is a serious option, you both have work, but as long as he's here you’ll continue to enjoy the view. 

He’s slipping on one of his button ups as he turns to you with a dopey smile. “What are you talking about?” You don't answer right away to bust focusing on the little bit of skin you can still see as he puts more clothes on. You can't help but pout when hes fully dressed, you want more time to admire him. He didn't even shower this morning depriving you of the view of him in only a towel. 

“You look too pretty for just getting out of bed” your answer, made him chuckle. He moves back over to the bed, and places a kiss on your lips. Pulling away all too quickly, before he can get too far your pulling him back to you carding your fingers through his soft hair.

His will to leave is slowly demising the more your fingers tug on his hair and your tongue slides against his. He only pulls away when he feels you unbuttoning his shirt. You pout as he quickly moves out of your arms reach. Once again hes chuckling at your reaction. “While I would love to stay in bed with you we both have to get to work.” His voice is soft, too soft It makes you want to go back to bed.

You want him to stay in bed with you so the two of you could cuddle. Even if it's a losing battle you're not going to give up, because it means you get to admire him a little longer before you have to go to work and pretend you're not in a relationship. “Let's both call in and we can spend the rest of the day in bed, I promise to make it worth your wild.” Raise your eyebrows in a suggestive manner even going as far as biting your lip to really sell your point.

James is tempted for a moment until he remembers he has a meeting that he can’t cancel. He could tell them he’s seriously ill and just stay here, and he just might if you keep looking at him with those eyes.  

“I wish I could but…” you cut him off telling him you understand, doing your best to hide your disappointment. Deciding to get out of bed getting ready for another long day. You continue to watch James while you get ready frowning when he smooths down his bedhead. Something about perfect James Wilson having messy hair (the messy hair you caused) made you want him even more. 

Once you're both ready the two of you say your final goodbye placing a kiss on each other's lips and getting into your separate vehicles. You and James both decided when he first asked you on a date to keep it perfectly professional. Especially with you working for House. Surprisingly Wilson has been able to keep House from finding out about the two of you.

~AT WORK~

Its been five hours since you last saw James and you're beginning to have withdraws. House has had you and Cameron running test for over an hour, you only just now had the chance to slip away. Sneaking off to James office, you're in desperate need to mess up his hair again.

You're relieved to find his door cracked giving you hope he's all alone. You still knock in case someone is in there luckily for you hes all alone. Meaning you can put your plan into action. "Honey what are you doing here?" He eyes the door connecting his and houses balconies.

"I missed you" thats enough to have James heart melting. He rises from his seat and heads towards you as soon as hes close to you, you're pulling him close. His hands find their spot on your hips, placing a deep kiss on your lips. The two of you don't have nearly as much time as you would like, Cameron will get suspicious. So you have to move fast, carding your fingers through his once perfect hair. He groans into your mouth, grinding his hips against yours. Gosh... why did he have to be so delicious? His mouth is moving to your neck and your wishing this could continue but you have to go, thankfully you accomplished what you wanted. You messed up his hair.

Before things could progress any further you're pulling away much to James displeasure. "Are you really leaving after getting me all worked up?" You can be a tease but you've never done it at work. You're slipping out of the office leaving him with an uncomfortable situation in his pants.

He was not going to let you get away with this. 

Part Two Part Three Part Four

[youngpettyqueen]

💚: What does everyone else get wrong about your favorite character?

For DS9 <3

cracks my knuckles

alright so ive kinda covered the infantilization of Julian Bashir in my last answer and this is somewhat related because when people do this with him they also tend to make him out to be a lot more insecure than he is in canon, and in relation to that they also make him a total doormat who just lets people walk all over him which is. absolutely not what he's like. at all

Julian does have some degree of self-loathing and imposter syndrome but I think its vitally important to understand this as his anger and loathing being directed towards what was done to him. its not as simple as him hating himself- he hates what was done to him, so while there is a degree of self-loathing, that anger is also directed outwards at his parents and every doctor who had a part in augmenting him

I think takes where Julian is deeply insecure about being, like, really talkative are just incorrect. I dont read that from him at all. Julian is very unapologetically and loudly himself and he doesnt apologize for any of it. his confidence in himself is one of his defining character traits. ive seen takes that all of that is a front and I just dont agree with those takes. I agree that he has some degree of insecurity and that is related to his augmentations and some imposter syndrome based on that, but when it comes to things like how much he talks, his difficulties with reading social cues, I dont think he's particularly insecure. again, this is in relation to the very popular headcanon that Julian is autistic, and people take the traits he has that are common autistic traits, and make him insecure about them, and that tends to lead straight into takes I see where people make him out to be a doormat who cant stand up for himself

I genuinely have no idea where the fanon version of Julian that is incapable of sticking up for himself comes from. ive seen it in some fics, and in some headcanons, and it makes me wonder if we watched the same show. I dont think Julian cares all that much about jokes made at his expense about how chatty he is or how childish he can be. the one time I can think of that we see him get even slightly upset by jokes of that nature is when everyone is ganging up on him for his holosuite programs, and even then, he's not insecure about it he's annoyed cause he's being ganged up on by multiple people. Miles makes a lot of jokes at his expense and thats their general banter- Julian gives it back as good as he gets. same with Garak. ive seen people act like Miles telling Julian the Changeling was better was a horrible heartless thing and sure, it wasn't a great thing to say, but thats just. how they talk to each other. the cornerstone of their dynamic is them ribbing each other. same with how Miles and especially Garak will joke about Julian's augmentations- ive seen people act like this is horrible on their ends, while I read it as its their way of normalizing it for Julian and showing their acceptance of it. and if Julian really didnt like it, he would say something. he's not shy!

idk I feel like some of that might come from The Wire in how Julian sits back and takes Garak's yelling at him and attacking him, but to me thats just Julian being really good at handling a crisis situation. as someone who deals with crisis situations as part of my job, what Julian is doing is just trying to de-escalate the situation. he's keeping himself very neutral and letting Garak rant- if he were to snap back in that moment, it would only escalate things further, which he was trying to avoid. this is exactly what youre supposed to do when faced with someone in crisis. its also worth mentioning that Garak was going through agonizing withdrawals, so I doubt Julian was taking anything Garak was saying to heart. he responds to him like he's taking him seriously, for the purpose of de-escalating the situation and trying to calm Garak down. thats not an indication that Julian is incapable of standing up for himself and will just let himself be walked over, but rather that he just. knows how to handle a crisis

the infantilized oh-so-innocent deeply insecure eternally bullied Julian Bashir that I see exist in some fanon circles is just. so bizarre to me. it takes so much of nuance away from his character and im not sure what for? ive seen it used in some fics to bolster Garak up as this protector for him and im not a fan of twisting their dynamic to be like that, it takes a lot of the intricacies of their dynamic away in favour of loading them up with tropes. I think people forget that Julian very successfully kept his augmentations hidden for over half his life and would've continued to keep them hidden if his parents hadn't fucked it all up. I also think people forget that Julian is perfectly capable of and WILL stick up for himself, and that a lot of his anger at his situation is directed outward. turning him into this weird version of himself that is very woe-is-me just does nothing for me and is very divorced from how he actually is. he's snappy and rude as hell when he wants to be, he's not taking shit lying down, doesnt matter who it comes from

also a smaller thing but it annoys me every time cause I get it in notes on my posts. when people say Julian's self-sacrificing tendencies come from his need to be useful I wanna whack them with a rolled up newspaper. its because he wants to SAVE PEOPLE it is explicitly about SAVING PEOPLE he isnt trying to die to be useful his goal when he runs through fire is to help and to save because he is, at his core, a doctor and a healer!! its about the preservation of life and doing everything he can!! its not about this weird complex fanon gives him where he needs to be useful or die trying to justify his existence or whatever I dont read that at all from him. he's just that determined to save lives

hope you enjoyed this ramble I have many thoughts and feelings on this

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals: Something Old, Something New

In The Woods Somewhere x Professional//Victim crossover AU

*Holds out Buck content in my hand like animal feed* Pss pss psss come and get it @apokolyps suggested "the professionals" as the title of the crossover and when I pitched it to @victimeyez he was like "seriously? that's what I titled our shared doc." Addendum: This was written before the withdrawals sequence, so there's a bit of incongruity with Fletcher giving Tommy opioids and him not wanting to take them. At the time this was written, Pro/Vic was dealing with Tommy being over-drugged. Content warnings: Knives/cutting, long term captivity, reference to drugging, just a coupla boys who have been through a lot

“You just need to let me get this out of my system.”

Fletcher had led Tommy down to the basement, hand on his back to guide him. There was already a pair of chairs set out in an otherwise vacant area. They sat across from each other as Fletcher explained the situation to Tommy, holding a knife loosely in their hand, arms draped casually over their knees.

Tommy swallowed anxiously. 

You knew this was coming. 

“Yeah, I - I understand,” He mumbled, averting his eyes from Fletcher’s watchful gaze. He was struggling to get used to Fletcher’s needs - it’s not like Caius ever sat him down and let him know he was going to be punished. He just knew it once he started in on him. 

Fletcher held out their left hand. Tommy swallowed and put his hand in theirs. Fletcher held it firmly - not squeezing, just keeping it steady. They lined up their knife with the back of his arm, just above the wrist. Tommy turned his head away before the skin broke, before the line formed, before the blood welled up and spilled over. 

The pain was sharp and fiery. Tommy hissed air through his teeth. He glanced sideways at Fletcher, trying to read their expression. If he gave them what they wanted out of this, maybe they would be satisfied for a while. Maybe they could wrap it up sooner than later.

Fletcher was just focused on their work, not even devouring Tommy’s reactions like he expected them to be. Maybe it was the sounds - he could try to play it up, but Fletcher would likely see through any faked reactions. Should he beg? Or did they want him to sit quietly and take it?

Fletcher lined up the next cut. 

Tommy tensed in spite of himself, gritting his teeth on a harsh groan as the knife bit into him again. He panted shallowly, trying to focus on flowing with the pain instead of against it, but the next cut hit him just as hard. A cry snuck its way out of his throat, and he cut it off with a whine. He tried to go slack, but couldn’t uncurl the fingers of his free hand from where his nails dug into the chair, and couldn’t stop his legs from shaking. Tommy sniffled and whimpered, knees knocking together as Fletcher ran their thumb through the rivulets of blood, grazing over the fresh wounds.

“Relax,” Fletcher breathed. They brought his arm closer to examine, still not looking at Tommy’s face. “Try to keep your arm still, at least. Don’t want me to… hang on.”

Fletcher dropped Tommy’s wrist and switched their knife to their non-dominant hand to pull a phone from their pocket. They looked at the screen, then, with their knife hand, curled their finger at Tommy, gesturing him to come closer.

Tommy had cautiously pulled his arm in towards his chest, ready to relinquish it again upon request. Somewhat unsure, he scooted forward.

Fletcher closed their knife one-handed and tucked it into their shirt pocket, then clamped their hand over Tommy’s mouth. They put a finger to their lips and answered the call.

“Hey, Buck,” they said in a cheery tone. They half-turned away from Tommy in some semblance of having a private conversation.  “What’s going on?”

Tommy did his best to hold his arm together, but the pain swimming in his head mixed with the blood loss was starting to make him nauseous. He could feel his skin getting tacky as the blood dried, gluing one hand over the shreds up his arm. Fletcher’s hand covered his nose and mouth in one punishing grasp, and he struggled not to make a sound.

“Why do you need me to do it?” Fletcher asked the person on the other end. Whatever the response was prompted them to roll their eyes.

Tommy was running short on air. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he involuntarily started to squirm. Fletcher looked over at him and moved their hand enough to uncover his nose. Tommy sucked in a breath and did his best to look grateful through his eyes alone.

“Well, I’m not signing anything,” Fletcher said, turning away again. “But I can give you the cash.” A pause. “Yeah.” A smirk. “Mm… maybe. I don’t know that there’s anything that I want from you. Maybe something will come up… Oh, relax. I’ll give you the cash. You have to come get it though… I’m not driving all the fuck out there - you want the money... I don’t know, figure something out - borrow Nico’s… That’s up to you… That’s the deal, man.” 

There was a longer pause. Fletcher rolled their eyes again.

“Alright. When are you coming?” Fletcher twisted the hand on Tommy’s face, pushing his head to the side with it, to look at their watch. “Okay, see you then, Buckaroo.”

Fletcher hung up the phone and let go of Tommy’s face.

“Sorry about that interruption,” they said, returning their attention to Tommy. “Anyway. We still have some time.” They put out their hand. “Where were we?”

Tommy’s entire forearm was wrapped in gauze. He kept it tucked in close to his middle. 

Fletcher broke out the good stuff for Tommy this time - gave him two oxy and told him to sleep it off. 

He must’ve played his part well.

Tommy turned the pills over in his hand. 

Get drugged up and get out of the way. Get drugged up so you don’t know what’s being done to you.

“Can I, um… can I just do one?” he asked.

Fletcher cocked their head. “Really?”

Tommy gave a small shrug and shrank down. “I’ll take both if you want me to…”

“I mean… up to you, I guess,” Fletcher said. They took one of the pills and returned it to the bottle. “Don’t come crying to me later though; I’ll just give you acetaminophen.”

The single pill still helped subside the pain, and Tommy did manage to take a nap for a while. He awoke with a yelp when he rolled over onto his arm.

Tommy sat up in bed, clutching his arm to his chest, waiting for the throbbing to die down. It passed after a few moments, returning to the familiar radiating heat of a fresh wound, and Tommy was left with a dry mouth and a headache. Probably dehydrated. He stood from his bed, only feeling woozy for a second, and made his way to the kitchen.

He froze when he passed through the living room.

Fletcher was talking to a man with long brown hair. It was tucked behind his ears, allowing Tommy to see the scars on his face - one across his nose, one beside his eye.

Obviously someone intimately familiar with violence. If he was friends with Fletcher, violence was probably his business. Both of them turned their heads to look at Tommy, who immediately averted his eyes. 

Tommy regretted not staying in his room. Fletcher had probably intended for him to be asleep through whatever dealings they had going on.

Oops.

Buck was no longer a captive, and all the trainees who tormented him here had long since moved on, but he still didn’t want to run into any of Fletcher’s new best and brightest of the criminal underworld. He immediately dropped his gaze to the floor when he saw a man about his age stumble into view, but his sights froze on a familiar cuff around the man’s ankle.

Buck’s eyes slowly traveled back up to his face. 

His hair was black and curly, his eyes a light green when they caught the sunlight through the window. He looked nothing like Buck, and yet it was like looking into a mirror.

The same averted gaze, head down, shoulders up, arms tucked in close, fingers working at the fabric of his loose shirt. He even had a fucking scar on his face, marring its way down past his right eye. The collar was a new feature; that was never something Fletcher made him wear around the house. 

“S-Sorry,” Tommy said. “I’ll - I’m just getting water, from the kitchen.”

Fletcher ran a hand over their face.

“Fletcher.”

“Yes, Buck?”

“Who the fuck is that?”

Tommy blanched, tucking tail, ready to retreat back to his room. He would drink from the bathroom faucet if he had to. It wasn’t his intent to interrupt anything, and the fear of retribution on top of the throbbing pain in his arm had him anxious to remove himself.

“Hey - hey…” The first one was angry, the second one was gentle. Buck held up his hands towards Tommy. “Please don’t leave yet.”

Tommy was frozen stiff. He slowly turned back and looked first at Buck - he had a small, somewhat forced smile and sympathetic eyes. Almost too sympathetic, like he was on the verge of tears. Then at Fletcher, whose direction was the one he really needed to follow - they looked like things weren’t going their way.

“I think it’s rude to have a conversation about the man in front of him, don’t you?” Fletcher said to Buck. 

“You got another one?” Buck said to them in disbelief.

Another one? There was someone before me? What happened to them?

“This is a completely different situation,” Fletcher waved the comment off. “He’s practically a rescue.”

“A r-” Buck cut himself off, putting his head in his hands. He steadied himself before looking back at Fletcher and saying, “What happened to his arm?”

Fletcher pursed their lips and didn’t answer.

“Fletcher-”

“This is why I didn’t want you two to see each other,” Fletcher said, throwing their hands up. “You’re gonna get all… ehh.”

Buck was at a loss. He kept looking between Fletcher and Tommy.

“You can’t…” Buck trailed off.

“You know I can.” Fletcher answered.

“How can you expect me to walk away knowing about this?”

“One foot in front of the other,” Fletcher scoffed. “Unless you want to stay.”

Buck paled at the thought. He kept staring at Tommy like a solution would come to him.

“How about you take your money and go home to the nice apartment I gave you, and be glad you’re not in his place, hm?” Fletcher held out a thick envelope to him.

Tommy eyed Buck again. Not in his place? Was this guy the previous one? How could that be? How was he free? Why would he come back?

Buck stood motionless. He was staring at the envelope, but his focus wasn’t on it.

“Buck,” Fletcher called his attention. “There’s nothing you can do, so don’t feel bad about it.”

Buck opened his mouth, then sighed and closed it again. He looked at Tommy, his eyes full of sadness and a desperate longing. Then, a resolve came across his face, and he turned back to Fletcher.

“You said I could come back to the lodge at any time,” Buck said.

Fletcher lowered the envelope back to their side. “I did. As long as you call ahead.”

“What’s your name?” Buck asked the stranger.

“Uh…” Tommy fiddled with the collar of his shirt, looking at Fletcher for guidance. “It’s… complicated.”

Buck raised his eyebrows at Fletcher.

“It’s… Tommy,” Fletcher grumbled.

Buck took a second to make the connection, then asked, “Did you name him that?”

“No,” Fletcher snapped. “I want him to change it. He just hasn’t picked a new one yet.”

“You didn’t let me pick my name.”

“Oh my god,” Fletcher groaned.

“Tommy,” Buck said earnestly, looking him in the eye. “I’m going to be back.”

The visitor had an intense look of determination on his face. It might have been more impactful if Tommy had any idea what in the flying fuck was going on.

Buck reached out his hand for the envelope, but Fletcher held it away.

“What the fuck does that mean?” they demanded.

“You said I could-”

“Are you planning something?” Fletcher interrupted. “Don’t be fucking stupid; you’ve got a good thing going. You don’t want to lose that. You don’t know the situation here. And maybe you’ve forgotten…” Fletcher stepped closer, entering Buck’s space to stare him down. “...To be afraid of me.”

Buck shied away slightly, leaning his head back, but he didn’t retreat. “I haven’t,” he said quietly. His eyes drifted to Tommy, then back to Fletcher. “You wanted me to visit. I’ll visit.”

Fletcher studied Buck’s face for a moment, not speaking. Tommy watched them both, trying to read the intricacies at play, trying to decipher the history between the two of them to understand the dynamic. 

Fletcher held up the envelope between them. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

Buck took it. “You will.”

Buck nodded at Tommy, lingered a moment, then disappeared out the door. Fletcher strolled to the window, arms folded across their chest, and watched Buck drive away. Once the car had disappeared into the trees, they turned back to Tommy.

Tommy’s stomach dropped. He suddenly felt like that man’s presence had been offering some form of protection, like Fletcher was trying to behave in front of him. But now it was just the two of them, and whatever punishment was brewing in Fletcher’s mind.

“I thought you were going to take a nap,” Fletcher said.

Tommy opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He swallowed dryly and tried again. “I was, for a little bit. I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Go get your water.”

Tommy obediently turned and headed into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down with trembling hands. Fletcher walked in behind him, but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to turn around.

“Look,” Fletcher said finally. “Buck was… in your situation in the past, but he came into that situation under very different circumstances. He’s out now, but only because of… extreme circumstances. It won’t happen for you. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

He got out.

“You’re better off now than you were before,” Fletcher said. “I think you should focus on that.”

Tommy’s heart sank just as quickly as it had leapt. He ran his hand over his bandages and nodded.

“What were the circumstances?” he asked.

“He found this place, and it was a ‘you’ve seen too much so I can’t let you go,’ situation. I decided not to kill him, and just kept him here instead. Then he… later on… he saved my life. So I repaid him by giving him back his life. Or, a new one. But we have an understanding; there are conditions.”

Tommy looked at Fletcher now.

“He saved your life?” Tommy asked, incredulous. “Why?”

Fletcher snickered, bearing that dangerous smile of theirs. “Interesting word choice,” they said, strolling closer, closing Tommy in against the sink. “Not how did he save my life, just why would he? What, you wouldn’t do the same?”

Tommy shrank back. “I… I don’t…” 

“It’s okay,” Fletcher said. “We haven’t gotten to know each other well enough yet.” They cuffed Tommy lightly under the chin. “Plus, there are worse people than me. Buck had to make a choice, and he made the right one.”

“And he… comes back? On his own?” Tommy missed Caius sometimes, in a comfortably miserable kind of way, but he didn’t want to even entertain the idea of returning to that lonely house to visit.

Fletcher shrugged and allowed Tommy space again. “Not usually.”

Tommy thought about how earnestly Buck had looked at him. How he had walked out the door unimpeded and left on his own. Tommy tried to heed Fletcher’s warning not to get his hopes up, but a small spark within him flickered anyway.

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome–hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slighlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging  @utopian819 @whumpinggoodtime @pretty-face-breaker

[meowzfordayz]

to save you is to save the world

Author’s Note: proud of myself for writing this. Not my most polished fanfic, but still a gentle slip into Sanemi’s characterization and tenderness (~sort of). 🤍

to save you is to save the world

Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Word Count: ~900

CW: death content, explicit language

Emergency Request: i request for a realistic sanemi comfort interaction with a reader whose around the same age as him, (hes 21 i believe) started late, joining into the slayer corps but proven to be as hard working and having a knack for combat, honing her skills, body etc, (which was effective most of the time, earning her up to tsuguko rank like kanae) but in this particular night, she just couldnt be 100%, let alone 30% or lower, she was at her worse today (hah like me) — giving up wasn't her thing, but yeah... 🥹 everything feels heavy, breathing techniques seem more harder, nerves shaky from lack of sleep and food intake just—yeah (shit is happening to me too rn) i love sanemi and his hardened shell with a soft budding flower inside, its so comforting (or am i just traumatized cough)

~faqs~

“You aren’t taking care of yourself.”

You shrug at Sanemi’s blunt statement, knuckles tremoring as you regrip your katana, beads of sweat threatening to fall from your brow as you inhale slowly. Moonlight glimmers lazily through his white hair, the tucked away clearing as familiar as it is difficult to locate, an ideal place for sparring bordered by tall, tall pines and the layers of many winters past. 

“If you were a demon, then you’d be dead.”

You shrug again, dust stirring as you lunge toward him, a low growl vibrating in your throat when he easily stepsides you, the dreary weight of the bottom of his pommel smacking you square in the back. He snorts while you swallow a dry cough, lavender eyes following your hasty retreat as you rethink your position.

“Seriously, you’re stupid for continuing to fight me.”

“We aren’t fighting,” you mutter, upper lip curling, “I’m fine.”

With a devastatingly simple maneuver, Sanemi’s blade suddenly rests shiny and sharp against the curve of your collarbone, his expression grim as he says plainly, “Wrong.”

You blink, unable to breathe, his warm scent of freshly ground matcha powder softening the starkness of his violence.

“We are fighting,” he insists, withdrawing in a heartbeat, “Training this, training that, this is real,” giving you a withering look, “And you should be dead.”

“Well I’m not,” you deadpan.

And thank fuck for that Sanemi nearly exclaims, jaw clenching at the weariness in your gaze, the memory of your sluggish movements. He knows your chances of beating him are essentially zero, but you usually hold your own at least fractionally better — you usually bite harder than he does, adequately compensating for your lack of skill with your passable company. But currently?

“No thanks to your effort,” he scoffs, gesturing to your katana, limp in your hand, “You’re wasting my time.”

“I’m tired,” you mumble, fingers numb as you flex them around your handle, “Don’t you ever get tired?”

He can tell by your intonation that he wasn’t really meant to hear your final utterance, but he is a Hashira, and you are a mere five feet—give or take—away from him. You should’ve kept that question to yourself.

“I’m tired when I’m awake, I’m exhausted when I’m asleep. I can’t remember feeling alive. But I am. And as sorry as I feel for myself, there are more pressing matters than being tired.”

You flinch, the uptick in his volume and intensity flaring, your eyes closing as a swell of shame fills your lungs. Of course Shinazugawa-san gets tired. How silly of me to-

“Enough.”

“Enough?” you sputter, shame crinkling into indignation as you suck in a tight breath, “We’ve been fighting for less than an hour!”

“And you’re already bringing up tired,” Sanemi interrupts coolly, sheathing his katana, harsh chuckle hurting your ears as he nonchalantly dodges your lame attempt to charge at him once more, “Like I said, you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

“You don’t know me,” you retort, knees aching as you pivot to face him, “I’m tired, not unconscious.”

“Do you want me to knock you out?” he drawls amusedly, “Because it would take precisely no energy on my part to do so.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” you huff, impatience bubbling over, “Why would I want a concussion?”

“So you can get a good night’s rest?” he smirks.

“I’m leaving,” you declare, your katana returning to its scabbard, tongue dripping with sarcasm, “Thanks for sharing your keen observations with me.”

“Before you go, let me share another,” Sanemi’s voice darkens, his intoxicating aroma of green tea, discipline, and coldness stifling the air surrounding you as he circles you, “You aren’t taking care of yourself, and you will die. If you’re tired, then rest. If you’re exhausted, then rest some more. And don’t let me find out that you died due to carelessness or fatigue.”

“We die every day,” your eyes roll, uninspired by his scathing “pep” talk.

“And you’re okay with that?” he challenges, “You’re okay with dying?”

“If it means you’re nicer to me-”

“Shit like that should never come out of your mouth,” he snarls, firm palms hot and crushing as he grasps your shoulders, “If you want me to be nicer to you, then just fucking ask. Don’t fucking die. So fucking dramatic.”

“And you had to shake me to get your point across?” you remark carefully, pulse erratic as delicate flecks of deeper violet in his irises reveal themselves to you, “Shinazugawa-san…”

Sanemi doesn’t have the decency to look embarrassed, pressing himself into you for a fleeting moment, the sensation of his embrace almost false, gone even as it registers. You swallow thickly, head empty, pinpricks of doubt and heat and fear stabbing at your chest.

“I don’t want to see you until you’ve eaten, bathed, and slept through an entire day. In fact, you won’t see me until you ask.”

“Ask what?” you say dumbly, still reeling.

“Until you ask me to take care of you,” he scowls, “And no, beating you up doesn’t count.”

Watching your eyebrows furrow, Sanemi sighs, teeth gritting as he tacks on roughly.

“I notice everything, everyone.”

You glance away, sparing him from further explanation, the slight itch of dust on your skin signaling his departure.

—

If only I could save it all too.