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itadorey · 7 months

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𝐥𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭 — geto suguru

pairing: cult leader!geto x fem!reader summary: your job as an investigative journalist leads you to infiltrate the time vessel association in search of a good article. but you get more than you bargained for when you catch the attention of geto suguru, the charismatic leader of of the organization that seems more like a cult. notes: cult leader!geto, fem reader, reader is an investigative journalist, reader is wearing a dress, inspired by a chem class i took + s4e3 of criminal minds, geto has a test of loyalty involving the drinking of allegedly poisoned wine but it's fake (nothing about it is real and he participates), he is manipulative but not about the sex. the sex is consensual! he is not the nicest man in this, vaginal fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, marking, teasing/mocking, he's kinda mean + rough, lmk if i forgot anything! wc: ~7.4k

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 + 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

there are many words that are used to describe the leader of the time vessel association: intelligent, cunning, beguiling.

geto suguru was not someone to be taken lightly, especially after having managed to take over the association and quadruple it in size over the course of a couple of years. when you had taken on the assignment, you had known virtually nothing about them or the man in charge.

now, after nearly six months of investigative work, you knew of another word that could be used to describe the enigmatic geto suguru.

handsome.

joining the time vessel association was easy. their purpose was unclear to the rest of the country, and after giving a fake sob story and signing a few forms, you had been welcomed in with open arms. your life within the association was admittedly cozy, and you had uncovered nothing suspicious or interesting for your first few weeks within joining the organization. until you met geto suguru.

a charming smile was the first thing that filled your vision when you stumbled into someone, followed by a pair of warm eyes and handsome features framed by silky, black hair. you had immediately stiffened, back straightening as you let a soft smile appear on your face as you apologized.

"i'm sorry, i should watch where i'm going," you had said with a laugh, bowing your head slightly before stepping to the side.

"you should be more respectful," the light-haired woman beside the man had sang, looking you up and down before scoffing lightly.

"now, now, suda," the man had said. "there's no need to be so harsh with our new recruits."

upon noticing the confused look on your face, the man had laughed lightly, tilting his head towards you before speaking. "my name is geto suguru. it is an honor to make your acquaintance."

you had uttered your fake name after his own words, earning a knowing smile from geto before you hastily excused yourself. he had waved you off with a flick of his wrist, dark eyes watching as you walked away before he turned to ask suda for more information on you. the woman had hesitated slightly before looking through her tablet, rattling off your information as geto listened.

the two of them had stood silently in the hallway for a few minutes, a scowl appearing on suda's face when geto finally spoke.

"invite her to my office for tea. i would like to speak with her some more."

the first time you had tea with geto, you had been a nervous wreck.

the sudden invitation had left you wondering if he knew who you truly were, and your hands had trembled slightly whenever you had moved to bring your teacup to your mouth. his sharp gaze had only added to your nerves, and you did your best to avoid his eyes in an attempt to keep your composure. you kept reminding yourself that you had chosen the career of an investigative journalist for a reason, and you had taken multiple precautions to ensure that your real identity remained hidden.

once you got used to geto's presence, you realized how useful your meetings with him were. he was interested in anything and everything you had to say, and a slight part of you felt guilty knowing that everything you told him was a lie. in return, he was more open with you than you expected him to be, and you did your best to ask questions about the association without drawing any unwanted attention to you.

in a matter of weeks, you had learned a lot about the time vessel association. you had learned about the internal fighting that had existed before geto assumed power, and how he had been quick to quell all conflicts and earn everyone's respect. you had also learned that there were only a select few members that geto seems to trust, but you hadn't figured out why just yet. the biggest piece of information you had learned however, was that geto was unnaturally charming.

a simple compliment from him always had your face heating up, and you took great pleasure in the way his eyes seemed to follow your legs whenever you crossed one over the other. you enjoyed the way he took your tea recommendations seriously, and the way his gaze seemed to linger on your lips as you regaled him with another story about your life before joining the association.

but no matter how attractive geto suguru was, you had to constantly remind yourself that it was in his nature to be so charismatic. after all, he was the leader of what was quickly becoming the largest cult in japan.

you made sure to take meticulous notes about your interactions with geto every time they happened, whether it be the private moments in his office, or the casual conversations in public. the green folder was filled with months of information, and you took extra care to hide it under a loose floorboard under your bed to ensure that no one could find it.

a part of you was suspicious about how friendly geto was towards you, and you found yourself wondering if a man such as him could actually be so easily swayed by personal feelings. that is, if that's what he felt towards you at all.

you tried to convince yourself that he truly did like you; that you had managed to catch his attention the very first day you met him due to your clumsiness. but you couldn't shake the feeling that he was onto you, and so you quickly made arrangements with your editor to finally finish your infiltration, the both of you agreeing that six months worth of information was more than enough to write an exposé on the time vessel association.

but your luck could only stretch so far, leading to this very moment where you find yourself face to face with suda manami, a pleasant smile on her face as she stood outside your door.

"can i help you with something?" you ask, your eyebrows furrowing as you study her vacant expression. "does geto need something from me?"

"i can assure you that geto does not need anything from you," suda hisses, her eyes crinkling as her smile widens. "but he is calling an immediate meeting of all the present members of the association. i suggest you make your way to the conference room immediately."

you give her a hesitant nod, slipping out of your room before following behind her. she's silent the entire way, only pausing a few doors away from the conference room and motioning for you to keep going with a wave of her hand.

the air inside the conference hall is stifling, the majority of the seats being filled as people wait for something unknown.

you slide into an empty seat near the front, making sure to sit on the end of the row as you look around. your hands flutter about, smoothing your dress down over your thighs as you look for geto, trying to ignore the tense atmosphere that's engulfed the room.

hushed conversations take place all around you, and you strain your ears as you attempt to eavesdrop and figure out if anyone knows why a gathering had suddenly been called. there is no sign of the long, black hair you're currently trying to find, and you slump in your seat when you realize that he hasn't even arrived yet.

silence falls over the hall the moment a figure walks onstage, black robes fluttering about his legs as he makes his way towards the center. you breathe in sharply when your eyes land on him, and you watch as he takes a cursory glance around the hall. his gaze stops briefly on you, and your heart stutters when his lips turn up the slightest bit upon seeing you.

"thank you for convening on such short notice," geto says, his voice low and smooth as he gives his audience a pleasant, close-eyed smile. "it is my pleasure to announce that we have reached our most recent recruitment goal."

geto pauses as cheers fill the room, and he nods good-naturedly as he waits for the noise to die down. he signals to the people standing on the sidelines, and you flinch lightly when one approaches you, gently pressing a black, plastic wine glass into your hand before moving down the row.

"as a result," geto continues, the smile still present on his face. "we shall celebrate tonight. we will start with our finest wine, and continue with a traditional feast afterwards."

you shift uncomfortably in your seat, looking down at the deep red wine currently being held in your hand. your eyebrows knit together, trying to recall if geto had mentioned anything about recruitment goals in your previous interactions. your shoulders tense when you take a glance around the room, seeing all other organization members take a swig from their cups without hesitation.

a cold chill runs down your spine when you turn your gaze back to the front, immediately meeting geto's dark stare. his eyes are focused solely on you, and he refuses to look away as he waits for you to make a move. you can feel your hand trembling as you clutch your cup, and you force what you hope is a coy grin onto your face as you lift your glass towards geto.

he grins back at you, his expression sharp and dangerous as he nods his head in encouragement. you press your lips to the rim of the cup, forcing yourself to remain calm and keep your lips clamped shut as you feel the liquid slosh against your mouth.

a satisfied nod is all you receive from geto before he looks away, and you waste no time before placing your cup on the ground, making sure that you tuck it behind one of the wooden legs of your chair. your hands are still shaking when geto speaks once more, a shining metal goblet now in his hand.

"it brings my heart such joy to see us all come together in celebration," geto proclaims, pausing to raise his glass. the lively atmosphere in the hall dissipates when his smile falls, and you can't fight the uneasiness creeping up your spine. "but i am afraid i also have some unfortunate news. it has come to my attention that we have a traitor amongst our ranks, someone who is not committed to the cause we stand for."

murmurs instantly fill the hall, and you can feel the ice creeping through your veins as you straighten up in your seat. you catch sight of suda glancing your way, and you do your best to keep your expression neutral, your stomach twisting with anxiety as wait with bated breath for geto's next words. confused expressions surround you, and you do your best to imitate them in an attempt to calm yourself down.

"this is why, the wine you've drank tonight has been poisoned."

you feel your heart leap into your throat at geto's words, and you silently watch as geto raises his cup to his lips before taking a deep drink. his lips are stained red when he hands his cup to suda, and you find yourself unable to look away even as panicked murmurs start arising all around you.

"i have the antidote, of course," geto says, a smile on his face as he scans the crowd. "it's ready to be handed out, once the traitor steps forward. you have five minutes until we all die."

there's a whole minute of silence as everyone tries to process geto's words, and you find yourself looking down as you stare towards your full cup of wine. your whole body trembles as you shut your eyes, and you find yourself wondering if geto had been telling the truth.

you start tapping your foot on the ground as people around you start debating in hushed whispers, trying to determine who could possibly be the traitor.

"one minute left!" geto announces, a calm look on his face as he eyes the clock on the wall. a part of you wants to jump out of your seat and admit to all your lies, but your fear of retaliation keeps you frozen in your seat. you know it's the right thing to do— you can't possibly let all these people die— but your resolve is broken down when you notice a man step forward.

"we have come to an agreement!"

geto's eyebrow raises as he eyes the man— shinji, you recall, one of the association's most loyal followers— and he tilts his head as he descends the stage, coming to a stop in front of him. he's a mere ten feet from you, and you can't look away from him as he hums questioningly.

"and what would that agreement be?"

"there is no one among us who would even think of betraying you," shinji proclaims, being met with sounds of agreement from the entirety of the room. you watch in horror as people nod enthusiastically, wiping away fearful tears from their eyes as they settle back into their seats. "we are wholly devoted to you and your mission, and if that means that we die for you, then so be it."

"you would all die for me?" geto asks, a leer on his face as the man nods. loud laughter tumbles out from his lips, and it only grows louder as he steps backwards, hoisting himself up to sit on the stage. "how precious."

geto's loud laughter rings throughout the room, and you watch as people look at him reverently. he rises to his feet, snatching his cup back from suda and downing the contents before tossing it to the side. the dull clang of the metal rings in your ears, and he sighs deeply as he gives the crowd a small bow.

"there will be no antidote handed out," he states, holding his hand up when mutters break out in the crowd. you can't draw your gaze away from him, your eyes tracing the drop of wine that trails down his lip before his tongue darts out to catch it. "there was never any poison. that was merely a test of loyalty and all of you, my dear congregants, have passed. it really does warm my heart to know that you all have such faith in me, and i hope that i live up to all of your expectations. there will be a celebration tonight, so please, enjoy the rest of the wine and i hope to see all of you in the dining hall later. now if you'll excuse me, i have some preparations to finish. i wish you all a wonderful day."

the words have barely left geto's lips before you're darting out of your seat, doing your best to avoid his line of sight as he's held up by some of the congregants. you feel yourself grow sick as you see the smiles on their faces, and you can't help the way your stomach lurches when they prostrate themselves at his feet.

you burst through the doors and into the hallway, trying to sort through all the emotions you're feeling. your thoughts feel jumbled, and you can only focus on getting to your room as you lurch to the side of the corridor to avoid crashing into people. you feel a relieved sigh slip past your lips as your room comes into view, only for it to turn into a gasp when you feel someone grab your hand.

your knees wobble as you turn your head, catching a glimpse of geto's usual hairstyle as he stands behind you. his hand is still wrapped around yours, and you wonder if he can feel the way your fingers tremble against his as he pulls you to him.

"i apologize for startling you," geto says, his voice rich and deep ad you nod your head in greeting. "i was wondering if you would join me for some tea before the feast."

"o-of course!" you say, mustering up the courage to meet his gaze. there's a glint in his eye as he grins, and he proceeds to weave your arm through his, your hand resting on the crook of his elbow as he leads you even further down the hall. you do your best to ignore the awed looks the two of you receive from the association members as you pass them, looking down at your shoes to try and distract yourself.

a soft 'thank you' leaves your lips when geto holds his office door open for you, and you wipe your palms against the skirt of your dress as you take your usual seat in front of his desk. he walks over to the window, a large assortment of porcelain and teas sitting on the shelves underneath it.

"any requests?" he asks, earning a quiet shake of your head. he sighs softly, crouching down to pluck a container of tea leaves off the top shelf before straightening up. he shoots a glance your way, watching as you shift in your seat. "may i ask a favor of you?"

"how can i be of assistance?" you say softly, looking at geto curiously. he chuckles at your expression, waving his hand towards his desk before turning to grab a teapot.

"can you grab the folder underneath the pile of papers? remember our last conversation? i have something that i think might interest you."

you respond with a hum, standing from your seat to reach the pile of papers he had mentioned. the edge of the wooden desk digs into your flesh as you stretch, your fingers brushing against the paper before you take the pile into your hand.

"i hope i didn't scare you with my little stunt earlier," geto continues, the soft clink of porcelain filling the room as he moves things around. you remain silent at his words, unable to find the proper words to respond with. you freeze when you finally find the folder on the desk, your finger closing around the familiar green plastic as you pull it towards you. you barely register geto's voice, too focused on the item that you were sure you had hidden in your room. "although i don't think it would be bold of me to say that you weren't scared at all, considering the fact that you didn't drink your wine in the first place."

your breath catches in your throat as you clutch the folder to your chest, and you feel geto come up behind you before reaching around you to set two empty cups down on the desk.

"what do you mean?" you ask, feigning innocence. "you watched me drink."

geto hums at your words, reaching over to pluck the folder from your hands. you whirl around in surprise, swallowing harshly when you realize that he was a lot closer than you originally thought.

"i did," geto agrees, opening the folder and skimming through the pages inside. "so imagine my surprise when i found a full cup of wine hidden underneath the seat you had been sitting at."

geto meets your eyes when you remain silent, giving you a teasing grin. he pulls out a sheet of paper, and your eyes widen when you recognize it at the one that was full of hastily scribbled first impressions.

"i know who you are."

his simple statement is enough to make your heart race, and you flinch when he laughs softly at your expression. he hums as he skims over the paper, eyes full of delight as they trace over the black ink.

"i must say, i admire your dedication to your job," geto continues, his eyes still on the paper. "when you first arrived, i didn't think you'd last one month, much less six."

"you've known," you finally whisper, drawing geto's attention back to you. he watches as your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, your lips parting as you stare at him in disbelief. "you've known about me this entire time."

"i have," is all geto says, returning the paper in his hand to the folder. he looks through the pages once more, plucking another one out of the stack before reading through it as well.

"why'd you let it carry on for so long?" you ask quietly. he doesn't respond for a while, closing the folder and tossing it onto your empty chair before looking up and studying your face.

"i suppose you could say i grew fond of you," he finally responds, a crooked smile on his face. you look away from him, flustered by his words.

"so you kept me around for your entertainment?" you scoff, earning a hum from geto. you cross your arms defensively, swallowing before asking the most important question on your mind. "so now what? what do you plan on doing now that you've blown my cover?"

"you're free to go and write your little exposé. i don't care about that at all," geto says casually, taking a step towards you. his robes brush against your knees, and you shrink back against his desk when one of his hands come up to cup your cheek, turning your face back towards him. your lips part slightly as his other hand grabs your waist, guiding you to take a seat on his desk. strands of dark hair fall over geto's shoulder as he leans down slightly, and you find yourself eye level with him as his fingers start tracing feathery patterns on your hip. "but as i said, i've grown fond of you,"

"oh?" you breathe, trying to concentrate on his words. his hand slides down lower, thumb stroking the junction of your thigh and causing your breath to hitch.

"i think it's safe to assume you've grown fond of me as well," geto says lightly, earning an indignant look from you. he leans in, nose skimming the side of your neck as you instinctively turn away. his other hand leaves your face to grasp as your other thigh, dragging you closer to the edge of the desk as he situates himself between your legs.

"you're wrong," you retort, huffing lightly as you squeeze your eyes shut. your head feels hazy, thoughts jumbled as geto leans over you, his large frame almost completely engulfing you as he chuckles against your skin.

"am i?" he hums, lips brushing your neck lightly as he speaks.

"ye— ahhh!"

you moan softly when geto nips at your neck, and he laughs mockingly as you arch into him. you fist your dress in your hands as he trails kisses up your neck, his breath hot against you as he leaves faint, red marks upon your skin.

"i don't think i am," he whispers into your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. he presses a fluttery kiss to your cheek, his nose bumping into yours as he pauses. you open your eyes to see him watching you, dark eyes half-lidded as he takes in your flustered appearance.

you let your gaze drop to his lips, and you hesitate for a moment as silence engulfs the room. you feel vulnerable, almost exposed, as you sit in front of one of the most dangerous men in japan. there's a chill that's settled into your veins over the past few minutes, and you can't find it in you to fully believe that it's a result of fear.

geto suguru is a name that's been praised and cursed, and you've seen firsthand how ruthless and terrifying the man can be. yet you find yourself leaning in, your heart racing— from excitement or fear, you still don't know— as you unfurl your hands, letting them get lost in geto's robes as you blindly pull him in.

your lips meet in a clash of teeth and tongue, and geto wastes no time before angling your head up, deepening the kiss as he slips his tongue past your lips. you moan into his mouth, leaning up further as your arms wrap around his neck, your chest pressed firmly against his. thoughts are still swirling around your head as geto sucks on your tongue lightly, only making your head spin even more as you try to figure out exactly what it is the two of you are doing.

he's dangerous, you repeat to yourself, thinking about all the information you've managed to gather on the association. you think back to the wine incident, the terrified faces of the congregants flashing through your head as you pull away. geto chases after you, biting your lip, and all thoughts vanish. there's no moment of reprieve before you're kissing him deeply once again, remembering that it was you who pulled him into the kiss in the first place.

you part from him with a gasp, your face heating up when you see the thin string of saliva connecting you to him. geto breathes heavily, watching as you unwrap your arms from his neck to wipe your lips before he grabs your jaw with one of his hands. his lips are red and swollen, and you can't help the way your chest puffs with pride at the sight.

"would you die for me?" geto utters mockingly, enjoying the way a scowl spreads across your lips at the question. you try to pull away from him, stopping when his fingers tighten around your face ever so slightly.

"no," you snap, mild defiance in your lust-blown pupils as you stare him down. he thinks you look beautiful like this, titillated yet strong-willed. he wonders if he can change that.

geto huffs out a laugh at your response before leaning down, giving you a bruising kiss before releasing your jaw. you're still staring at him, shaky breaths leaving your lips as he looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"have you heard of 'la petite mort'?" he asks quietly. he looks back down at you when he's met with silence, and he watches as your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"it means the little death, right?" you respond, caught off guard by the sudden question. geto nods at your words, a low hum leaving him as he fixes you with a hungry look.

"that's the direct translation," he confirms, fingers dancing across your thigh. "however, the french used that phrase to refer to a certain... occurrence."

you hum questioningly, your attention caught by the movement of his fingers as you attempt to listen to him. geto smiles when he notices your struggle, and he lets his hand slip under your dress, his skin feeling hot as it lands upon your bare thigh.

"a more accurate definition would be 'the sensation of post orgasm as likened to death'," he continues, enjoying the way your breath hitches in his throat at your words. he lets himself lean down, lips barely brushing yours as he watches your reaction. he thinks the way your eyes flutter shut is cute, and he feels his dick twitch at the sight of you so ready and eager. "you said you wouldn't die for me, but tell me, would you be willing to die a thousand little deaths with me?"

a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his fingers trail along the your inner thigh, and you hesitate slightly before opening your eyes. you see the smile on geto's face, and you hate the fact that you can't really bring yourself to turn him away.

"i promise it would be worth it," geto mumurs, voice low with desire.

you clench your hands as you he waits for your answer, your stomach twisting as he lets out a low laugh as your inner conflict. a shaky exhale leaves your lips as you place your hands against his chest, smoothing the fabric you had previously wrinkled. there's a nagging voice in the back of your head, telling you that it's wrong to be here, in this situation, with a man like geto suguru.

but your resolve weakens when you take in the sight of him, hair disheveled as he stands in between your thighs and stares at you as though you're the only thing in the world that could bring him to his knees. you tell yourself that you'll hate yourself for getting involved with such a twisted man, but you ignore your thoughts as his fingers brush against your panties, telling yourself that you'll deal with your regret later.

"this doesn't mean anything," you whisper, looking to the side. you gasp when you feel geto's lips back on your neck, teeth lightly scraping against your skin as he wraps his hands around your thighs, spreading your legs apart as your dress rides up.

"of course it doesn't," he says teasingly, fingers tracing your slit through your underwear. you squirm in place, your hands now firmly on geto's shoulders as he rubs your clit through the thin fabric. "whatever makes you feel better."

you're so focused on geto's fingers that you barely register his lips trailing down your neck. he leaves wet, sloppy kisses in his wake, only pausing briefly to tug at the neckline of your dress. a faint moan leaves your lips when the cool air hits your breasts, and it only grows in volume when he wastes no time in leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth, tongue circling the sensitive nub as you arch into him.

"you, ah, you're kind of eager, aren't you?" you ask quietly, gasping when he bites teasingly at the soft skin of your breast. "oh fuck!"

your hands tighten on geto's shoulders as he pushes your underwear to the side, fingers circling your clit and causing you to squeal at the sudden sensation. you feel like your nerves are on fire, pleasure ten times stronger now that there's nothing in between your cunt and his fingers.

"i'd say you're the eager one," geto huffs raising his head to look at you.

he scowls when you remain quiet, your forehead coming down to rest in the crook of his neck as he keeps a steady rhythm. your breathing gets heavier as he hooks one of your legs around his waist for better access but you remain quiet, causing a wave of frustration to wash over geto.

"say my name," he commands, feeling you shake your head against him. he presses harder against your clit, a strangled whine falling from your lips at the action. "say it!"

"n-no!" you whimper, gasping when geto slips a finger inside your cunt. geto smirks as he retracts his hand, watching the way you try to buck your hips in an attempt to keep his touch on you.

"no?" geto asks, faux concern in his voice.

"please," you whisper, pressing your lips to his neck. geto's other hand presses down on your thigh, keeping you in place as you try to inch your hips closer to him. your dress rides up even more with the action, and geto smiles when he notices the fabric rise, baring your glistening cunt.

he groans when you suck on the sensitive spot underneath his jaw, hand unintentionally tightening around your leg and causing you to gasp.

"please," you repeat, your voice needy as tug his face down to yours. your eyes are wide and pleading, a hint of glossiness visible as you pout.

"please what?" geto asks, enjoying the way you hesitate briefly. your lips part as you go to respond, only for you to pause when you see the proud glint in his eyes. you tense slightly, swallowing your own pride before pulling him into a deep kiss.

"please, i need—" you begin, pulling away from him and looking down. you squeeze your eyes shut tightly before speaking, embarrassment prickling at your spine as you give in to him. "i need you, su—"

geto smiles when you pause, letting go of your thigh to tilt your head up to look at him. "say it with me. su-gu-ru. it's not that hard."

your face flashes with anger at his mocking tone, feeling slightly irritated at his words. geto's eyes light up with delight at your expression, and you can't help but feel a twist in your stomach as you realize just how in control of the situation he is. you take a deep breath before squaring your shoulders, feeling entirely too exposed as geto watches you intently.

"please suguru," you say breathlessly, reaching for his other hand and guiding it back in between your legs. "i need you to make me feel good."

"well when you ask so sweetly, who am i to refuse?" he replies, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest as you scowl. your contempt is short-lived as he complies, and you moan when he begins to finger you slowly.

he pulls his face out of your hands to watch as your cunt sucks his finger in, eyes darkened with lust as you squirm in response. your hands fall back to his shoulders, fingers digging into his robes as your legs spread even wider for him.

"m-more, please, suguru!" you cry out, drawing his gaze back to your face. your eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted as moans pour out of you. he complies without complaint, another finger joining the first as he speeds up his pace. his office is filled with lewd, squelching sounds, mixing in with your pretty moans and whimpers as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you.

"like that?" he asks innocently, laughing lowly when you nod desperately. you try to buck your hips in tandem with his thrusts, and he can't help but coo at the adorably pathetic sight. he angles his fingers to hit that soft, spongey spot inside of you, earning a sharp whine as your legs instinctively try to close.

"su-suguru!" you moan, hearing a pleased hum in return. his hand is clamped in between your thighs, the skirt of your dress covering the scene in between.

"c'mon," he coaxes gently, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh as he tries to pry them apart. you comply slowly, knees trembling as he starts to move his fingers slowly. once he has your legs parted, he lifts your dress up gingerly, breathing in sharply when he sees your arousal coating your thighs. "so sensitive. or maybe you really are just that fond of me."

his words go unheard as you push his hands away, and geto frowns lightly before you start tugging at his robes, trying to shove the fabric off his shoulders as you pull him closer.

"what are you doing?" geto asks amusedly, smirking when you look up at him with a determined look. he keeps eyes contact with you as he licks his fingers clean, humming contentedly when you break his stare with a flustered look. you manage to untie his robes, only stopping when geto's hand closes around both of yours. "answer me."

"i need you," you state confidently, an embarrassed expression on your face as he releases you. he's pleasantly surprised by your determination, and he takes a moment to think before deciding to tease you.

"oh?" geto asks, a teasing lilt present in his words. "were my fingers not enough? was i not making you feel good?"

you pause at his words, giving him a mildly annoyed look before focusing on the the ties keeping his pants up.

"of course they were, suguru," you purr, saying his name wantonly. "i just need more."

"go on then," geto says, watching hungrily as your fingers deftly work at the knot. your eyes light up when you finally manage to untie it, wasting no time before haphazardly shoving geto's pants and underwear halfway down his thighs.

a sharp hiss escapes geto's lips when your hand wraps around his dick, and he watches in amusement as your lips part in surprise as you look at it. your tongue darts out to lick your lips as you give him an experimental stroke, and you look up at him through your lashes as he bucks into your hand.

"so pretty," you murmur, letting your thumb swipe over the head of his dick in order to spread the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip. you don't notice the way geto's breathing gets heavier, or the way he leans down to press his palms to the edge of his desk in an attempt to control himself. he watches with rapt attention when you let him go, bringing your hand up to your mouth to lap at the pre-cum that covered your fingers. "s-so big."

your eyes widen when he takes him self in his hand, using the other to lift one of your knees so that your foot is on the desk.

"w-wait!" you cry out, hands scrambling to find purchase on the wood under you. geto pauses, his head tilting to the side as he waits for you to continue. you look conflicted, your eyes still focused on his dick as he slides it up and down your folds, a weak moan leaving your lips when it brushes against your clit. "it's too big... it's not going to fit."

"it's too big!" geto mocks, your jaw dropping in surprise at his words. the hand on your knee slides down your thigh, and his thumb parts your folds, a sly smile appearing on his face when he sees your cunt clenching around nothing. "you were so bold a few minutes ago, and now you're saying it's too big? you asked for this, and now you're going to take it."

you whine as he rubs his dick up and down your slit a few more times before pushing in, your cunt squelching loudly as the tip pops in. your back arches as he keeps sliding in, his thumb reaching up to rub soothing circles around your clit in a futile attempt to help.

"suguru! 's too big!" you repeat, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. you pull him close, and he grabs your hips with both hands, pulling you to him as his cock bullies its way into your cunt. a loud gasp leaves your lips when he finally bottoms out, and he moans when he feels the way your cunt spasms around him, your legs trembling as they try to close only to be stopped by geto's frame. "i- i'm cumming!"

geto laughs at the sight in front of him, and he wastes no times before thrusting into you, setting a ruthless pace as you squeal loudly.

"suguru! it's too much! 'm too full," you moan, clinging onto him tightly as he keeps fucking you. his eyes focus on your tits, enjoying the way they bounce each time he thrusts up into you. he leans down to gently capture one of your nipples between his teeth, earning another surprised squeal from you as he tugs on it lightly. he pulls away to see tears of pleasure welling up in your eyes, and he can't stop himself from leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

"it's too much?" he asks, his pace relentless as you bury your face into his chest. you nod against him and he can't help but laugh, only pressing down on your clit harshly and causing you to writhe against him. "maybe i should stop then."

"no! no, please, suguru," you cry out desperately, looking up at him with glossy eyes as he slows down. "it's not too much, i can take it, please."

"are you sure?" he hums, earning a desperate nod from you. he starts thrusting into you again, his thick dick dragging against your walls as he leans down to continue marking your chest. your hands tangle in his hair, finger tugging weakly at the smooth strands as he pulls you in closer, his own fingers tugging at your nipples as he moves up to pull at your earlobe with his teeth.

"would you die for me?" he breathes into your ear, hips slamming against yours as he thrusts into you. your hands pull harder at his hair, muffled whines escaping your lips as you try your best to hide your face into his chest. he lets out a frustrated huff at your lack of response, one hand coming up to grab roughly at your jaw before turning your head to face him. "would you?"

"n-no!" you cry out, wrenching your face out of his hold when he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips. geto chuckles at the action, and he spreads your legs apart further, hands hooked underneath your knees as he drives his dick deeper into you. the new angle has the tip of his dick pressing against your g-spot, and he smiles as he notices the tears finally spilling down your cheeks as one of your hands leaves his shoulder to snake its way down towards your clit. he intercepts it, lacing his fingers with yours and smiling when you let out a frustrated cry.

"look at you, so cute," geto murmurs, squeezing your hand lightly. his soft words make your head spin, a stark contract to the punishing pace he was currently rutting into you at. you whine and turn away when he kisses your tears away, only for you to turn back to face him when he lets go of your hand to prod at your clit. "are you gonna cum for me?"

"yes!" you cry out, back arching as he rubs harsh circles around your clit. geto watches in fascination as you squirm underneath him, and his hips stutter when he feels your cunt clamp down on his dick. "i'm gonna cum! please! please let me cum, suguru!"

geto grunts at your words, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck. "fuck, you feel so good. this sloppy pussy was just meant to be fucked by me, wasn't it?"

"mmhmm, yes!" you warble in affirmation, tossing your head back. "it was! all for you!"

one last thrust is all it takes for you to reach your orgasm, and you let out a half-sob, half-squeal as geto fucks you through your climax. every nerve feels like it's on fire, and you think you hear yourself let out a scream when geto sucks harshly on the side of your neck, leaving a dark, mottled mark.

"doing so good f'me," geto grunts, still thumbing at your clit as he tries to fuck you through your orgasm. it's a herculean task, he thinks, your cunt clamped down so tightly around him that moving feels almost impossible. "so good, so fucking go—"

he cuts himself off as he empties himself into you with a low moan, and you whimper as you feel hot ropes of his cum filling you up. your post-orgasmic haze is quiet, filled with nothing but the heavy breaths coming from both you and geto. you feel weightless, and you're only brought back to reality when you hear a hesitant knock against geto's door, followed by suda's quiet voice.

"geto?" you hear her call from outside. "sorry to um, interrupt. but the feast is starting soon. everyone is waiting for you in the dining hall. excuse me."

you feel slight mortification at the realization that suda had heard what was happening, but a part of you couldn't help but feel satisfaction at the fact that it had been you on geto's desk and not her.

a soft chuckle leaves geto's lips as he starts to pull out of you, and he kisses you quickly when you whine at the feeling, your cunt still sensitive from all the stimulation. he pulls back to watch his cum dribble out of you, and he quickly moves your underwear back in place before any of it can fall on to his desk. you breathe in shakily as you fix the neckline of your dress, glancing down to catch a glimpse of the marks geto had left spread against your skin as he fixes his pants.

"i should go. that exposé won't write itself," you say hesitantly, breaking the silence in the office. you push yourself off the desk, your knees wobbling and causing you to collapse against geto as you struggle to maintain your balance. his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he chuckles at the sight. you look up at him, eyes wide when he nudges your cheek with his nose, capturing your lips in a searing kiss before speaking.

"so soon? but you see, you promised me a thousand deaths, and i have only collected one."

ty for reading !!

#geto x reader #geto smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk imagine #geto imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #getou imagine #suguru x reader #suguru smut #geto suguru imagine #getou smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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ifearzombies · 1 year

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Things You Do Living At The HoL

1- Whenever you make yourself food in the kitchen you make three servings. One for you and two for Beel. Beel will smell it and you can never, ever not have something for him.

2- You buy every magazine Mammon is featured in. He makes royalties off of that and you want to support your first man in everything he does.

3- You check on Lucifer’s office every night. You either are bringing him coffee, offering to help, or are ushering him to bed depending on what he’s working on.

4- You text Diavolo, Barbatos, and the PH group every night to tell them you love them and that you’ll see them tomorrow since you can’t say goodnight in person most nights.

5- You find yourself saying “God” a LOT less. Either the angels are offended because you’re using their father’s name in vain. Or the demons are offended because you’re mentioning someone who hates them/their father they hate. It’s almost eradicated from your vocabulary.

6- When in the Human Realm and you see religious people you have to walk by them quickly because you can’t tell them how much you know about God, Demons, and the afterlife.

7- On nights you can’t sleep, you find yourself in the kitchen either talking to Beel or making food for him. You cherish those late night talks.

8- When Levi has a raid planned and you can’t stay with him, you check on him as much as possible to see if he needs anything.

9- You gave up trying to clean Satan’s room. But you DO check to make sure he’s not buried under books. Again. You’ve found him a few times under a bookalanche.

10- You make sure to tell Asmo he’s beautiful at least once a day. He pouts if you don’t.

11- You make sure Belphie wakes up long enough to do his schoolwork on days he does virtual schooling. On days he goes to RAD, you check to see how he’s doing.

12- On days you are in charge of dinner (volunteering or scheduled), you tend to make foods that are easy to make in bulk. Spaghetti, pancakes, quesadillas, and so forth. Not just because of Beel’s appetite (though that is the main reason), but this is a house of 7 men who are pretty fit. They all have a very healthy appetite. Plus there’s ALWAYS a chance for the PH group or Diavolo & Barbatos to come by.

13- You don’t lock the door when you use the bath in the main bathroom of the HoL. In the event someone desperately needs the toilet/sink in there, you don’t want to get up out of the water to open the door. Too much hassle.

14- You have a specific spot you sit at in the living room. The demons are weirded out by you have a particular spot you like, but they’ve avoided sitting there so that they’re never in the way.

15- You look at the sky to tell the time. You’ve started to figure out when it’s day or night depending on the moon’s positions and the stars in the sky. Specific hours still require a watch/clock. But day or night, you’ve got it mostly down.

16- You keep a shelf of books in your room for Satan. They’re mostly cat mystery novels since he loves detective novels and cats. You steal them back from his room, though, so he can’t add them to the mess that is his room.

17- You check on the pranks for the Anti-Lucifer League and work with them on good times for pranks. You’ve explained that if he’s not busy with something important, it’s more aggravating to him. They don’t believe you, but they sometimes listen to you when you ask them to hold off on a prank.

18- You tend to ask Mammon and Satan to go grocery shopping with you. Mammon can find the best deals and Satan is knowledgeable about what’s freshest in the store. Beel eats while he shops and groceries are more when he’s there. Belphie gets tired, Levi complains the whole time, Asmo just looks at reflective surfaces and slows the process down, and Lucifer is usually too busy.

19- You don’t watch porn. You can’t. Asmo can tell when you do because he can just sense when you’re horny and he tells EVERYONE. It’s embarrassing and sometimes you just want to have some self service time rather than end up in a wheelchair!

20- The wheelchair. It started as a joke from Solomon, honestly. Teasing that you likely have so much intimacy you struggle to walk. Diavolo didn’t realize he was joking and actually bought it for you. So you do actually own a wheelchair at the HoL. It’s in your closet, all charged up (Diavolo sprung for a fancy motorized one). When you feel like messing with the brothers, you’ll break it out and use it around the first floor and then they get to try and figure out who made you use it. It slightly backfires if anyone comes to visit though.

Solomon starts flirting and stating that he’d like a turn to make you use it. Simeon turns redder than a tomato. Luke gets mad and yells at the demons for hurting you, assuming they’ve injured you by their fighting (NO ONE IS CORRECTING HIM FOR FEAR OF ANGERING SIMEON). Barbatos frets over you being injured. Diavolo just teases you and asks if the chair is comfortable enough.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo

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errorid-mt7lt7k7unfr9ttfua5 · 5 months

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me when companies try to force you to use their proprietary software

anyway

Layperson resources:

firefox is an open source browser by Mozilla that makes privacy and software independence much easier. it is very easy to transfer all your chrome data to Firefox

ublock origin is The highest quality adblock atm. it is a free browser extension, and though last i checked it is available on Chrome google is trying very hard to crack down on its use

Thunderbird mail is an open source email client also by mozilla and shares many of the same advantages as firefox (it has some other cool features as well)

libreOffice is an open source office suite similar to microsoft office or Google Suite, simple enough

Risky:

VPNs (virtual private networks) essentially do a number of things, but most commonly they are used to prevent people from tracking your IP address. i would suggest doing more research. i use proton vpn, as it has a decent free version, and the paid version is powerful

note: some applications, websites, and other entities do not tolerate the use of VPNs. you may not be able to access certain secure sites while using a VPN, and logging into your personal account with some services while using a vpn *may* get you PERMANENTLY BLACKLISTED from the service on that account, ymmv

IF YOU HAVE A DECENT VPN, ANTIVIRUS, AND ADBLOCK, you can start learning about piracy, though i will not be providing any resources, as Loose Lips Sink Ships. if you want to be very safe, start with streaming sites and never download any files, though you Can learn how to discern between safe, unsafe, and risky content.

note: DO NOT SHARE LINKS TO OR NAMES OF PIRACY SITES IN PUBLIC PLACES, ESPECIALLY SOCAL MEDIA

the only time you should share these things are either in person or in (preferably peer-to-peer encrypted) PRIVATE messages

when pirated media becomes well-known and circulated on the wider, public internet, it gets taken down, because it is illegal to distribute pirated media and software

if you need an antivirus i like bitdefender. it has a free version, and is very good, though if youre using windows, windows defender is also very good and it comes with the OS

Advanced:

linux is great if you REALLY know what you're doing. you have to know a decent amount of computer science and be comfortable using the Terminal/Command Prompt to get/use linux. "Linux" refers to a large array of related open source Operating Systems. do research and pick one that suits your needs. im still experimenting with various dispos, but im leaning towards either Ubuntu Cinnamon or Debian.

#capitalism #open source #firefox #thunderbird #mozilla #ublock origin #libreoffice #vpn #antivirus #piracy #linux

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bodyswapmischief · 4 months

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One Gift Can Change the World

(A story written for @tf-lover for the annual story exchange)

The world was a blur, as Erica zoomed by. She was driving home in a rush. The day had dragged on, and her professor was the cherry on top of pile shit that today had turned out to be. Unfortunately, her ass of a professor wasn't the only problematic man she had to face. On a daily basis, there was a parade of men that would at best annoy her and, at worst, make her wish she was not a girl. Don't get me wrong. She loved being a girl. Well, she loved being a Tom Girl. But even with her best attempt of dressing and acting tough, there were always guys trying to hit on her ... make her act like “a real woman,” Stop hiding her beauty by dressing like a “dyke,” and let a man protect her. But, she didn't need a man’s protection. She'd taken out guys twice her size. But, all people saw when they looked at her was a small and weak 4’9 girl.

Although, she wouldn't lie. She often fantasized about being a man. And, not just any man. She wanted to be seen tough on the outside like she felt on the inside. Yeah, if she was a man, she'd wanted to be ripped and muscled out. She'd want to be the epitome of strength. She'd want to look like she worked out every day of her life. She'd smile at the fact that men would finally leave her alone. She wouldn't get hit on. Her professor wouldn't even dare criticize her. And, if he did ... she beat the living shit out of him without breaking a sweat.

As she drove home, she let these ideas carry her to her happy place. Gaming. The only solace she had from reality. She could play as a manly warrior. She could be the cool space soldier with undoubted authority. She could play with the boys and not be thought of as some girl. She never even considered telling her gamer friends she was a girl. It was her little secret ... a secret made better by the fact she was better than all of them in any game they played. Thanks to the technological advancements of the late 21st and early 22nd centuries, her video game fantasies were even more of a reality. The improvements of artificial imaging, vocal mapping, and sensory mirroring in virtual reality helped to make gamers live a life in the games they played.

Now, she was speeding through traffic on her way home. She was looking forward to the only saving grace that could make this shitty day better. Today was the announcement of the newest VR game. Rumored to be the next big step in virtual reality. There have been a few clips and leaks of the game, but other than that, the games secrets have been locked up tight. All she knew of the game was that it was rumored to have true realism graphics and that if it was true ... it would be the first of its kind. She continued her way home, cursing at anything that slowed her down.

Arriving home, she ran straight to her room. “Hey, fuckers keep it down. I'm gonna be watching the announcement of the new game. And, if I'm interrupted, I'm gonna kick someone's ass.” She puffed as rushed by her roommates. With readied excitement she turned on her computer and logged onto the first stream of the announcement she could find. The screen remained black for a few seconds before flashing to life.

The screen flashed with the image of The Second Life company. Three colored triangles zoomed onto the screen. They proceed to spin around in a circle, and their points interlocked. The logo began to fade, as a man sitting at an office desk begins to get into view. The chat section began to glow abuzz. People commented their excitement, others shouted out greetings to the void, and others just threw out nonsense. “Hello! And welcome to today's announcement.” The man smiled as he spoke. His name flashed under him on the screen, Nathan Black.

The man continued to talk as he spoke with a smug grin. The attractive features of his face and those most likely underneath his suit helped fill his presence with Charisma. “History has led us to this moment. Our ancestors could only imagine what their children could have achieved. And, Human history has brought so many advancements in so many areas of science and technology. VR technology is one of these areas.Beginning in the 2010s, we entered the dark ages of VR. The first real uses and mainstream-ifacation. Over the years, new technology has been created to make these experiences even more real and personal. Now, in the great year 2130, you can play as a cartoon cat running your own cafe. Zip through space in your own spaceship. Immerse yourself in real-time team warfare. Take on cgi Dragons with your friends. Build cgi avatars to be the person you always wanted to be. Even now, data shows that 10 percent of people have decided to make VR spaces and games their true lives. Spending most of their day plugged in. 30 percent of people report a steady income from VR game economies. The future is now VR!” He stands up and begins to walk around the office. The camera moved to follow him.

“Our ancestors one hundred years ago ... had dreams. Flying cars, instant meals, teleportation services, space travel, etcetera. But, years of human conflict have stunted any progress we could have achieved. Instead, we continue to look for an escape from real life. Instead, we've put money into developing entertainment. We hope to be distracted from the world. Those numbers I've shared are only going up. With 55 percent of people interested in making a move to permanent VR or even picking up a second job in VR spaces. And, why wouldn't they? Everything our ancestors wanted, in the 21st, 20th, 19th centuries, and back to the dawn of time, is available in these VR spaces. So why not improve them to the best capabilities we can. Why not make it more real? Why not make them as indistinguishable from reality as we can? Well, we have. Everything you have seen in this announcement has not been real. It has been generated with our new console. The Second Life X.” As he says that, the walls and everything in his office disintegrate like sand blown in a strong breeze. He now stands in an open cleaning in a forest. The comment section of the stream explodes with excitement and disbelief. A group of people not believing this is real because there was just no way that graphics could be this good.

“And the first foray into this new world of VR is called Fantasy Land. The bundled game will come with the console at launch. When we developed what we are calling Real CGI ... we pondered on what genre would be the first to explore. And we thought it would be best to take it back to the earliest form of fantasy. Where knights and wizards roamed to adventure. Where fairies danced in the woods and magic was in the air. Where people would live to die as legends.”

The rest of the stream showed off new features of the game. The intensive character creation section. Erica could imagine spending days, if not weeks, just on the character creation to make her avatar the exact way she wanted it. As Nathan showed off these features, it was almost scary how real it looked. Nathan's face would morph to have different features. His body would grow and shrink to different sizes. Finally, he reverted back to himself and began to show off some spells, and they looked equally realistic. The stream ended with the surprise that the system and game would drop a week before Christmas, tomorrow.

All the excitement that built up in Erica was instantly drained. She collapsed onto her gaming chair. She let out an audible “Fuuuck!” From her room. She sat there for a few minutes and then moved to plop herself face down on the bed. “Fuck! Today couldn't just be a bit better.” As she lied there in self pity, she could hear her door squeak open. “Erica!!! Did you see it! Did you see the announcement!” She didn't even need to look up to see that her twin brother had entered the room.

She loved her brother, but right now, she wanted to be left alone. But, she could hear the excitement in his voice. And, he didn't deserve her meanness. No, Elias had to deal with meanness all his life. When they were both in the womb, Erica felt like she took all the good genes. She was smart and beautiful despite hiding it in baggy clothes. Her brother was not the brightest, and he wasn't the most attractive man in a room. He was a socially awkward geek. One that she would have to protect from bullies at school. But, now in college, he did have two things she didn't have. The ability to make real friends. Yeah, she had online friends ... but she kept a bunch of secrets from them. But, again, she didn't really like people. So, she was glad that Elias had friend making skills at the very least. So, she could spend more time alone in the virtual world. The second thing was her brother's size and strength. He was the definition of a friendly giant.

“Yeah, I heard.” She sighed and looked up at her brother. “Are you sure? Because, if you did ... you'd be more excited!” He beamed. “No, yeah, the game looked great.” She rolled her eyes. “Erica! Then why aren't you excited ... are you being sarcastic ... I can't tell. Why didn't you like the game?” Elias pleaded for an answer. “Cause, Elias, I won't be playing the game!” She yelled out. Elias jumped. “Why not? I mean, it's coming out tomorrow ... short notice. But we can go out now and wait in line for a midnight release somewhere.” Erica sighed, “It’s not because it's too soon ... it's because I don't have money to buy a new console! I thought it was gonna be a game for SL 9.” Elias looked worried. “Well that's okay ... then when you do get money ... we can go get one. So what if we have to wait a week or two.” Erica fell back onto her bed. “If only! Remember when the Second Life 9 came out ... it was completely out of stock for a year ... and then some people didn't even get it off the waitlist until 3 years later.” Elias sank on the bed next to her. He was also beginning to realize the bad news. “We could ask mom and dad ...” Erica cut him off, “They never would ... you know they are against VR, and they believe it's evil and gonna take over the world.” Elias weakly smiled, “Well ... then we hope for a miracle.” Erica, let those words sink in, “Yup, a miracle.”

Christmas Day

Erica had spent the rest of the week in a sort of depression. Now, sitting around her family as they opened presents, she couldn't get herself in the mental space to be there. Everyone was smiling and getting into the atmosphere of the day. She opened her presents like everyone else. She got dresses from her parents. She got makeup and lotions from other family members. She got a gift card from her brother, which was the only gift she liked. Christmas was another horrible day. And, when it was over, she was happy. Her and Elias began the drive back to their shared apartment. Their other roommates still gone with their families out of state.

Getting back to the apartment, she plopped onto the couch and sat down. Elias slowly approached. “I got you another present ... I thought it would be best to open away from mom and dad.” He hurried to his room and came back with a big box. “Merry Christmas!” Erica was puzzled and began to open it. “ You didn't need... Oh my fucking God! How...” She exploded with excitement, as she unwrapped the Second Life X bundle.

She ran to her room and began to plug in everything. The game loaded up, and she attached the new VR headset to her face. The logo of the company and the game flash by. She hurried to start a new game. She looked down and saw her current body in some kind of fantasy styled inn and wearing barbarian starting gear. She saw options floating around her. She instantly goes to height and begins to increase it. The world around her became slightly smaller. Now, she was standing at 6’4. She looked at her reflection in a mirror. She laughed at seeing her features on this stretched out body. She swapped her gender and felt a zap on the side of her head. She touched it as a reaction. “Fuck that hurt!” The game informed here that sensory mode had now been enabled. And, at that instant she saw her body begin to morph to look more masculine. She looked like her brother, only better looking and slimmer. As her body morphed it felt like water rippling. It felt relaxing. Then she gasped as she felt something pop out of her vagina. She reached down into her pants, noticing her clothes also were shifting to match her new body, she felt her new cock. “What the fuck ... this is new ... this game really went there!” She laughed with her same voice. She winced seeing such a girly voice coming out of this man's body. She began to explore voice options until she found one she liked. She looked at her reflection and smile. She looked like a hot fuck boy. But, she didn't want to stop there. She wanted to be a man.

She began to explore with body hair options. And increasing her muscle size by adding points to her strength stat. She found it interesting that layout her stats started as. She also found it strange that if she wanted to, she could max all her stats to 20. She maxed out her strength. She set her dexterity to 15. Her constitution maxed to 20. Her intelligence was already 17, so she didn't change it. Her wisdom was also not changed at 12. And, her charisma score of 5 was bumped to 14. Her body morphed to match every choice. She looked at her new avatar. An absolute beast of a man. Hairy, ripped, and good-looking. She was happy as she looked in the mirror. She felt her body, and it felt rock hard. Her cock was ragging in her pants. “Fuck ... is this really gonna be part of the game.” She laughed. She pondered making more changes... but she also wanted to see actual game play. Worst case she could always start a new game if she did want to make changes to the way she looked. She played the first ten minutes of the game before she felt hungry. “Too bad I still have to leave the game to eat.” She laughed.

She took off her headset, and the world was thrown out of balance. Her room looked so much smaller. She began to stumble and walk. She felt so heavy, and the floor thudded with every step. She looked down and saw her avatar from the game. She or now he was completely naked. The clothes he was wearing were torn to shreds. He let out a guttural yell instead of a scream. “Erica! Is that you!” Elias barged into the room. He looked at the naked barbarian in front of him, hung like a horse. “Ahhhhh!” Elias screamed.

Erica rushed to him. Not knowing his own strength, he knocked them both to the floor. He covered Elias’ mouth to stop the screaming. “It's me ... it's Erica!.” He shouted in a deep voice. Elias fainted. When he came to, he saw the giant man taking care of him. If this man was bad ... why was he still here. It couldn't be... “Erica ...” He let out. Erica turned to see her brother awake. “Yeah ... it's me.” He spoke, his voice rumbling the air with his deep voice. “What happened?” Elias squeaked.

The big man pointed to the screen. The news was on. A woman spoke as the words “breaking news” flashed on the screen. “Reports are still coming in of Body Transformations throughout the country and world. Authorities are confirming that the cause is the new Second Life X console. It is also believed that the company has purposefully set this bio weapon on the public. The Second Life Entertainment offices and Second Life Corporation have been radio silent on the matter. Wait ... just ... it seems like their website has just gone offline. Authorities are asking to drop off all Second Life technology to the nearest police station. Again, do not use Second Life technology.”

The news broadcast kept going. The sound of sirens from the outside began to fill the night air. Other screams could be heard in the distance. But Erica interrupted, “And, online coders found hidden code that was set to activate just a few moments ago. People are saying Second Life has been planning this for a long time.” Elias looked at his new brother concerned. “Well ... I'm sorry ... is there a way to undo this?”.

The gaint laughed and shook the air. “Sorry! I love this! This is what I always wanted. But you probably shouldn't call me Erica anymore... Call me Erik ... with a K.” He laughs “More barbaric. But what about you, little bro ... want a new life.” Elias gasped. “What about the report ... can this be trusted? What about the consequences.” Erik put his huge strong hand on his brother. “The only consequences is you'll be the person you always wanted to. Think no one is going to give this to the police ... the power to be who they want. The world has changed. You can be in it as the person you want or the person you are now.”

Elias grabbed the VR headset and put it on. He began a new game and began to edit his character. Erik watched his brother change before his eyes. Elias shrank from 6’4 to 6’. He began to slim down. His chubby body became more tone. His pasty skin tanned until he looked like an exotic Middle Eastern man. His oversized clothes fell off his body. He looked like an Arab heartthrob. He took off the headset and looked at his new body, and smiled. “Damn it feels so good. And, now that I have raised my intelligence score ... I see what you mean. This is the new world.” He smiled. He raised his hand, and small particles of frosted air began to coat his hands in a layer of frost.

“Damn, nice body, bro. Didn't know this was your ideal body. Based on physique and that you have frost magic... you picked wizard.” Erik laughed. “Well isn't it obvious.” Elias said with a wit and sass he never had before. “Bro, I think we should bring this head set to some other people. Give some friends some equally attractive bodies. And, enemies ... something else.” Elias smirked. Erik smiled, “That has to be the smartest idea you've ever had. I'm ready when you are.” He chuckled at the thought of changing everyone that made his life hell. His parents, professor, and more. The two men found some usable clothes and walked out of the apartment to help change the world.

Epilogue: Nathan Black sat in his private jet, on route to his secret bunker. In front of him was a laptop with a hooded figure on the screen. “It's been done.” He raised a glass of wine and drank it. “It took a bit more than a century, but it's done.” He smiled.

The hooded figure spoke. “The gods left behind small tools of power. From rings that could swap bodies, plants that affect a person's age, gems that allow possessions, and so many other small gifts” the figure spoke with annoyance. “They always feared giving humanity true magic. But, I have used those gift to do what they didn't want. The era of magic is among us.” Both men laughed.

#tfstoryexchange #body #swap #transformation #tf #male #mischief #stories #story #male body swap #gender swap

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wasabidottie · 9 months

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Kenergy (Jschlatt)

A/n: I have been listening to the ai cover of im just ken for a minute and i wanted to write this >soooo< here it is :) Link to the video -> <3 (also my first time writing in 2nd person, so its kinda weird)

Schlatt sat hunched over his desk, fully immersed in the world of Truck Driver Simulator, his audience watching eagerly as he navigated virtual roads and delivered cargo. His gruff commentary and sharp wit kept his viewers entertained, while his fingers deftly controlled the game.

In the midst of Schlatt's stream, the door to his office creaked open, revealing you, his ever-cheerful girlfriend. A glint of mischief danced in your eyes as you tiptoed into the room, carrying a secret plan of action. You hold up a finger to your mouth, signaling chat to stay quiet.

As Schlatt continued to grumble about virtual traffic and in-game mechanics, you connected your phone to his speaker. The all too familiar sound of “I'm just Ken” filled the air, and you couldn't help but stifle a giggle as you saw Schlatt's reaction. Schlatt's brow furrowed slightly as he hears that the voice singing the song was not Ryan Gosling, but him? Your current obsession was any sort of Schlatt AI covers and this one was your favorite. You were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to use it.

He blinked, his fingers momentarily faltering on the keyboard. He exchanged a quick glance with you, confusion etched on his features. But you were already in character, embodying the spirit of the song with playful exaggeration.

As the lyrics started, you couldn't resist the urge to ham it up. Your hands gesturing with flair as you began to act out the lyrics behind his chair with an exaggerated enthusiasm.

"Doesn't seem to matter what I do I'm always number two. No one knows how hard I tried, oh-oh, I-"

Chat immediately caught on, and the messages flooded in:

"COMMON GF W!" "SHE'S SERENADING SCHLATT!" "OMG, I CAN'T BREATHE!"

With a grin, you continued your theatrical performance, your voice rising dramatically as you sang with faux sadness.

"'Cause I'm just Ken. Anywhere else, I'd be a ten Is it my destiny to live and die a life of blond fragility?"

Schlatt’s eyes darted between you and the game, his determination to stay in character wavering just a bit. But you weren't finished. You sang the next line with a twinkle in your eye, directing it specifically at him, teasing him.

"Where I see love, she sees a friend"

Your playful tone didn't escape him, and the chat exploded with excitement

Schlatt’s facade cracked slightly.

“I wanna know what it’s like to love To be the real thing Is it a crime? Am I not hot when I'm in my feelings?”

With an extra flair, you approached Schlatt and, as part of your performance, accidentally hit his arm. He blinked and turned toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but you just grinned and carried on with the song.

At some point you rest a hand in his hair. With the tension of the game momentarily forgotten, Schlatt couldn't help but smile. He swatted your hand away, feigning annoyance, but his eyes twinkled with fondness

Schlatt's gaze remained fixed on you, a mixture of bemusement and adoration in his eyes. He couldn't help but feel his grumpy demeanor crack under the weight of your antics and the shared sentiment of the song.

As the song came to an end, the room was filled with silence, save for the soft fading of the music. Schlatt’s stare lingered on you, his emotions caught between fondness and frustration. But before he could react, his truck in the game veered off the road and crashed with a resounding thud.

"FUCK!" Schlatt shouted, his grumpy façade shattering completely as he stared at the digital wreckage.

The chat erupted in laughter, fans typing out a chorus of "F" for Schlatt's virtual trucking misadventure.

Schlatt shot a glare at the chat, his frustration palpable. Then you laughed, walking over to his desk and ruffling his hair affectionately. "I’m sorry, Ken." you say grinning.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his gaze that couldn't be denied. "Yeah, yeah, Toots, just don't sing me off the road again.”

#jschlatt x reader #schlatt #chuckle sandwich x reader #chuckle sammy #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #jschlatt x you #kenergy #im sorry

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soberscientistlife · 1 year

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‘I Want To Do My Part’

When the USS Gregory sank in 1942, a mess hall officer named Charles Jackson French dragged a raft full of his wounded crewmates to safety through shark-infested waters.

Born on Sept. 29, 1919, Charles Jackson French spent his early years in Foreman, Arkansas. At the time, Black and white pools were segregated, making it difficult for Black people to find opportunities to learn to swim. Swimming World Magazine speculates that French may have learned to swim by visiting the city’s stone quarries and the Red River.

However he learned to swim, French’s days in Foreman were numbered. After his parents died, he left Arkansas and moved in with his married, older sister Viola in Omaha, Nebraska. And by the time he was 18, French decided to strike out on his own and enlist in the U.S. Navy

The Navy, like swimming pools across the country, was strictly segregated. As a Black man, French had virtually no other choice than to work as a mess attendant. In that capacity, the U.S. Navy Office Of Information reports that French spent four years the USS Houston, serving meals to the white sailors, cleaning their tables, and keeping the mess hall spick and span.

French returned to Omaha when his deployment ended in November 1941, but he wouldn’t stay in Nebraska for long. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, French promptly re-enlisted.

“I want to do my part, because I’m already trained and I can start right away,” French said at the time.

He had spent his last tour cruising around the Pacific. But this time, Charles Jackson French would see significantly more action.

On Sept. 5, 1942, the USS Gregory and the USS Little were attacked by Japanese destroyers around 1 a.m. while patrolling the waters near Savo Island and Guadalcanal. The U.S. Navy Office Of Information reports that the Gregory, outgunned, sank after just three minutes. Its surviving men were plunged into shark-infested waters as the Japanese fired on them.

But French leaped into action. The 23-year-old helped injured sailors onto a makeshift raft and — when U.S. Navy Ensign Robert Adrian told him that the current would pull the raft toward a Japanese-occupied island — volunteered to jump in the water and pull the raft in the other direction.

Adrian told him it was impossible. French, according to Adrian, replied: “Just keep telling me if I’m goin’ the right way.”

He shed his waterlogged clothes, tied a rope around his waist, and started to swim. For the next six to eight hours, French tirelessly swam as sharks got so close that they sometimes brushed against his legs. At sunrise, an American scout finally spotted him and the others and sent rescue.

But French’s ordeal didn’t end there. As he later recounted, as recorded by Chester Wright in Black Men and Blue Water, French and other uninjured soldiers were taken to a rest camp by their rescuers, who wanted to separate French from the white sailors. To French’s surprise, the sailors insisted that French stay with them as a fellow member of Gregory’s crew.

“Them white boys stood up for me,” French emotionally told Wright.

The story of Charles Jackson French’s heroism was later made public by Adrian, who described it on a radio program called It Happened in the Service in October 1942, according to Swimming World Magazine. Adrian had never learned French’s full name — he and the others only knew him as “French” — but he fully credited him for their rescue that day.

“I can assure you that all the men on that raft are grateful to mess attendant French for his brave action off Guadacanal that night,” Adrian said.

The story was soon picked up by the national news, and Charles Jackson French was identified by NBC. He was celebrated across the country, featured in a comic strip, and lauded by the Black press.

Adrian “and other white Americans owe their LIVES to a black man whom he identified as a ‘mess attendant named French,'” the Pittsburgh Courier, a Black newspaper, wrote after French was identified.

The newspaper continued: “Although Mess Attendant Charles Jackson French of Arkansas was not in a heroic job, he MADE a heroic job out of it. He who had been looked down upon as a caste man, frozen in status, suddenly was looked up to as a SAVIOUR.”

Though rumors spread that Charles Jackson French might be awarded the Navy Cross, he was given only a letter of commendation from Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., the then-commander of the Southern Pacific Fleet.

French may have been denied the medal because a Silver Star was awarded to one of his superiors — and it was unprecedented to award a higher medal to a subordinate. But the Omaha World-Herald noted some decades later that future president John F. Kennedy had been given the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for a similar act of bravery.

After his service on the USS Gregory, Charles Jackson French didn’t rest on his laurels. He returned to his role in the mess on the USS Endicott and the USS Frankford, and witnessed D-Day and the invasion of southern France.

After World War II ended, French faded from the public eye. Black Past reports that he suffered from alcoholism and depression, and passed away on Nov. 7, 1956, in San Diego, California. He was only 37 years old.

But since then, there’s been a push to give this forgotten World War II hero his due. In April 2021, a post about French from the International Swimming Hall of Fame revived his story. And a year later, Rear Admiral Charles Brown, the Navy public affairs officer, presented eight of French’s relatives with a posthumous Navy and Marine Corps Medal — just like Kennedy’s.

“It will inspire generations of sailors,” Brown said at the medal ceremony, reported by the Omaha World-Herald. “It’s a story of the best of who we are.”

French has been honored in other ways, too. A training pool at Naval Base San Diego was named after French, and a post office in his hometown of Omaha also bears his name.

Black History Month Day 24

#black history facts #black history month #blackhistory #black lives matter

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octuscle · 10 days

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Old

When you're skinny and weak, it's no fun being young. Richard wasn't even particularly clever or funny or charismatic. Richhard was just a lop! No longer being 18. No longer being mistaken for 16. No longer being bullied… Richard wanted nothing more! Regularly attending a gym seemed the logical consequence. Train hard. That must lead to muscles. And tougher facial features. And more respect from others…. But the first few visits to the gym were more than demoralizing. The other guys here were so much bigger than him. He looked ridiculous in his cheap clothes from school sports. Richard moved his work outs to the early mornings or late evenings when he was almost alone. At some point he was asked if he would like to earn a few extra dollars. Soon, when he trained in the evening, Richard would lock up the gym after his workout, clean up, mop the floor and get everything ready for the next morning. This had many advantages. He had money for better clothes and even got an employee discount at the gym store. And he could train completely alone and undisturbed after the official end of business.

That had an effect. Slowly. Far too slowly. After six months, perhaps no one was laughing at Richrad anymore. But no one showed him any respect from the members or colleagues who occasionally crossed his path despite his training and working hours.

Richard had already heard about this Chronivac. It was used to support particularly solvent customers with their transformations. The device had to be in the managing director's office. But it was always locked there. There was no chance of getting to the device. Until this one evening. The evening when Richard walked through the corridors with the mop. And the door to the office was open. Wide open. And this device was lying on the desk. Obviously on. The display bathed the office in a very faint blue light.

"Scanning the client" was written on the display… It looked like a normal smartphone app. Richard pressed "okay" and a monitor appeared. Richard held the device in front of his face. There was no button like on a camera. But after a few moments there was an acoustic signal and the message "Number of virtual training units" appeared on the display. Damn, what was that supposed to mean? Was the device simulating training sessions? Richard trained three times a week. 12 times a month. 144 times a year. It would be cool to be four years older. 22 years old. A college jock who had been training hard for four years. Richard did a quick mental calculation. That was about… He heard footsteps. Shit! 500 had to be about right. He typed in 600 and pressed enter. And carefully put the device back on the desk. Hopefully that had worked. He took the mop and ran to the showers. And while he was mopping the floor, Nick, the manager, came in. He greeted Richard and asked if everything was OK. It was already late and Richard should leave. All right, Richard replied. The message "Transformation started. Perform 500 monthly training cycles. Transformation within the next eight hours."

As he has done for almost 42 years, Rick was one of the first to enter the gym. He had been a member longer than any other guy pumping here. Longer than anyone who worked here. Rick was simply part of the inventory. He was the janitor, the manager, the go-to guy here. And a role model for every man who trained here. Yes, Rick had never become one of the musclemen who also trained here. But he had also always been clean. Never cheated. And a body that still worked like a well-oiled machine despite his almost 60 years of life was his thanks. Yes, his beard and hair were gray. But he still had the body of a 30-year-old athlete. And with that, he had honestly earned the respect of everyone here.

Inspiration by @workinprogress1986

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #age progression #ai image

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growingstories · 9 months

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Side business

Gianni, a 23-year-old marketeer that recently graduated, landed a job as a junior press officer at a prestigious Italian fashion brand. As he embarked on his exciting new career, he began sharing his adventures on social media. His Instagram account quickly gained popularity, attracting an audience of over 50,000 followers.

His boss discovered Gianni's growing online influence and recognized its potential. Impressed by his ability to engage with an audience, Gianni was promoted to a senior position within the company. His boss even suggested a plan for Gianni to collaborate with other influencers and showcase outfits before they hit the stores. This strategy greatly boosted the brand's sales and left everyone involved thrilled with the results.

Gianni's online presence caught the attention of travel brands, who saw a perfect opportunity to collaborate with him. Combining his passion for travel with his current job seemed like a dream come true. Eventually, Gianni was offered a different position that allowed him to travel the world as a brand ambassador and head of social media. This proved to be a tremendous success, as he earned money by partnering with other brands and posting about their products. His healthy lifestyle and fitness journey also made him a sought-after expert, leading to features in renowned publications like Vogue, Vanity Fair, and G.Q Gianni's popularity continued to rise, and he enjoyed the luxury of a lavish lifestyle, complete with a glamorous personal trainer, Francesco. Francesco drives a Porsche and loves fancy watches.

For many years, Gianni thrived, giving Ted talks and attending exclusive parties, collaborating with numerous companies and earning substantial amounts of money. He even purchased a grand house in Tuscany and shared the renovation process online, engaging his followers with step-by-step updates and showcasing furniture brands.

Eventually, Gianni decided to leave his day job and focus solely on endorsement deals. He started offering online courses, recording podcasts from his home studio, and hosting, pay exclusive-per-view live Q&A sessions for his subscribers. While Gianni received many tempting offers of a sexual nature, he always declined. However, one evening, after consuming a few drinks, he engaged in a private, sexually explicit Q&A session with a follower named Franco89. This opened the door to more explicit conversations and eventually led Gianni to create a secret OnlyFans account. There, he redirected fans who desired sexually oriented content, including Franco89.

FitFrank, who Gianni initially didn't recognize, messaged him one day. Their conversations quickly evolved, and they eventually engaged in virtual intimate encounters. Although Gianni had his reservations, FitFrank eventually persuaded him to participate in paid jerk-off sessions, which they conducted weekly.

Amidst his immense success, Gianni received fan mail, flowers, and outfits from well-known brands. Due to his excellent physique, he could easily request any outfit he desired. One day, he found a box of cupcakes and received message a from FitFrank insinuating that he knew about the cupcakes. Initially Gianni dismissed, it, assuming it was a coincidence. However, after tasting and enjoying the cupcakes during one of his live sessions, FitFrank sent him a message, revealing that he was aware of Gianni’s indulgence. Intrigued, Gianni engaged in a conversation with FitFrank, who made an unusual offer: €100 for each cupcake Gianni ate during a live session. Although Gianni hesitated at first, FitFrank increased the offer to €1000 for two live eating sessions per month. Succumbing to the allure of the lucrative deal, Gianni agreed to indulge himself weekly.

Gianni's popularity continued to soar, and endorsement offers poured in, particularly for swimwear. Whenever he posted about a particular brand, it sold out immediately. His fit body, dedication to fitness, and healthy eating habits had transformed him into a lifestyle specialist, attracting media attention from magazines such as Vogue, Vanity Fair, and GQ.

However, as Gianni's workload increased, he found less time for travel and decided to reduce his trips. Instead, he focused on providing online courses and hosting events exclusively in Italy. He also introduced paid subscriptions for his live Q&A sessions, further boosting his income.

Despite his success, Gianni couldn't help but notice his clothes becoming tighter. Concerned about his appearance, he decided to end his deal with FitFrank and ignored his messages. However, FitFrank responded by sending cupcakes every morning, tempting Gianni to continue their arrangement. Eventually, FitFrank offered even more money, €1000 per cake. Gianni decided to extend the deal for one more month.

The cakes became larger and more challenging to consume, but Gianni managed to complete each one. FitFrank saw Gianni's dedication and increased the offer to €5000 per month after the last cake. Although the cakes grew in size, Gianni determination remained unwavering.

Despite his success, Gianni's lifestyle began to take a toll on his physique. Personal trainer Francesco expressed concern and suggested a diet to help Gianni lose weight. Francesco feared that having a visibly overweight ambassador would harm his own reputation. Gianni understood the need for change and revealed his to followers that he had gained weight during a renovation project. He created a weight loss program with Francesco for his fans, which received a positive response during the pre-sale phase.

However, Gianni's weight gain continued, exacerbated by his ongoing indulgence in FitFrank's cakes and cupcakes. Francesco confronted Gianni during a live session, shocked by his additional weight gain. Promising to do better, Gianni continued his collaboration with Francesco, now paying for the fitness program.

After two weeks, Gianni realized that his efforts were futile, and he had only gained more weight. Francesco, furious with Gianni's lack of progress, demanded that he publicly announce the end of their collaboration or face legal consequences. Gianni reluctantly complied, confessing to his followers that he was too weak to continue the program. He stepped on the scale and broke down in tears at realization that he the had gained a significant amount of weight.

Confused and desperate, Gianni questioned why he had continued the eating sessions despite having no financial need. Was it simply for attention? FitFrank, aware of Gianni's struggles, initiated a deep conversation that evening, forming a strong connection between them.

As Gianni's weight continued to increase due to FitFrank's challenges and his own overulindgence, he embarked on a four-week, all-inclusive trip to various resorts. The luxurious accommodations offered exquisite indulgences, leaving little time for exercise and fitness. He found himself in a predicament when thewear swim brands he had collaborated with realized his significant weight gain, causing them to distance themselves from him. Gianni grew about anxious his future and impact the his weight gain would have on his career.

During this uncertain time, FitFrank remained a constant presence, sending messages and offering support. Feeling a sense of care and connection, Gianni appreciated FitFrank's attention. They grew closer, building a relationship that felt as though they had known each other for years.

To salvage his career, Gianni had to lose weight, but the temptation of indulgent food and alcohol endorsements made it difficult to stick to his diet. In a desperate move, he accepted a deal with a champagne brand to become their brand ambassador for a year. This involved a week-long trip to a champagne mansion to sample the entire range and create content. The trip consisted of lavish tastings and extravagant meals, leaving Gianni hungover and on the brink of failure. He returned home feeling exhausted and defeated.

Gianni's weight became a source of worry, both for himself and the brands he had collaborated with. FitFrank continued to send him chocolates, and Gianni, feeling discouraged, started eating them. When FitFrank reached out, Gianni confessed his struggles, and their conversation became progressively intimate. However, during one chat, a technical glitch revealed FitFrank's identity, leaving Gianni enraged.

Confronting Francesco at the gym, Gianni discovered his personal trainer's secret life as a creator of weight gain content. Francesco had been secretly livestreaming and profiting from Gianni's weight gain journey, while driving an extravagant lifestyle. Francesco confessed to making over €450,000 from donations by viewers fascinated with Gianni's transformation.

Feeling betrayed by Francesco, Gianni hatched a plan to regain control. He proposed a new arrangement to FitFrank, demanding a majority of the revenue, FitFrank's authentic appearance and FitFrank joins in on food challenges. If FitFrank refused, Gianni threatened to expose him to his clients. Relantly, Francesco agreed, realizing that he had little choice if he wanted to maintain his luxurious lifestyle.

Together, Gianni and FitFrank continued their indulgent food challenges, delighting their followers with their ever-expanding physiques. FitFrank's following and body grew, and their loyal fans paid top dollar for their content. The money poured in, but Gianni couldn't help but wonder if his obsession with food and attention had gone too far. And how far will he go?

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #weightgain #weightgainstories #fictionalstories #wg fantasy #wg fiction

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mariacallous · 1 month

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If Benjamin Netanyahu had accepted defeat in June 2021, finally yielding the stage to a coalition of his opponents, he could have retired at the age of 71 with a decent claim to having been one of Israel’s more successful prime ministers.

He had already surpassed the time in office of Israel’s founder, David Ben-Gurion, becoming the country’s longest-serving prime minister in 2019. His second stretch in office, from 2009 to 2021, coincided with perhaps the best 12 years Israel had known since its founding in 1948. The country enjoyed relative security, with no major wars or prolonged Intifadas. The period was one of uninterrupted economic growth and prosperity. Thanks to its early adoption of widespread vaccination, Israel was one of the first countries in the world to emerge from the coronavirus pandemic. And toward the end of that span came three agreements establishing diplomatic relations with Arab countries; more were likely on the way.

Twelve years of Netanyahu’s leadership had seemingly made Israel more secure and prosperous, with deep trade and defense ties across the world. But this wasn’t enough to win him another term. A majority of Israelis had tired of him, and he had been tainted by charges of bribery and fraud in his dealings with billionaires and press barons. In the space of 24 months, Israel held four elections ending in stalemate, with neither Netanyahu nor his rivals winning a majority. Finally, an unlikely alliance of right-wing, centrist, left-wing, and Islamist parties managed to band together and replace him with his former aide Naftali Bennett in June 2021.

At that point, Netanyahu could have sealed his legacy. A plea bargain on offer from the attorney general would have ended his corruption trial with a conviction on reduced charges and no jail time. He would have had to leave politics, probably for good. Over the course of four decades in public life, including 15 years as prime minister and 22 as the Likud party’s leader, he had already left an indelible mark on Israel, dominating the second half of its history. But he couldn’t bear the thought of giving up power.

Within 18 months, he was back as prime minister for the third time. The unwieldy coalition that replaced him had imploded, and this time around, Netanyahu’s camp of far-right and religious parties ran a disciplined campaign, exploiting the weaknesses of their divided rivals to emerge with a small parliamentary majority, despite still being virtually tied in the vote count.

Nine months later, Netanyahu, the man who promised, above everything else, to deliver security for Israel’s citizens, presided over the darkest day in his country’s existence. A total breakdown of the Israeli military and intelligence structure allowed Hamas to breach Israel’s border and embark on a rampage of murder, kidnapping, and rape, killing more than 1,100 Israelis and taking more than 250 hostage. The calamities of that day, the failures of leadership leading up to it, and the traumas it caused will haunt Israel for generations. Even leaving completely aside the war he has prosecuted since that day and its yet-unknown end, October 7 means that Netanyahu will always be remembered as Israel’s worst-ever leader.

How does one measure a prime minister?

There is no broadly accepted ranking of the 13 men and one woman who have led Israel, but most lists would feature David Ben-Gurion at the top. Not only was he the George Washington of the Jewish state, proclaiming its independence just three years after a third of the Jewish people had been exterminated in the Holocaust, but his administration established many of the institutions and policies that define Israel to this day. Other favorites include Levi Eshkol, for his shrewd and prudent leadership in the tense weeks before the Six Day War, and Menachem Begin, for achieving the country’s first peace agreement with an Arab nation, Egypt.

All three of these men had mixed records and detractors, of course. Ben-Gurion had autocratic tendencies and was consumed by party infighting during his later years in office. After the Six Day War, Eshkol failed to deliver a coherent plan for what Israel should do with the new territories it occupied and the Palestinians who have remained under its rule ever since. In Begin’s second term, Israel entered a disastrous war in Lebanon, and his government nearly tanked the economy. But in most Israelis’ minds, these leaders’ positive legacies outweigh the negatives.

Who are the “worst prime ministers”? Until now, most Israelis regarded Golda Meir as the top candidate for that dismal title. The intelligence failure leading to the Yom Kippur War was on her watch. Before the war, she rejected Egyptian overtures toward peace (though some Israeli historians have recently argued that these were less than sincere). And when war was clearly imminent, her administration refrained from launching preemptive attacks that could have saved the lives of hundreds of soldiers.

Other “worst” candidates have included Ehud Olmert, for launching the second Lebanon war and becoming Israel’s first former prime minister to go to prison for corruption; Yitzhak Shamir, for kiboshing an agreement with Jordan’s King Hussein that many believe could have been a significant step toward resolving the Israel-Palestinian conflict; and Ehud Barak, for spectacularly failing to fulfill his extravagant promises to bring peace with both the Palestinians and Syria.

But Benjamin Netanyahu now surpasses these contenders by orders of magnitude. He has brought far-right extremists into the mainstream of government and made himself, and the country, beholden to them. His corruption is flamboyant. And he has made terrible security decisions that brought existential danger to the country he pledged to lead and protect. Above all, his selfishness is without parallel: He has put his own interests ahead of Israel’s at every turn.

Netanyahu has the distinction of being the only Israeli prime minister to make a once reviled movement on the right fringe of the country’s politics into a government stakeholder.

Rabbi Meir Kahane, the founder of a Jewish-supremacist group called Kach, won a lone seat in the Knesset in 1984. He openly called for replacing Israeli democracy with a constitution based on the laws of the Torah and for denying Israel’s Arab citizens equal rights. During Kahane’s single legislative term, the entire Israeli political establishment shunned him. When he got up to speak in the Knesset, all of its members would leave the plenum.

In 1985, Likud joined other parties in changing election law so that those who denied Israel’s democratic identity, denied its Jewish identity, or incited racism could be barred from running for office. Under this provision, Kach was never allowed to compete in another election. Kahane was assassinated in New York in 1990. Four years later, a member of his movement killed 29 Muslims at prayer in Hebron, and the Israeli government proscribed Kach as a terror organization and forced it to disband.

But the Kahanists didn’t go away. With each Israeli election, they tried to rename their movement and adjust its platform to conform with electoral law. They remained ostracized. Then, in 2019, Netanyahu saw a roadblock on his path to reelection that they could help him get around.

Several Israeli parties had pledged not to serve in a government led by an indicted prime minister—quite possibly, enough of them to shut Netanyahu out of power. To prevent that from happening, Netanyahu needed to eke out every possible right-wing and religious vote for his potential coalition. The polls were predicting that the latest Kahanist iteration, the Jewish Power party, which is led by the thuggish but media-savvy Itamar Ben-Gvir, would receive only about 10,000 votes, well below the threshold needed to make the party a player on its own; but Netanyahu believed that if he could persuade the Kahanists and other small right-wing parties to merge their candidates’ lists into a joint slate, together they could win a seat or two for his potential coalition—just what he needed for a majority.

Netanyahu began pressuring the leaders of the small right-wing parties to merge their lists. At first the larger of these were outraged. Netanyahu was meddling in their affairs and, worse, trying to coerce them to accept the Kahanist outcasts. Gradually, he wore down their resistance—employing rabbis to persuade politicians, orchestrating media campaigns in the nationalist press, and promising central roles in future administrations. Media figures close to Netanyahu accused Bezalel Smotrich, a fundamentalist settler and the new leader of the religious Zionist party, of “endangering” the nation by making it easier for the hated left to win the election. Soon enough, Smotrich’s old-school national-religious party merged not only with Ben-Gvir’s Jewish Power but with an even more obscure, proudly homophobic party led by Avi Maoz.

Netanyahu did worry a bit about the optics. Throughout five stalemated election campaigns from 2019 to 2022, Likud coordinated closely with Jewish Power, but Netanyahu refused to be seen in public with Ben-Gvir. During the 2022 campaign, at a religious festival, he even waited backstage for Ben-Gvir to leave the premises before going up to make his speech.

Two weeks later, there was no longer any need to keep up the act. Netanyahu’s strategy succeeded: His coalition, merged into four lists, edged out its squabbling opponents with 64 of the Knesset’s 120 seats.

Netanyahu finally had the “right-wing in full” government he had often promised. But before he could return to the prime minister’s office, his allies demanded a division of the spoils. The ministries with the most influence on Israelis’ daily lives—health, housing, social services, and the interior—went to the ultra-Orthodox parties. Smotrich became finance minister; Maoz was appointed deputy minister in charge of a new “Agency for Jewish Identity,” with power to intervene in educational programs. And Ben-Gvir, the subject of numerous police investigations for violence and incitement over a period of three decades, was put in charge of a newly titled “Ministry of National Security,” with authority over Israel’s police and prison services.

As Netanyahu signed away power to the Kahanists, he told the international news media that he wasn’t forming a far-right government. The Kahanists were joining his government. He would be in control. But Netanyahu hadn’t just given Israel’s most extreme racists unprecedented power and legitimacy. He’d also insinuated them into his own formerly mainstream party: By March 2024, Likud’s candidates for local elections in a handful of towns had merged their slates with those of Jewish Power.

Likud long prided itself on combining staunch Jewish nationalism, even militarism, with a commitment to liberal democracy. But a more radical stream within the party eschewed those liberal values and championed chauvinistic and autocratic positions. For much of the past century, the liberal wing was dominant and provided most of the party’s leadership. Netanyahu himself espoused the values of the liberal wing—until he fell out with all the main liberal figures. By 2019, none was left to oppose the alliance with Ben-Gvir’s Kahanists.

Now more than a third of Likud’s representatives were religious, and those who weren’t preferred to call themselves “traditional” rather than secular. They didn’t object to cooperating with the Kahanists; indeed, many had already worked with them in the past. In fact, many Likud Knesset members by that point were indistinguishable from the Jewish Power ones. Israel’s worst prime minister didn’t just form an alliance of convenience with the country’s most irresponsible extremists; he made them integral to his party and the running of the state.

That Netanyahu is personally corrupt is not altogether novel in the history of the Israeli prime ministership. What makes him worse than others is his open contempt for the rule of law.

By 2018, Netanyahu was the subject of four simultaneous corruption investigations that had been in motion for more than a year. In one, known as Case 4000, Netanyahu stood accused of promising regulatory favors to the owner of Israel’s largest telecom corporation in return for favorable coverage on a popular news site. Three of the prime minister’s closest advisers had agreed to testify against him.

Investigations of prime ministers are not rare in Israel. Netanyahu was the subject of one during his first term. The three prime ministers who served in the decade between his first and second terms—Ehud Barak, Ariel Sharon, and Ehud Olmert—had all been investigated as well. Only in Olmert’s case did police deem the evidence sufficient to mount a prosecution. At the time, in 2008, Netanyahu was the leader of the opposition.

“We’re talking about a prime minister who is up to his neck in investigations and has no public or moral mandate to make fateful decisions for Israel,” Netanyahu said of Olmert. “There is a concern, I have to say real, not without basis, that he will make decisions based on his personal interest of political survival and not on the national interest.”

Ten years later, Netanyahu would be the one snared in multiple investigations. Then he no longer spoke of corruption in high office but of a “witch hunt,” orchestrated by rogue police commanders and left-wing state prosecutors, and egged on by a hostile news media, all with the aim of toppling a right-wing leader.

Netanyahu was determined to politicize the legal procedure and pit his supporters against Israel’s law-enforcement agencies and judiciary. Never mind that the two previous prime ministers who had resigned because of corruption charges were from the center left. Nor did it matter that he had appointed the police commissioner and attorney general himself; both were deeply religious men with impeccable nationalist backgrounds, but he tarred them as perfidious tools of leftist conspiracy.

Rather than contemplate resignation, on May 24, 2020, Netanyahu became the first sitting Israeli prime minister to go on trial. He has denied all wrongdoing (the trial is still under way). In a courthouse corridor before one session, he gave a 15-minute televised speech accusing the legal establishment of “trying to topple me and the right-wing government. For over a decade, the left wing have failed to do this at the ballot box, and in recent years have come up with a new idea. Elements in the police and prosecutor’s office have joined left-wing journalists to concoct delusional charges.”

The law didn’t require Netanyahu to resign while fighting the charges against him in court. But doing so had seemed logical to his predecessors under similar circumstances—and to Israel’s lawmakers, who had never envisaged that a prime minister would so brazenly challenge the justice system, which he had a duty to uphold. For Netanyahu, however, remaining in power was an end in itself, one more important than preserving Israel’s most crucial institutions, to say nothing of Israelis’ trust in them.

Netanyahu placed extremists in positions of power, undermined confidence in the rule of law, and sacrificed principle to power. Little wonder, then, that last summer, tensions over the role of Israel’s judiciary became unmanageable. The crisis underlined all of these reasons that Netanyahu should go down as Israel’s worst prime minister.

For 34 of the past 47 years, Israel’s prime ministers have come from the Likud party. And yet many on the right still grumble that “Likud doesn’t know how to rule” and “you vote right and get left.” Likudniks complain about the lingering power of “the elites,” a left-wing minority that loses at the ballot box but still controls the civil service, the upper echelons of the security establishment, the universities, and the media. A growing anti-judicial wing within Likud demands constitutional change and a clamping-down on the supreme court’s “judicial activism.”

Netanyahu had once minimized these complaints, but his stance on the judiciary changed after he was indicted in 2019. Indeed, at the start of his current term, Likud’s partners demanded commitments to constitutional change, which they received. The ultra-Orthodox parties were anxious to pass a law exempting religious seminary students from military service. Such exemptions had already fallen afoul of the supreme court’s equality standards, so the religious parties wanted the law to include a “court bypass.” Netanyahu acceded to this. To pass the legislation in the Knesset, he appointed Simcha Rothman, a staunch critic of the court, as the chair of the Knesset’s Constitution Committee.

He also appointed Yariv Levin, another fierce critic of the court, as justice minister. Just six days after the new government was sworn in, Levin rolled out a “judicial reform” plan, prepared by a conservative think tank, that called for drastically limiting the court’s powers to review legislation and gave politicians control over the appointment of new justices.

Within days, an extremely efficient counter-campaign pointed out the dangers the plan posed, not just to Israel’s fragile and limited democracy, but to its economy and security. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis protested in the streets. Likud began to drop in the polls, and Netanyahu privately urged the leaders of the coalition parties to delay the vote. They refused to back down, and Levin threatened to resign over any delay.

Netanyahu’s motives, unlike those of his partners, were not ideological. His objective was political survival. He needed to keep his hard-won majority intact and the judges off-balance. But the protests were unrelenting. Netanyahu’s independent-minded defense minister, Yoav Gallant, pointed to the controversy’s dire implications for the Israel Defense Forces as hundreds of volunteer reserve officers threatened to suspend their service rather than “serve a dictatorship.”

Netanyahu wasn’t sure he wanted to go through with the judicial coup, but the idea of one of Likud’s senior ministers breaking ranks in public was unthinkable. On March 25 of last year, Gallant made a public statement that the constitutional legislation was a “clear and major threat to the security of Israel” and he would not be voting for it. The next evening, Netanyahu announced that he was firing Gallant.

In Jerusalem, protesters besieged Netanyahu’s home. In Tel Aviv, they blocked main highways. The next morning, the trade unions announced a general strike, and by that evening, Netanyahu backed down, announcing that he was suspending the legislation and would hold talks with the opposition on finding compromises. Gallant kept his post. The talks collapsed, protests started up again, and Netanyahu once again refused to listen to the warnings coming from the security establishment—not only of anger within the IDF, but that Israel’s enemies were planning to take advantage of the country’s disunity to launch an attack.

The debate over judicial reform pitted two visions of Israel against each other. On one side was a liberal and secular Israel that relied on the supreme court to defend its democratic values; on the other, a religious and conservative Israel that feared that unelected judges would impose incompatible ideas on their Jewish values.

Netanyahu’s government made no attempt to reconcile these two visions. The prime minister had spent too many years, and all those toxic electoral campaigns, exploiting and deepening the rift between them. Even when he belatedly and halfheartedly tried to rein in the radical and fundamentalist demons he had ridden back into office, he found that he could no longer control them.

Whether Netanyahu really meant to eviscerate Israel’s supreme court as part of a plot to weaken the judiciary and intimidate the judges in his own case, or whether he had no choice in the matter and was simply a hostage of his own coalition, is immaterial. What matters is that he appointed Levin as justice minister and permitted the crisis to happen. Ultimately, and despite his professed belief in liberal democracy, Netanyahu allowed Levin and his coalition partners to convince him that they were doing the right thing—because whatever kept him in office was right for Israel. Democracy would remain strong because he would remain in charge.

Trying to diminish the powers of the supreme court isn’t what makes Netanyahu Israel’s worst prime minister. The judicial reform failed anyway. Only one of its elements got through the Knesset before the war with Hamas began, and the court struck it down as unconstitutional six months later. The justices’ ruling to preserve their powers, despite the Knesset’s voting to limit them, could have caused a constitutional crisis if it had happened in peacetime. But by then Israel was facing a much bigger crisis.

Given Israel’s history, the ultimate yardstick of its leaders’ success is the security they deliver for their fellow citizens. In 2017, as I was finishing my unauthorized biography of Netanyahu, I commissioned a data analyst to calculate the average annual casualty rate (Israeli civilians and soldiers) of each prime minister since 1948. The results confirmed what I had already assumed. In the 11 years that Netanyahu had by then been prime minister, the average annual number of Israelis killed in war and terror attacks was lower, by a considerable margin, than under any previous prime minister.

My book on Netanyahu was not admiring. But I felt that it was only fair to include that data point in his favor in the epilogue and the very last footnote. Likud went on to use it in its 2019 campaigns without attributing the source.

The numbers were hard to argue with. Netanyahu was a hard-line prime minister who had done everything in his power to derail the Oslo peace process and prevent any move toward compromise with the Palestinians. Throughout much of his career, he encouraged military action by the West, first against Iraq after 9/11, and then against Iran. But in his years as prime minister, he balked at initiating or being dragged into wars of his own. His risk aversion and preference for covert operations or air strikes rather than ground operations had, in his first two stretches in power, from 1996 to 1999 and 2009 to 2021, kept Israelis relatively safe.

Netanyahu supporters on the right could also argue, on basis of the numbers, that those who brought bloodshed upon Israel, in the form of Palestinian suicide bombings and rocket attacks, were actually Yitzhak Rabin and Shimon Peres, the architects of the Oslo Accords; Ehud Barak, with his rash attempts to bring peace; and Ariel Sharon, who withdrew Israeli soldiers and settlers unilaterally from Gaza in 2005, creating the conditions for Hamas’s electoral victory there the following year. That argument no longer holds.

If future biographers of Israeli prime ministers undertake a similar analysis, Netanyahu will no longer be able to claim the lowest casualty rate. His 16th year in office, 2023, was the third-bloodiest in Israel’s history, surpassed only by 1948 and 1973, Israel’s first year of independence and the year of the Yom Kippur War, respectively.

The first nine months of 2023 had already seen a rise in deadly violence in the West Bank and East Jerusalem, as well as terrorist attacks within Israel’s borders. Then came the Hamas attack on October 7, in which at least 1,145 Israelis were massacred and 253 kidnapped and taken to Gaza. More than 30 hostages are now confirmed dead.

No matter how the war in Gaza ends, what happens in its aftermath, or when Netanyahu’s term finally ends, the prime minister will forever be associated above all with that day and the disastrous war that followed. He will go down as the worst prime minister because he has been catastrophic for Israeli security.

To understand how Netanyahu so drastically failed Israel’s security requires going back at least to 2015, the year his long-term strategic bungling of the Iranian threat came into view. His mishandling didn’t happen in isolation; it is also related to the deprioritization of other threats, including the catastrophe that materialized on October 7.

Netanyahu flew to Washington, D.C., in 2015 to implore U.S. lawmakers to obstruct President Barack Obama’s nuclear deal with Iran. Many view this gambit as extraordinarily damaging to Israel’s most crucial alliance—the relationship with the United States is the very bulwark of its security. Perhaps so; but the stunt didn’t make subsequent U.S. administrations less supportive of Israel. Even Obama would still go on to sign the largest 10-year package of military aid to Israel the year after Netanyahu’s speech. Rather, the damage Netanyahu caused by presuming too much of the United States wasn’t to the relationship, but to Israel itself.

Netanyahu’s strategy regarding Iran was based on his assumption that America would one day launch an attack on Iran’s nuclear program. We know this from his 2022 book, Bibi: My Story, in which he admits to arguing repeatedly with Obama “for an American strike on Iran’s nuclear facilities.” Senior Israeli officials have confirmed that he expected Donald Trump to launch such a strike as well. In fact, Netanyahu was so sure that Trump, unlike Obama, would give the order that he had no strategy in place for dealing with Iran’s nuclear program when Trump decided, at Netanyahu’s own urging, to withdraw from the Iran deal in May 2018.

Israel’s military and intelligence chiefs had been far from enamored with the Iran deal, but they’d seized the opportunity it presented to divert some of the intelligence resources that had been focused on Iran’s nuclear program to other threats, particularly Tehran’s network of proxies across the region. They were caught by surprise when the Trump administration ditched the Iran deal (Netanyahu knew it was coming but didn’t inform them). This unilateral withdrawal effectively removed the limitations on Iran’s nuclear development and required an abrupt reversal of Israeli priorities.

Senior Israeli officials I spoke with had to tread a wary path here. Those who were still in active service couldn’t challenge the prime minister’s strategy directly. But in private some were scathing about the lack of a coherent strategy on Iran. “It takes years to build intelligence capabilities. You can’t just change target priorities overnight,” one told me.

The result was a dissipation of Israeli efforts to stop Iran—which is committed to the destruction of Israel. Iran sped further than ever down the path of uranium enrichment, and its proxies, including the Houthis in Yemen and Hezbollah on Israel’s northern border, grew ever more powerful.

In the months leading up to October 7, Israel’s intelligence community repeatedly warned Netanyahu that Iran and its proxies were plotting a major attack within Israel, though few envisaged something on the scale of October 7. By the fall of 2023, motives were legion: fear that an imminent Israeli diplomatic breakthrough with Saudi Arabia could change the geopolitics of the region; threats that Ben-Gvir would allow Jews greater access to the al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem and worsen conditions for Palestinian prisoners; rumors that the deepening tensions within Israeli society would render any response to an attack slow and disjointed.

Netanyahu chose to ignore the warnings. The senior officers and intelligence chiefs who issued them were, to his mind, conspiring with the law-enforcement agencies and legal establishment that had put him on trial and were trying to obstruct his government’s legislation. None of them had his experience and knowledge of the real threats facing Israel. Hadn’t he been right in the past when he’d refused to listen to leftist officials and so-called experts?

Hamas’s surprise attack on October 7 was the result of a colossal failure at all levels of Israel’s security and intelligence community. They had all seen the warning signals but continued to believe that the main threat came from Hezbollah, the larger and far better-equipped and trained enemy to the north. Israel’s security establishment believed that Hamas was isolated in Gaza, and that it and the other Palestinian organizations had been effectively deterred from attacking Israel.

Netanyahu was the originator of this assumption, and its biggest proponent. He believed that keeping Hamas in power in Gaza, as it had been for nearly two years when he returned to office in 2009, was in Israel’s interest. Periodic rocket attacks on Israeli communities in the south were a price worth paying to keep the Palestinian movement split between the Fatah-dominated Palestinian Authority in the West Bank enclaves and Hamas in Gaza. Such division would push the troublesome two-state solution off the global agenda and allow Israel to focus on regional alliances with like-minded Arab autocracies that also feared Iran. The Palestinian issue would sink into irrelevance.

Netanyahu’s disastrous strategy regarding Gaza and Hamas is part of what makes him Israel’s worst prime minister, but it’s not the only factor. Previous Israeli prime ministers, too, blundered into bloody wars on the basis of misguided strategies and faulty advice from their military and intelligence advisers.

Netanyahu stands out from them for his refusal to accept responsibility, and for his political machinations and smear campaigns since October 7. He blames IDF generals and nourishes the conspiracy theory that they, in alliance with the protest movement, somehow allowed October 7 to happen.

Netanyahu believes that he is the ultimate victim of that tragic day. Convinced by his own campaign slogans, he argues that he is the only one who can deliver Israel from this valley of shadows to the sunlit uplands of “total victory.” He refuses to consider any advice about ending the war and continues to prioritize preserving his coalition, because he appears incapable of distinguishing between his own fate, now tainted by tragic failure, and that of Israel.

Many around the world assume that Israel’s war with Hamas has proceeded according to some plan of Netanyahu’s. This is a mistake. Netanyahu has the last word as prime minister and head of the emergency war cabinet, but he has used his power mainly to prevaricate, procrastinate, and obstruct. He delayed the initial ground offensive into Gaza, hesitated for weeks over the first truce and hostage-release agreement in November, and is now doing the same over another such deal with Hamas. For the past six months, he has prevented any meaningful cabinet discussion of Israel’s strategic goals. He has rejected the proposals of his own security establishment and the Biden administration. He presented vague principles for “the day after Hamas” to the cabinet only in late February, and they have yet to be debated.

However one views the war in Gaza—as a justified war of defense in which Hamas is responsible for the civilian casualties it has cynically hidden behind, or as an intentional genocide of the Palestinian people, or as anything in between—none of it is Netanyahu’s plan. That’s because Netanyahu has no plan for Gaza, only one for remaining in power. His obstructionism, his showdowns with generals, his confrontations with the Biden administration—all are focused on that end, which means preserving his far-right coalition and playing to his hard-core nationalist base.

Meanwhile, he’s doing what he has always done: wearing down and discrediting his political opponents in the hope of proving to an exhausted and traumatized public that he’s the only alternative. So far, he’s failing. Polls show that an overwhelming majority of Israelis want him gone. But Netanyahu is fending off calls to hold an early election until he believes he is within striking distance of winning.

Netanyahu’s ambition has consumed both him and Israel. To regain and remain in office, he has sacrificed his own authority and parceled out power to the most extreme politicians. Since his reelection in 2022, Netanyahu is no longer the center of power but a vacuum, a black hole that has engulfed all of Israel’s political energy. His weakness has given the far right and religious fundamentalists extraordinary control over Israel’s affairs, while other segments of the population are left to pursue the never-ending quest to end his reign.

One man’s pursuit of power has diverted Israel from confronting its most urgent priorities: the threat from Iran, the conflict with the Palestinians, the desire to nurture a Westernized society and economy in the most contested corner of the Middle East, the internal contradictions between democracy and religion, the clash between tribal phobias and high-tech hopes. Netanyahu’s obsession with his own destiny as Israel’s protector has caused his country grievous damage.

Most Israelis already realize that Netanyahu is the worst of the 14 prime ministers their country has had in its 76 years of independence. But in the future, Jews might even remember him as the leader who inflicted the most harm on his people since the squabbling Hasmonean kings brought civil war and Roman occupation to Judea nearly 21 centuries ago. As long as he remains in power, he could yet surpass them.

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fallatyourfeet · 1 year

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Faded Shadows (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Summary: Alfie never could have guessed how things would play out after you virtually forced your way into his office.

Word count: 1205

Warnings: Swearing, lots and lots of it. Alludes to physical abuse. And the reader is a newly widowed woman.

A/N: Okay, so this fic started off with playful intentions, but quickly grew pretty macabre. I take no responsibility for it. It just happened. It's not my fault.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

It was true. The people in Alfie’s neighbourhood were hardly known for their fine King’s English. It's fair to say the Camden Town tongue was a little rough around the edges and not shy of curse word or two. And Alfie’s ears were certainly no stranger to the odd colourful word slipping from the mouths of the women in his life. But never, as a boy, teenager or fully grown man had he heard such brutal language coming from such a sweet-sounding voice. If everyone around him swore like sailors, then the faceless voice causing a ruckus from somewhere outside his office, surely wrote the sailor’s dictionary.

Partly frustrated but mostly amused, Alfie dropped his pen to the desk and leaned back in his chair, listening to the string of words caught between the all the expletives. “Fucking let go of me you filthy c**ts, I’m gonna get in that fucking room one way or another... That bastard in there, had my bloody husband killed... and I wanna see his goddamn face.”

Alfie’s amusement dissolved, replaced by an audible sigh of dread as he mumbled under his breath, “Fuck... a bloody widow.” Yelling out to Caleb, he demanded, “Let the woman in would ya, she ain’t gonna let it go.” Standing up he moved to the side of his desk, mumbling to himself again, “Might as well get this over with.”

Coming through the door between two of his men, you ripped your arms from their grip, giving them the filthiest look as you did so. Your face was one of the sweetest things he had ever seen, but the look was so deadly Alfie had to hold back a chuckle. ‘You were a feisty one, weren’t you?’

Taking a deep calming breath, you smoothed over your dress. It was well worn and long out of fashion, but you were immaculate. You obviously didn’t have a penny to scratch together, but you took pride in yourself, making the most of what you had. And Alfie found himself warming to you already.

Running your fingers through your hair, you tamed all the locks that had escaped during your scuffle with his men, and finally looked at him. Your expression had lost almost all of its venom, nearly matching the sweetness of your beautiful features and he instantly felt a pang of guilt. One, for being the reason you were now a widow, and two, for finding a newly widowed woman so bloody attractive.

Lifting your chin in a show of defiance; or was it pride? you held his intense gaze, and if you felt a single ounce of fear, you did not show it. Either way, he thought to himself, ‘Hmph, beautiful and brave.’

Clearing your throat, you spoke, your words suddenly devoid of any of the foul language he heard spilling from your mouth just moments ago, “Alfie Solomons?”

With a nod, Alfie crossed his arms before him, “Yeah, that’d be me.”

Taking a step closer, you also nodded your head, your eyes never leaving his, “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and your men murdered my husband, Peter, three days ago.” Alfie opened his mouth to respond, but you held a single finger in the air, a silent, but very clear gesture to shut him up. The moment he closed his mouth you lowered your hand, and continued, “Did they shoot him on your order?”

Alfie wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Sure, from time to time he lost a bit of sleep over the number of men that were tossed into shallow graves by his order. But the reality of standing there, looking into your expressive E/C eyes and taking responsibility for killing the man you loved, twisted like a burning hot poker in his stomach. He doubted he would sleep for months.

A moment of silence passed, and your expression shifted with a touch of impatience while you waited for your answer. Moving his arms from across his chest, he shuffled on his feet, his hands coming to rest at his hips, it was almost defensive, “Yeah, I did... He was becoming too much of a liability.” Alfie almost cringed at his words. Although true, they seemed too harsh as he heard them slip from his lips. His bluntness had never bothered him before but using it on you felt like a crime. Raising his hands in the air, he quickly spoke again, wanting to rephrase a little more tactfully, “I’m sorry, forgive my bluntness... but your husband-”

Taking him by surprise, you cut him off, “Stop. I don’t need to know the reason.” Alfie stood there, mouth open, completely unprepared for the words you spoke next, “You don’t know how many times I stood beside that drunk, good for nothin’ monster as he lay passed out on the bed, just wishing I was brave enough to push a pillow against his face.” Honestly, Alfie was at a loss for words, but you were not. Taking a step closer, you were almost close enough to touch. Searching your eyes, he tried to understand the gratitude they held, but he quickly understood when you spoke again, “I’m thankful he’s gone... but I’m thankful I didn’t have to do it myself... because I don’t think I could have lived with the guilt.”

And that was when Alfie saw them, the faded shadows across your arms... around the base of your neck... and along your cheekbone. The ghosts of bruises partially disguised by whatever powder you had covered them with. Suddenly, any worries he had about sleepless nights, dissolved. The only guilt he felt was for not killing the bastard sooner.

Words finally found their way to his lips, trying to lighten the rather heavy interaction, “Well, ain’t this a fuckin’ turn of events? I thought I was a goner when I heard you out the front of my office... Remind me to never get on your bad side, yeah?”

For the first time, you looked a little coy, “Ah... yeah sorry about the language. My mouth has a habit of running away with me when I’m worked up... and your men just wouldn’t listen.”

Alfie chuckled, “With a mouth like that, you fit right in around here.” Speaking the words flicked a switch on inside his head. This feisty little firecracker of a woman really would fit right in, and God knows he was drowning in paperwork. It was high time he could do with some help. If he was being completely honest with himself, the thought of having you close by pleased him in ways he couldn’t explain. And under his protection he could make sure he never had to see those horrible faded shadows across your skin again. He would make sure of it.

Moving back to his seat behind the desk, he gestured to the chair in front, “Why don’t cha take a seat Mrs Y/L/N, I’d like to make a little proposition... and if ya accept, those men out the front will have no choice but to listen to ya.” Resting his elbows on the desk, he leaned forward and asked, your answering smile, lighting up the edges of his heart. “How well do ya know your way around a typewriter?”

#alfie solomons x reader #alfie x reader #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagines #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagines

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heileysoffice · 5 months

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Revolutionizing Workspaces: Virtual Office Spaces in Kakkanad by Heiley Office

Introductin

In the dynamic landscape of modern business, the concept of the traditional office is undergoing a significant transformation. As businesses adapt to new paradigms of work, virtual office spaces have emerged as a game-changer, providing flexibility and efficiency. In the heart of this evolution is Kakkanad, a bustling IT hub in Kochi, Kerala, and at the forefront of this change is Heiley Office.

The Rise of Virtual Offices

Gone are the days when a physical office space was a prerequisite for running a successful business. Virtual offices have become a strategic choice for entrepreneurs, freelancers, and established companies alike. Kakkanad, with its vibrant business ecosystem, has witnessed a surge in demand for virtual office solutions, and Heiley Office is leading the way.

Key Features of Virtual Office Spaces in Kakkanad: Prestigious Business Address:Heiley Office offers a prestigious business address in Kakkanad, providing a professional image to your clients and partners. Flexible Workspace Solutions:Whether you need a meeting room, a dedicated desk, or a virtual receptionist, Heiley Office provides flexible solutions tailored to your business requirements. State-of-the-Art Technology:Embrace the latest in office technology with Heiley Office's virtual office solutions, ensuring seamless communication and collaboration. Cost-Effective:Save on the overhead costs associated with traditional office spaces. Heiley Office offers cost-effective virtual office plans, allowing you to allocate resources more efficiently. Access to Meeting and Conference Rooms:Conduct meetings and presentations in a professional setting with access to well-equipped meeting and conference rooms within Heiley Office premises.

Why Choose Heiley Office for Your Virtual Office Needs? Reputation and Trust:Heiley Office has built a solid reputation for providing top-notch virtual office solutions, earning the trust of businesses in Kakkanad. Customization:Tailor your virtual office package according to your specific needs, ensuring you only pay for the services you require. Community and Networking:Join a vibrant business community at Heiley Office, fostering networking opportunities and collaboration with like-minded professionals.

Conclusion: Redefining Workspaces in Kakkanad

In the era of remote work and digital connectivity, Heiley Office stands as a beacon of innovation in Kakkanad's business landscape. By offering cutting-edge virtual office solutions, Heiley Office empowers businesses to thrive in the ever-evolving world of work.

#virtual office space in kakkanad #Features

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silverzoomies · 10 months

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Polaroid

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: solo masturbation. that's pretty much it, sorry

word count: 2,625

a/n: i wrote about him jerking off again. whoops. i've been absent for a week. but i'll be home tomorrow !! and hopefully i can get back into the flow of writing. until then, here's this rushed, unpolished thing i wrote on a whim !! it's super clunky and i'm so sorry lol !!

edit: made some minor changes to this. fixed some things that felt off, but overall it's still the same idea.

taglist: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz (as usual, ask to be added !!)

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Home alone, at long last. Helllllllz to the yeah. Down in the heart of his (mom’s) basement, Peter lies lazily on his back in bed. Today, it's one of those slow, hot afternoons midway through summer. Sunny, with a slight overcast. Peter hasn’t been outside to see it for himself. But he heard some guy on the radio call it “totally tubular” weather for a day at the beach.

He almost wishes he’d take a two second run to the Bahamas, or somewhere else. Peter could kick it back on a towel and watch babes in bikinis walk by. Maybe he could even stir up some trouble in the sand. Like he used to do, way back in his childhood. Just for some extra mayhem.

Alas. Today, Peter feels lazier than lazy. He’s found a new name for himself in Lazyville. As the leading candidate in the office of laziness. Speeding all around the globe for the umpteenth time this week sounds like too much work. Even a super powered mutant, living life in the fast lane, has his off days sometimes. What’s one break, eh? Breathing a sigh, he stares up at the ceiling. Earphones rest over his ears. Peter listens to a melodious tune by Jefferson Starship. Over his belly, he twirls his thumbs, bobbing his head along with his jams. Chillaxin’ and relaxin’ as one should on his day off. Hm.

Except, Peter’s kind of antsy. No one’s home at the moment. He has all this free time to do whatever he wants, in the privacy of said home. With not a soul around to judge him, or even bug him. And listen. It’s been centuries since he got off. Which may or may not be a slight exaggeration.

But wouldn’t you believe it? Despite his uniquely handsome features and outrageously fit bod; Peter has absolutely no game whatsoever. Crazy, right? Who woulda thought it? The dude who locked himself away in his (mom’s) basement for a good ten years. He’s awkward as hell? Say it ain’t so! Whoa!! Insane in the membrane!!!

Not to mention, it might as well have been a geological age since he got laid. Whatever. Who needs the companionship of someone else to have a totally righteous time, huh? Haha…

Ahem.

Today, Peter dubs himself the crowned king of slacking off and jacking off.

Pulling his earphones down to rest around his neck, his fingers move to find his jeans. He teases himself for a beat or two, his palm rubbing over the denim. Another beat, and his cock is freed from the tight, restrictive material. Peter makes a mental note: He might need to invest in looser pants. This pair is rough and uncomfortable around his legs, so he shoves them all the way down to his ankles with virtually no shame.

What does it matter anyway? For the time being, he’s free. At least until his mom gets back, that is. He should really stop thinkin’ about that. Every time Peter remembers - oh, yeah - he’s a grown ass man still living at his mom’s place; it kinda wrecks the vibe. Makes the mood crash and burn. Total boner killer. And he’s not even hard yet.

His half-hard cock rests limply over a curly patch of silver hairs. Peter would never admit it to anyone, but he’s always been self conscious of his hair situation. Some chick back in high school - he can’t even remember her name - said his silvery bush “looked really weird.” Like the pubes of some geriatric.

Peter can barely picture her face at this point. But the sound of her giggling at his expense is, unfortunately, locked away in his brain forever. Another embarrassing memory to withstand the test of time. Probably until he dies, or becomes a geriatric himself.

What was he doing again? Oh. Right.

Peter gives his dick a firm squeeze, like he’s checking to make sure it’s still there. Before taking the semi-hard length into his hand. Slowly, he strokes himself to hardness. Breathing a relieved sigh, Peter settles into the groovy-patterned sheets of his bed. The smooth tip of his cock inches through his closed fist with every stroke. As his frustration blossoms, his length throbs with an intense longing for something more.

Thick veins pulsate under his hand. Sparkling beads of precum leak from his tip. He coats the head in a generous glaze of slickness, eliciting a hushed noise from the depths of his throat. Keeping himself as quiet as humanly possible is basically a instinctive response. But he doesn’t have to hold himself back right now, does he?

Sweet. Peter’s gonna be as loud and obnoxious as he wants.

Pumping his cock a bit faster, he momentarily stops to fondle his balls. They rest heavy in his palm, smooth to the touch and loose between his fingers. After teasing himself impatiently, Peter redirects his attention to his twitching length. Aching for more stimulation. He jerks off with a pleasurable rhythm. Subconsciously following the beat that resonates from his earphones, his strokes fall into a more consistent pace. He leans further back in bed, letting his lips part. His nerves tingle. And as he revels in the sensation, he loudly moans. Letting the noise rip through the silence of his ( mom’s ) basement.

Said basement has now become more stifling. Kudos to the summertime heat for that one. Peter’s Conan the Barbarian T-Shirt - now damp with his sweat - feels like too much of a hindrance. He pulls the fabric up, letting his upper half breath. With his shirt clamped between his teeth, Peter leaves his body exposed. A sheen of sweat coats his abs, and his pecs raise with each labored breath he takes.

He takes a half second to admire his own physique. Honestly? No bullshit? His body looks pretty damn amazing. If only there were someone around to appreciate how naturally jacked he is. It’s a hell of a tragedy, really. All this smokin’ hot, speedster bod goin’ to waste. Tsk tsk tsk.

Who was he even kidding? Why would anyone wanna waste their time messin’ around with a total shut-in like him?

Dammit. Now's not the time for some hateful, self-ribbing. He should distract himself with something. Something like-

Using the gift of his mutation, Peter increases his speed by a few notches. His fist squeezes tightly around his length, stroking his cock even faster. He groans into his shirt, knitting his brows as arousal washes through his groin in waves. It feels good. Really fucking good.

But it’s not enough. He wants to utilize this free time as much as he can. It’s the perfect opportunity to get even more frisky than he usually would. Peter bolts around the basement, searching for a few hidden…uh…treasures, we’ll call them. In a blink, he reappears on his bed, leaving his overly tight jeans and boxers discarded on the floor.

Lying next to Peter over the wrinkled blankets, rest a bottle of lube - the tingly kind, a stroker toy - clear, with literal, silver lining, and a polaroid photo. The toy hasn’t been used in eons, but its quality is still up to par. Peter made sure to clean it the instant he found it again. And the photo, well…

It’s his own, filthy secret.

A low-res, high flash picture taken of you at last year’s, X-mansion, Halloween party. Whoa, mama. You were scantily clad in the most outrageously suggestive Indiana Jones costume Peter ever saw. Back at the party, you even tipped your hat and cracked the whip a couple of times. Which may or may not have awakened something in him. But that’s beside the point.

You were so tipsy that night. Way more flirtatious than you naturally would be any other day. Peter remembers you pressing your body against his, hanging over him all night like a sexy sack of potatoes. He sat next to you on the couch. With a cheesy grin on his face, he watched your every move. The tiny shorts you were wearing kept riding up your thighs. It was obvious you were braless under a tight, cropped, button-up shirt. Leaving so little to the imagination.

Point blank, it was fucking awesome.

You crossed your smooth legs. One over the other. And you leaned in to whisper something hot in Peter’s ear.

“Take a picture with meeeee, Quickie, I wanna remember this moment forrrever and everrrr.” You pleaded, your breath tickling the skin of his neck.

What followed, he hadn’t seen coming. As someone - it’s all a blur, Peter can’t remember who - snapped the photo, you pressed your glossy lips to his cheek. Your giggles were so coquettish and teasing, he felt shivers race through his body at mach speed.

“I’m, like, sooooooooo scared of snakes. Geddit? ‘Cuz I’m Indiana? But your snake doesn’t scare me. Can I pet it, pllllleeeassse?” You giggled again with a little whine.

Making an abrupt move, you reached for Peter’s crotch in front of everybody. After zipping away to grab you a solo cup full of water and some bread, Peter snatched the photo from whoever. And he bolted home in a fit of shameful embarrassment.

In retrospect, you weren’t just tipsy. You were majorly smashed. You didn’t remember a single minute of it. Figures. He’s not too surprised you wouldn’t remember flirting with him.

Peter sighs, blinking himself out of the memory. Eager to continue his once-in-a-silver-moon, jerkin’ session. He squeezes a fair amount of lube into his palm, wrapping his large hand tightly around his cock. Over every inch of his aching length, he spreads the slick substance. Tingles sparkle like stars across the hot, velvet skin of his cock. Wet noises echo lewdly through the basement, as Peter pumps his leaking dick fast and hard.

Clenching his shirt between his teeth, Peter tilts his head back. A loud, seething moan slips from his lips, slightly muffled. He pauses again, grabbing the stroker and guiding its smooth slit over the swollen head of his cock.

“MMmmmnnn~!” Peter hums a steady moan, exhaling through his nose.

The inside of the toy feels nothing even remotely close to the real thing. Kind of a bummer. But the tunnel’s soft, bumpy ridges are still a double A plus. A little too good sometimes, actually. The toy slides down Peter’s cock as he pushes his entire length through. It’s a tight fit around him. Tighter than it should be. Which is doing wonders for his confidence. Maybe he should be more proud of his size.

He’s above average enough, the small toy can’t contain the length of him entirely. His weeping tip peeks out the other side of the stroker, prodding through with every pump. Peter breathes another, shuddering moan. His brows crease in pleasure. Pumping his cock with the squishy toy, he whines in desperation. Forcing his thick length through the toy’s tight grip, slick with lube and smooth as silk. The ridges inside tickle and massage his cock, stimulating his buzzing nerves.

The muscles in his groin tighten, stiffening his legs. Shoving his cock rapidly through the ribbed tunnel of the toy, he groans louder. Letting his needy noises slip as they please. Fuck it. No restraint. Indulging himself further in his degeneracies, Peter keeps your photo close by. He shoots a glance at it, admiring your soft thighs and amazing cleavage.

He daydreams about you. Imagining the way you’d feel around him, squeezing him so much tighter than any toy. You’d be needy and wet for him too, making it so easy for Peter to bury himself balls deep inside you.

Peter thinks about the way your titties would look, bouncing with each thrust of his hips against you. Would your nipples peak, stiffening under his fingers? How would you react if he had a little fun, and teased you with a superspeed buzz? Would you even like that? Would you think that kinda thing was weird?

He really does want you sooooo bad. But you have absolutely zero idea. Peter knows he’d treat you right if you let him. If you ever gave him the time of day outside of missions, he’d take you on the wildest ride you ever strapped yourself into.

Clenching his teeth hard into his shirt, he wraps both hands tightly around the stroker. Peter leans as far back as he can, bracing his feet flat on the bed. The blankets curl under his toes, as he lifts his hips. Driving his cock through the slick, textured toy and fucking it hard.

“Nnghh…fuuuuck. Fuck.” He groans, voice catching under fabric.

His breaths quicken, and his moans morph into desperate whimpers. Peter aches for your heat, and the closeness of your body. Your gentle touch. Your sweet voice and little whines. He knows, without a doubt, you’d feel beyond amazing. And you’d probably taste so sublime.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Peter whimpers into his shirt. Saliva seeps through the fabric, melting off his tongue and dribbling down his chin. His cheeks burn hotter, turning a brighter shade of crimson.

“Mmmmmfuckyeah-” Peter moans, followed by a muffled mumble of your name.

He fucks his cock through the toy at rapid, superspeed. Lifting his hips off the bed as if roughly drilling into your tight heat. Peter’s cock throbs as powerful surges of electricity erupt in the pit of his belly. Glossy, white streaks of cum spill from his tip, flooding over the toy. Dripping down the squishy sides of it. His cum stuffs the inside full, coating his dick in its stickiness. Peter thrusts his cock fast enough to appear a blur, until he’s completely spent.

Lying in a sweaty heap over his blankets, Peter pants easy breaths. Tousled, silver hair rests messily over his head. He pulls the stroker from his cock, and slick cum trails after it. Wet and thick against his softening dick. He throws his head back into the bed, taking a moment to compose himself.

It’s really crazy that he’s thinkin’ about you like this, isn’t it? He’s honestly really embarrassed by it. Peter grabs the polaroid and stares at it longingly, unable to suppress the grin pressing into his dimple. Damn. He just can’t help himself. No matter what, he’s kinda ride or die for you.

If only he had the balls to tell you up front.

Peter gazes at the photo for a few seconds too long. Lost in the sight of your sexy body again. You’re such a goddamn knockout. He guides his attention to his dick to find…he’s rock hard again? Seriously? Dropping his head onto the bed, Peter groans with agonizing frustration. He just can’t catch a break, can he? Why’s he always gotta be so antsy, so on edge, or so horny all the time??

A faint sound, like creaking wood, graces his ears. Peter tilts his head up instantly.

Only to be greeted by none other than the unexpected sight of you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck-

You’re standing in his ( mom’s ) basement with your mouth agape. A faint indication of blush paints your cheeks, though he can barely see it. Peter should be moving. He should do what a speedster naturally would do in this kinda situation: Clean up and dress himself in less than a blink’s time. Just to play innocent afterwards. Maybe he could gaslight you into thinking you didn’t watch him get his rocks off.

But he’s stunned to the point of being frozen. Neither of you make a single move. Except for Peter’s dick. It twitches subconsciously in his lap, catching your attention. And your eyes widen further.

He really should’ve gone to the Bahamas. Peter’s betting those beaches are seriously bangin’ at this time of year.

#peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x y/n #smut

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 20 days

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Recently, in a large city in France, a poster featuring a young, thin, and tan woman appeared in the window of a gym.It read: “This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?”?

A middle-aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman pictured on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym. She had a whale of a lot to say:

“To Whom It May Concern,?

Whales are always surrounded by friends: dolphins, sea lions, and curious humans. They have an active sex life, get pregnant, and have adorable baby whales. They enjoy stuffing themselves with shrimp, playing and swimming in the sea, and visiting wonderful places like Patagonia, the Bering Sea, and the coral reefs of Polynesia.

Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs. ?They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans.They are loved, protected, and admired by almost everyone in the world.?

Mermaids don’t exist.If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of psychoanalysts due to their identity crisis. Fish or human would prove quite a quandary for even the most skilled of therapists.

They don’t have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them, not to mention how could they have sex? Just look at them … where is IT? Therefore, they don’t have kids either. Not to mention, who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store??

P.S. We are in an age when the media attempts to convince us that only skinny people are beautiful. I prefer to enjoy ice cream with my kids, a good dinner with a man who makes me shiver, and good chocolate with my friends. With time, we gain weight because we accumulate so much information and wisdom in our heads that when there is no more room, it distributes out to the rest of our bodies. So we aren’t heavy, we are enormously cultured, educated, and happy.?

(A World Full of Joy and Laughter)

#humor #women #weight #A World Full of Joy and Laughter

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dailyanarchistposts · 5 days

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A.2.8 Is it possible to be an anarchist without opposing hierarchy?

No. We have seen that anarchists abhor authoritarianism. But if one is an anti-authoritarian, one must oppose all hierarchical institutions, since they embody the principle of authority. For, as Emma Goldman argued, “it is not only government in the sense of the state which is destructive of every individual value and quality. It is the whole complex authority and institutional domination which strangles life. It is the superstition, myth, pretence, evasions, and subservience which support authority and institutional domination.” [Red Emma Speaks, p. 435] This means that “there is and will always be a need to discover and overcome structures of hierarchy, authority and domination and constraints on freedom: slavery, wage-slavery [i.e. capitalism], racism, sexism, authoritarian schools, etc.” [Noam Chomsky, Language and Politics, p. 364]

Thus the consistent anarchist must oppose hierarchical relationships as well as the state. Whether economic, social or political, to be an anarchist means to oppose hierarchy. The argument for this (if anybody needs one) is as follows:

“All authoritarian institutions are organised as pyramids: the state, the private or public corporation, the army, the police, the church, the university, the hospital: they are all pyramidal structures with a small group of decision-makers at the top and a broad base of people whose decisions are made for them at the bottom. Anarchism does not demand the changing of labels on the layers, it doesn’t want different people on top, it wants us to clamber out from underneath.” [Colin Ward, Anarchy in Action, p. 22]

Hierarchies “share a common feature: they are organised systems of command and obedience” and so anarchists seek “to eliminate hierarchy per se, not simply replace one form of hierarchy with another.” [Bookchin, The Ecology of Freedom, p. 27] A hierarchy is a pyramidally-structured organisation composed of a series of grades, ranks, or offices of increasing power, prestige, and (usually) remuneration. Scholars who have investigated the hierarchical form have found that the two primary principles it embodies are domination and exploitation. For example, in his classic article “What Do Bosses Do?” (Review of Radical Political Economy, Vol. 6, No. 2), a study of the modern factory, Steven Marglin found that the main function of the corporate hierarchy is not greater productive efficiency (as capitalists claim), but greater control over workers, the purpose of such control being more effective exploitation.

Control in a hierarchy is maintained by coercion, that is, by the threat of negative sanctions of one kind or another: physical, economic, psychological, social, etc. Such control, including the repression of dissent and rebellion, therefore necessitates centralisation: a set of power relations in which the greatest control is exercised by the few at the top (particularly the head of the organisation), while those in the middle ranks have much less control and the many at the bottom have virtually none.

Since domination, coercion, and centralisation are essential features of authoritarianism, and as those features are embodied in hierarchies, all hierarchical institutions are authoritarian. Moreover, for anarchists, any organisation marked by hierarchy, centralism and authoritarianism is state-like, or “statist.” And as anarchists oppose both the state and authoritarian relations, anyone who does not seek to dismantle all forms of hierarchy cannot be called an anarchist. This applies to capitalist firms. As Noam Chomsky points out, the structure of the capitalist firm is extremely hierarchical, indeed fascist, in nature:

“a fascist system… [is] absolutist — power goes from top down … the ideal state is top down control with the public essentially following orders. “Let’s take a look at a corporation… [I]f you look at what they are, power goes strictly top down, from the board of directors to managers to lower managers to ultimately the people on the shop floor, typing messages, and so on. There’s no flow of power or planning from the bottom up. People can disrupt and make suggestions, but the same is true of a slave society. The structure of power is linear, from the top down.” [Keeping the Rabble in Line, p. 237]

David Deleon indicates these similarities between the company and the state well when he writes:

“Most factories are like military dictatorships. Those at the bottom are privates, the supervisors are sergeants, and on up through the hierarchy. The organisation can dictate everything from our clothing and hair style to how we spend a large portion of our lives, during work. It can compel overtime; it can require us to see a company doctor if we have a medical complaint; it can forbid us free time to engage in political activity; it can suppress freedom of speech, press and assembly — it can use ID cards and armed security police, along with closed-circuit TVs to watch us; it can punish dissenters with ‘disciplinary layoffs’ (as GM calls them), or it can fire us. We are forced, by circumstances, to accept much of this, or join the millions of unemployed… In almost every job, we have only the ‘right’ to quit. Major decisions are made at the top and we are expected to obey, whether we work in an ivory tower or a mine shaft.” [“For Democracy Where We Work: A rationale for social self-management”, Reinventing Anarchy, Again, Howard J. Ehrlich (ed.), pp. 193–4]

Thus the consistent anarchist must oppose hierarchy in all its forms, including the capitalist firm. Not to do so is to support archy — which an anarchist, by definition, cannot do. In other words, for anarchists, ”[p]romises to obey, contracts of (wage) slavery, agreements requiring the acceptance of a subordinate status, are all illegitimate because they do restrict and restrain individual autonomy.” [Robert Graham, “The Anarchist Contract, Reinventing Anarchy, Again, Howard J. Ehrlich (ed.), p. 77] Hierarchy, therefore, is against the basic principles which drive anarchism. It denies what makes us human and “divest[s] the personality of its most integral traits; it denies the very notion that the individual is competent to deal not only with the management of his or her personal life but with its most important context: the social context.” [Murray Bookchin, Op. Cit., p. 202]

Some argue that as long as an association is voluntary, whether it has a hierarchical structure is irrelevant. Anarchists disagree. This is for two reasons. Firstly, under capitalism workers are driven by economic necessity to sell their labour (and so liberty) to those who own the means of life. This process re-enforces the economic conditions workers face by creating “massive disparities in wealth … [as] workers… sell their labour to the capitalist at a price which does not reflect its real value.” Therefore:

“To portray the parties to an employment contract, for example, as free and equal to each other is to ignore the serious inequality of bargaining power which exists between the worker and the employer. To then go on to portray the relationship of subordination and exploitation which naturally results as the epitome of freedom is to make a mockery of both individual liberty and social justice.” [Robert Graham, Op. Cit., p. 70]

It is for this reason that anarchists support collective action and organisation: it increases the bargaining power of working people and allows them to assert their autonomy (see section J).

Secondly, if we take the key element as being whether an association is voluntary or not we would have to argue that the current state system must be considered as “anarchy.” In a modern democracy no one forces an individual to live in a specific state. We are free to leave and go somewhere else. By ignoring the hierarchical nature of an association, you can end up supporting organisations based upon the denial of freedom (including capitalist companies, the armed forces, states even) all because they are “voluntary.” As Bob Black argues, ”[t]o demonise state authoritarianism while ignoring identical albeit contract-consecrated subservient arrangements in the large-scale corporations which control the world economy is fetishism at its worst.” [The Libertarian as Conservative, The Abolition of Work and other essays, p. 142] Anarchy is more than being free to pick a master.

Therefore opposition to hierarchy is a key anarchist position, otherwise you just become a “voluntary archist” — which is hardly anarchistic. For more on this see section A.2.14 ( Why is voluntarism not enough?).

Anarchists argue that organisations do not need to be hierarchical, they can be based upon co-operation between equals who manage their own affairs directly. In this way we can do without hierarchical structures (i.e. the delegation of power in the hands of a few). Only when an association is self-managed by its members can it be considered truly anarchistic.

We are sorry to belabour this point, but some capitalist apologists, apparently wanting to appropriate the “anarchist” name because of its association with freedom, have recently claimed that one can be both a capitalist and an anarchist at the same time (as in so-called “anarcho” capitalism). It should now be clear that since capitalism is based on hierarchy (not to mention statism and exploitation), “anarcho”-capitalism is a contradiction in terms. (For more on this, see Section F)

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