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pressfreedomday · 1 month

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ETHIOPIA - A Press for the Planet, Journalism in the face of the Environmental Crisis.

Between May 2-4, 2024, Chile and UNESCO will host World Press Freedom Day. Thirty years have passed since the first World Press Freedom Day celebration in 1994 and of the historic Santiago Declaration adopted during the “Seminar on the Development of Media and De- mocracy in Latin America and the Caribbean” (May 6, 1994), which marked a new phase in promoting the right to freedom of expression and of the press, as well as the development and recognition of community media, independence, and pluralism of the media in Latin America and the Caribbean. Therefore, the WPFD event is a good opportunity to return to the city of Santiago and reaffirm everyone’s commitment to promote and guarantee freedom of expression worldwide.

FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION, SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT, AND ENVIRONMENTAL CRISES

Sustainable development is in jeopardy. The triple planetary crisis—climate change, biodi- versity loss, and air pollution—along with their connections to public health issues, the need to strengthen democracy, to tackle dis-/misinformation on digital platforms, among other issues have become major challenges for humanity.

The information ecosystem has a key role to play in responding to this existential crisis. The access to reliable information and the importance of strengthening independent environ- mental and scientific journalism is more critical than ever. It is important to be very clear: independent journalists as well as scientists are crucial actors in helping our societies to sep- arate facts from lies and manipulation in order to take informed decisions, including about environmental policies. Investigative journalists are also shedding light on environmental crimes, exposing corruption and powerful interests, and sometimes paying the ultimate price for doing their job.

That is why, in 2024, World Press Freedom Day will be dedicated to the importance of jour- nalism and freedom of expression in the context of the current global environmental crisis. We aim to highlight the significant role that the press, journalism, access and dissemination of information play to ensure and secure a sustainable future that respects the rights of indi- viduals and their diversity of voices, as well as gender equality.

CURRENT CHALLENGES

Awareness of all aspects of the global environmental crisis and its consequences is essential to build democratic societies. Journalistic work is indispensable for this purpose, along with the recognition of various primary sources of information required for comprehensive, ac- curate, and historically grounded reporting. Journalists encounter significant challenges in seeking and disseminating information on contemporary issues, such as supply-chains prob- lems, climate migration, extractive industries, illegal mining, pollution, poaching, animal traf- ficking, deforestation, or climate change. Ensuring the visibility of these issues is crucial for promoting peace and democratic values worldwide. The various threats (physical, economic, political, psychological, digital, and legal) to which journalists are subject reflect a complex context in which there is a constant struggle for information control.

1. Dis-/misinformation on the Climate Crisis

At the 2021 celebration of World Press Freedom Day, UNESCO highlighted the impact of disinformation and misinformation on societies while promoting the idea of information as a “public good.” In the context of the world’s triple planetary crisis, dis-/misinformation campaigns challenge knowledge and scientific research methods. Attacks on the validity of science pose a serious threat to pluralistic and informed public debate. Indeed, misleading and false information about climate change can, in some cases, foster doubt and incredulity about environmental issues, their impact and urgency, and undermine international efforts to address them.

Dis-/misinformation about environmental issues can lead to a lack of public and political support for climate action, effective policies, and the protection of vulnerable communities affected by climate change, as well as of women and girls, as climate change tends to exacer- bate existing inequalities.

In this context, to achieve sustainable development, it is necessary for journalists and sci- entists to report accurately, timely, and comprehensively on environmental issues and their consequences, as well as on possible solutions.

This requires a comprehensive strategy that includes:

Preventing and protecting against crimes committed against journalists.

Ensuring the rights to freedom of expression, freedom of scientific research, and access to key sources of information, in addition to combating dis-/misinformation through journalism.

Promoting the plurality, diversity, and viability of media, especially regional, local, indigenous, and/or community-based media.

Ensuring that the governance of digital platforms foster the transparency of tech- nology companies, their accountability, due diligence, user empowerment, and content mod- eration and curation based on international human rights’ standards, as indicated in UNES- CO’s Guidelines for the Governance of Digital Platforms.

Promoting Media and Information Literacy programs to empower users with skills to engage and think critically in the digital environment.

The International Decade of Sciences for Sustainable Development (2024-2033), proclaimed by the United Nations General Assembly, provides an ideal framework to highlight freedom of expression, particularly of environmental and scientific journalists, as well as of scientists who are key actors in knowledge production. These actors are all indispensable in the fight against dis-/misinformation and the promotion of a sustainable future.

2. Environmental journalism: fighting threats of violence and promoting diversity

Journalists and communicators covering environmental issues face many threats and forms of violence due to the sensitive nature of their reporting. These range from physical violence, surveillance, pressure, or intimidation by national and transnational companies that could be affected by their activities, to the imposition of official controls and the pernicious use of the State apparatus (administrative and judicial), as well as filters and content moderation to restrict access to information. All share the same objective: to prevent the public’s access to critical information and limit people’s ability to make informed decisions for their communi- ties and well-being.

The latest UNESCO Director-General’s Report on the Safety of Journalists and the Danger of Impunity, (2022), highlighted a steady increase in the percentage of journalists killed outside of armed conflict zones in recent years, with many of them working on environmental issues. Indigenous, local, and independent journalists and communicators are particularly affected by this type of violence as they operate on the front lines to gather information and often lack adequate protection to carry out their work safely.

In addition to these challenges are a lack of pluralism and diversity, conflicts of interest, eco- nomic capture, and challenges to the viability of the media. The various threats faced by journalists and communicators are often intimidating and can lead to self-censorship, as jour- nalists may prefer to remain silent rather than risk their jobs, or their own and their families’ safety.

Moreover, the risk posed by these various threats to press freedom is twofold. On the one hand, they weaken the role of journalists as watchdogs of democracy and reduce their ability to hold the powerful to account – both public and private actors. On the other hand, cen- sorship can erode people’s trust in journalism and affect their right to access information, creating a vacuum conducive to the proliferation of dis-/misinformation.

3. Journalism, Gender Equality and the Environment

Women and men journalists and communicators alike play a key role in covering environmen- tal issues, but women journalists often face particular challenges and risks in carrying out their tasks. In addition to cases of sexual harassment, gender-based discrimination, online harassment, and threats with sexist and misogynistic connotations, they may also be subject to various forms of gender-based discrimination in association with their journalistic investi- gations.

On the other hand, in the digital environment, women are constant targets of gender-based violence, being attacked for the simple fact of being online and being women. UNESCO’s re- search “The Chilling” found that women in prominent and visible positions, such as journal- ists, tend to attract more virulent abuse. In a survey of 901 journalists, nearly three-quarters (73%) said they had experienced online violence.

In addition to the risk related to their work, all women often face greater risks and dispro- portionate burdens due to the impacts of climate change, notably women in situations of poverty and due to existing roles, responsibilities, and cultural norms. Undoubtedly, the bat- tle to install a gender perspective capable of confronting violence is urgent, advancing in the existence of media which promote professional journalism that discusses the eradication of all types of discrimination and biases. Beyond protection, it is essential to also involve and empower women as change leaders, in particular indigenous women, in building climate re- silience.

THE OPPORTUNITIES: SAFEGUARDING JOURNALISM IS PROTECTING THE PLANET

The United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (1992) and the Paris Agree- ment (2015) are important instruments to call for a recognition of the importance of public access to information as a key element to empower citizens to engage in climate action and to highlight the fundamental role of journalists in presenting scientific findings, data, and expert opinions in an accessible way. In the same vein, the Aarhus Convention (1998) and the Escazú Agreement (2018) further strengthen the importance of access to information and public participation in environmental decision-making and access to justice.

The international community should make it a priority to protect journalists and communica- tors in general and environmental journalists in particular. As part of that task, it is important to train the media to report more effectively on climate and environmental issues to protect the planet and inform the public so that they have a better understanding of these issues. Various international organizations, governments, NGOs, and advocacy groups are using pub- lic interest information to redouble their efforts for a more sustainable future in line with the Sustainable Development Goals of the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development.

The unprecedented level of awareness of environmental issues among younger generations, including journalists, is a very positive indicator for the search for solutions to today’s envi- ronmental challenges. Youth are paving the way for sustainable development and are de- manding concrete and effective action on climate and biodiversity emergencies, the impacts of climate change and its effect on people’s lives . As highlighted in the 13th edition of the UNESCO Youth Forum that focused on the social impacts of climate change and the need to achieve an equitable climate transition, the lives of future generations hang in the balance as those most affected by climate change will be the young people of today. In this context, media and information literacy programs are an opportunity to strengthen critical thinking around these issues, in particular among the youth.

It is clear that continued inaction will lead to the aggravation of existing problematic phe- nomena such as climate-forced migration, displacement, democratic breakdowns, and water scarcity, which risks inducing and further exacerbating social tensions and conflict.

OBJECTIVES OF THE NEXT EDITION OF WORLD PRESS FREEDOM DAY

World Press Freedom Day 2024 is an important opportunity for the international community to collectively reflect on these multidimensional challenges, the fundamental role of jour- nalism, and the transformative power that reliable information has to protect our planet, achieve sustainable development, and consolidate democracies.

World Press Freedom Day 2024 will serve as a platform to:

Assess and discuss the situation of the right to press freedom globally, identifying areas where journalists face repression, violence, or censorship.

Establish and strengthen ties between different actors, such as media organizations, NGOs, governments, and international bodies, to work together to promote and protect the right to press freedom.

Reaffirm our commitments to freedom of expression and press freedom as human rights enshrined in various international instruments, recognizing their importance for the strengthening of democratic societies.

Call for the importance of reliable and accurate information, especially that which denounces and investigates the environmental crisis and its effects.

Raise awareness on the urgency to defend the media from attacks on their indepen- dence, freedom, and pluralism and recall the Windhoek+30 Declaration on information as a common good.

Recall the Santiago Declaration, which stresses the importance of respecting media pluralism and cultural, linguistic, and gender diversity as a fundamental factor of democratic societies and which should be reflected in all media.

Pay tribute to journalists who have lost their lives and those who fight for their free- dom in the line of duty.

Raise awareness about the violence faced by journalists and communication work- ers when promoting sustainable development and environmental protection, encouraging a gender-responsive perspective that promotes non-sexist journalistic discourse.

Promote professional journalism that discusses the eradication of all types of dis- crimination and biases against women.

Call for greater support for the media to strengthen their institutional capacities to report on climate change and environmental crises, paying special attention to the viability of the media.

Accelerate people’s media and information literacy to foster critical and informed thinking skills as the main tool to combat the problem of dis-/misinformation and its effects on our democracies.

Take advantage of the International Decade of Sciences for Sustainable Develop- ment to highlight the fundamental role of freedom of expression for science journalists, em-

phasizing the need to protect this freedom while actively combating disinformation in sci- ence.

Promote stronger policies as well as national and international cooperation in sup- port of memory institutions as custodians of primary sources of environmental information for journalistic practice.

#Ethiopian Mass Media Action #Africa News Channel #ARMA multi media production #Amhara Region Journalists Association #media reporters #environmental investigation #investigative journalists #ethical reporting #environmental reporting #31st edition of world press freedom day #ethiopia #a press for the planet

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goggledoddle · 2 months

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#South Africa Freedom Day 2024 #Today #GIF #AnimatedGIF #Animated GIF #Animation #GoogleDoodle #Google Doodle #google #doodle #GoggleDoddle #Photo

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zerodiscriminationday · 4 months

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Reflecting on Gender gaps in education and in the labour market.

Gender gaps that leave women and girls behind in education and labour force participation are estimated to cost the African region US$60 billion in economic losses every year.

The new data on the jobs gap shows that women who want to work have a far harder time finding a job than men.

New data shine light on gender gaps in the labour market.

#rights and freedoms #zero discrimination day #1 march #campaign #gender gap #labour force participation #protect everyone's rights #protect everyone's health #economic losses #africa #Women's overall participation

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renaissance35 · 5 months

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Holy Sunday scriptures on worry

Sometimes when life has those tough, too much for my mental health moments, one must create a quiet place to calm them down. I myself have a quiet place. I close my eyes and I'm on a hill in a field with fresh green growth all around me and I'm sitting under a tree breathing in and out while listening to the sounds of nature and birds chirping. Or when something is going bad and I'm worried about what happens next, I look to the sky and if I see it looks as if it is from a painting or an amazing photo then I start to pray for only good things and that's when I know things are going to be ok.😇☺️🙏

If you like this verse ❤️, if you agree leave a tip 🪙, and if you enjoy my daily Sunday scriptures follow me ➕

Hope you have a blessed rest of the week. Good night🙏☺️

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neelkanthcables · 1 year

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Happy Independence Day, Malawi! May the spirit of freedom forever inspire and guide your nation towards greater heights. Wishing you a day of joy, togetherness, and abundant blessings. Mwayi wa Chisomo!

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

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The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows.

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala.

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before.

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts.

You wished you were only a tourist.

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time.

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed.

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you.

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted.

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman.

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll.

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket.

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again.

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways.

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better.

That was when you first saw him.

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came.

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark.

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable.

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head.

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?”

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words.

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone.

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact.

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering.

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee.

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long.

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble.

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that.

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone.

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different.

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place.

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms.

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures.

You were always kept on the ground floor.

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress.

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well.

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp.

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched.

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain.

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again.

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing.

There was someone….out there.

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with.

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen.

A yell.

A scream.

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass.

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still.

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet.

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence.

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you.

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.'

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort.

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls.

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you.

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct.

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting.

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English.

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.”

Military? Raid?

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood.

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise.

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway.

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull.

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.”

That certainly got the attention that was needed.

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind.

Home.

Did you even have one of those left?

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it.

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver.

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over.

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie.

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light.

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible.

Blue-gray.

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter.

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock.

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates.

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it.

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt.

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?”

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision.

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would.

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.”

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?”

Again, you shake your head.

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch.

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you.

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.”

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street.

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer.

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree.

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.”

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward.

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall.

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you.

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.”

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more.

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.”

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears.

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus.

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment.

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.”

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you.

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal.

You can’t help but smile.

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases.

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door.

It nearly made you cry.

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly.

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?”

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?”

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return.

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way.

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room.

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning.

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so?

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it.

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling.

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it.

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope.

Tap-tap, tappity-tap.

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood.

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala.

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving.

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay.

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva.

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you.

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings.

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick.

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it.

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten.

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation.

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid.

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself.

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder.

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain.

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in.

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open.

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them.

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks.

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse.

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.”

“Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck.

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?”

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns.

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?”

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock.

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.”

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?”

You watch him before nodding tinily.

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. ��Do you wish for me to stay?”

Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly.

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?”

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin.

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.”

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs.

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.”

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet.

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost.

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked.

You take a long, deep, breath.

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course.

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go.

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on.

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword.

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat.

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.”

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer.

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold.

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head.

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat.

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat.

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable.

Enigmatic.

König’s reverential face is soft with care.

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat.

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material.

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17.

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone.

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses.

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after.

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you.

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?”

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.”

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope.

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side.

Live well.

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness.

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it.

‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.”

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.”

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat.

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them.

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry.

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device.

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering.

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact.

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women.

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?”

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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magz · 1 month

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Palestine related news summary from LetsTalkPalestine, May 1 to May 4, 2024.

[Ways to help, sources, and more: LetsTalkPalestine Linktree]

May 1.

(Instagram reel of UCLA protest. Includes footage of treating n washing a pro-palestine protestors' bloody head)

Day 208

🇨🇴 Colombia to cut diplomatic ties w/ Israel

•⁠ ⁠33 killed, 57 injured in the last 24 hours. Real number likely higher

⚖️ US lobbying ICC not to issue arrest warrants for senior Israeli officials, after Israel's threat to respond by retaliating against Palestinian Authority for sparking ICC investigation

🇫🇷 France denies selling weapons to Israel used in Gaza, claiming what's sold will be re-exported to 3rd countries via Israel, but did supply Israeli Iron Dome defense system

🇹🇷 Turkey set to follow Columbia & Nicaragua by joining South Africa's ICJ case against Israel

🎓 Zionist mob attacked Palestine protestors at UCLA w/ fireworks & pepper spray for 3 hours, police didn’t intervene (📹👆). Columbia & CUNY asked NYPD to raid & arrest 280+ student protestors. New encampments across UK, Tunisia & Canada

🚚 First aid trucks enter through Beit Hanoon crossing to north Gaza despite Israel's promise to open 1 month ago. Nearly half of aid convoys to north Gaza denied by Israel.

May 2.

(Instagram post, news update. The Israeli occupation has killed Palestinian Dr. Adnan Al-Barash.)

Day 209

• 28 Palestinians killed, 51 injured in last 24 hours. Note that the toll is underreported.

🏥 Dr. Adnan al Barash killed in captivity after IOF abducted him in Dec (📷👆)— 496 medical personnel killed in Gaza + 309 in captivity

🇸🇦 Saudi Arabia arrests many for anti-Israel online posts, incl. an executive & media figure. Timing suspicious w/ reports of renewed normalization talks

• IOF attacks aid convoy, killing 1

🇹🇷 Turkey stops all trade w/ Israel after banning 54 exports to Israel

🇺🇸 US House pass “antisemitism awareness” bill using repressive IHRA definition of antisemitism despite antisemitism covered in anti-discrimination law. Why is IHRA definition problematic? See tinyurl.com/ynsfy8sx

• IOF airstrike in central Gaza killed 5, incl. a child

🪨 37m tons of rubble in Gaza, heavy contamination w/ unexploded ammunition & 800,000 tons of asbestos

🎓 Columbia & Emory University face federal investigation for anti-Muslim discrimination, reports of doxing & harassment

May 3.

Day 210

• World Press Freedom Day: Israel killed 100+ journalists since Oct 7 + holding 53 captive

• 26 killed, 51 injured in the last 24 hours. Note the toll is underreported.

• Israel attack on Rafah killed 7, incl. a mother & her children — the children’s bodies were shredded by the airstrikes

🇹🇹 Trinidad & Tobago recognizes the State of Palestine as West Bank & Gaza

🇬🇧 UK sanctions 2 Israeli groups + 4 settlers for violence in West Bank, warns of more sanctions if no Israeli action against settler attacks

• Israeli strike on Bureij camp killed 5, incl. a child

💰 UN estimates cost to rebuild Gaza at $40bn; more than post-WWII reconstruction

🎓 Goldsmiths University students in London win & obtain demands after occupying library — @ goldsmithsforpalestine on instagram for details

🎓 University encampments for Gaza go global spreading to 🇨🇦 🇮🇳 🇳🇿 🇪🇸 🇦🇷 🇯🇵 🇰🇼 🇱🇧 🇹🇳 🇯🇴. US crackdown w/ 2,200 students arrested

• Iran-backed Bahraini militia launches attack at southern Israeli port Eilat

May 4.

Day 211

✝️ Israel blocks entry of many Palestinian Christians to Jerusalem for Holy Saturday celebrations

•⁠ 32 Palestinians killed, 41 injured in Gaza in last 24 hours. Toll underreported

•⁠ ⁠IOF killed 5+ in 15-hour siege on Tulkarem (West Bank) & clashes with Hamas resistance fighters. IOF targeted fighters’ homes w/ women & kids inside, demolished homes trapping many under rubble

•⁠ ⁠Israeli strikes on Gaza kill 11 incl. 3 in bombings of tents in Rafah

•⁠ Head of UN WFP says north Gaza experiencing “full-blown famine” and it’s only a matter of time before south Gaza faces same level of starvation

🇫🇷 British-Palestinian @ dr.ghassan.as denied entry to France for Senate address as witness of Gaza Genocide as Germany put year-long ban on his entry to Europe (Schengen)

🇺🇸 88 US lawmakers warn Biden that Israeli aid blockade violates US ‘foreign assistance’ law

•⁠ IOF abducts 5 overnight in West Bank

🎓 Uni encampments spread to Switzerland, Ireland, Germany, Cuba & Costa Rica

#on palestine #palestine #letstalkpalestine #text post #o post #magz upload #sij

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missmayhemvr · 4 months

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Like halfway through "how Europe underdeveloped Africa" cause I decided I'd read/listen to it after I had a strong base on knowledge on African history and just holy fuck is he right about nearly everything so far.

Having learned about how extensive African trade was prior to the 18th century and how heavily most African kingdoms shifted in the 16th it's very clear that what he points out in the way the slave trade and the need to aquire firearms grew the European economies while near completely emptying out African economies and how the hard shift to European import goods after Europe had grow through the use of African slave labor and monopoly of trade routes is still a largely still at play in the era of neocolonialism.

The way that Walter Rodney not just points out that this is true, but the depth to which he covers a variety of African kingdoms, their economies, and cultural practices puts even some college level courses to shame while also showcasing the exact ways in which some of these stronger or more expansive kingdoms like the Ashanti, oyo, borno, Kongo, and Benin kingdoms had explicitly tried everything to get guns through any other trade and how the Ashanti, merina, Ethiopian, Burundi Benin kingdoms sought our education and scholars to begin industrialization and the systematic way in which Europeans and Americans prevented that is just, well it's damming.

It's a continuing reminder how from the first stage of European expansion and control they had precisely zero good intentions for the peoples of Africa. That Europe saw Africa as nothing more than a way to grow itself, it's institutions and improve its economies by depriving Africa of labor, materials and freedom which is true to this day, most starkly in the Congo but true across the whole region.

But while the book shows the crimes of Europeans without sugar coating, it also doesn't glorify the African leaders and more importantly those that became collaborative with European despitism. It also does not abide by the word games the European powers like to play and goes in depth to the way Europeans had no actual interest in ending slavery, and that while invading the various kingdoms and communities to "end slavery" the created some of the most brutal slave conditions on this side of the globe, not just in Leopolds Congo but in French forced labor camps and British controlled regions, with the Portuguese being particularly up front about it.

Truly a shame that like most other black radicals Rodney was murdered so young. The rarity to which black radicals even get to 40 shows how desperately capitalist and white supremist try to prevent even the slightest push back from black voices. It also makes clear how much we all need to know this stuff, from debois's black reconstruction to nkrumah's neoimperialism these books give a great understanding of the past and the precise way in which we arrived to the current situation.

I pray that with the new scramble for Africa that is unfolding in front of our very faces, the genocides in the Congo, and Sudan, and the way in which these interlock with the genocide of Palestinians, that we all take the time to properly read and reflect so that we may properly organize and fight back for a fully free and sovereign Africa and Palestine and a world free from white supremacy.

#black liberation #colonization #politics #indigenous liberation #world of the oppressed #pan african #the colonized #How Europe underdeveloped Africa #walter rodney

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thechanelmuse · 1 year

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Juneteenth is a Black American holiday.

We call Juneteenth many things: Black Independence Day, Freedom Day, Emancipation Day, Jubilee Day. We celebrate and honor our ancestors.

December 31 is recognized as Watch Night or Freedom’s Eve in Black American churches because it marks the day our enslaved ancestors were awaiting news of their freedom going into 1863. On January 1, 1863, President Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. But all of the ancestors wouldn’t be freed until June 19, 1865 for those in Galveston, Texas and even January 23, 1866 for those in New Jersey (the last slave state). (It’s also worth noting that our people under the Choctaw and Chickasaw Nations wouldn’t be freed until April 28, 1866 and June 14, 1866 for those under the Cherokee Nation by way of the Treaties.)

Since 1866, Black Americans in Texas have been commemorating the emancipation of our people by way of reading the Emancipation Proclamation and coming together to have parades, free festivities, and later on pageants. Thereafter, it spread to select states as an annual day of commemoration of our people in our homeland.

Here’s a short silent video filmed during the 1925 Juneteenth celebration in Beaumont, Texas:

youtube

(It’s also worth noting that the Mascogos tribe in Coahuila, Mexico celebrate Juneteenth over there as well. Quick history lesson: A total of 305,326 Africans were shipped to the US to be enslaved alongside of American Indians who were already or would become enslaved as prisoners of war, as well as those who stayed behind refusing to leave and walk the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma. In the United States, you were either enslaved under the English territories, the Dutch, the French, the Spanish, or under the Nations of what would called the Five “Civilized” Native American Tribes: Cherokee, Creek (Muscogee), Chickasaw, Choctaw, and Seminoles. Mascogos descend from the Seminoles who escaped slavery during the Seminole Wars, or the Gullah Wars that lasted for more than 100 years if you will, and then settled at El Nacimiento in 1852.)

We largely wave our red, white and blue flags on Juneteenth. These are the only colors that represent Juneteenth. But sometimes you may see others wave our Black American Heritage flag (red, black, and gold).

Juneteenth is a day of respect. It has nothing to do with Africa, diversity, inclusion, immigration, your Pan-African flag, your cashapps, nor your commerce businesses. It is not a day of “what about” isms. It is not a day to tap into your inner colonizer and attempt to wipe out our existence. That is ethnocide and anti-Black American. If you can’t attend a Black American (centered) event that’s filled with education on the day, our music, our food and other centered activities because it’s not centered around yours…that is a you problem. Respect our day for what and whom it stands for in our homeland.

Juneteenth flag creator: “Boston Ben” Haith

It was created in 1997. The red, white and blue colors represent the American flag. The five-point star represents the Lone State (Texas). The white burst around the star represents a nova, the beginning of a new star. The new beginning for Black Americans.

Black American Heritage Flag creators: Melvin Charles & Gleason T. Jackson

It was created in 1967, our Civil Rights era. The color black represents the ethnic pride for who we are. Red represents the blood shed for freedom, equality, justice and human dignity. Gold fig wreath represents intellect, prosperity, and peace. The sword represents the strength and authority exhibited by a Black culture that made many contributions to the world in mathematics, art, medicine, and physical science, heralding the contributions that Black Americans would make in these and other fields.

SN: While we’re talking about flags, I should note that Grace Wisher, a 13-year-old free Black girl from Baltimore helped stitched the Star Spangled flag, which would inspire the national anthem during her six years of service to Mary Pickersgill. I ain’t even gon hold you. I never looked too far into it, but she prob sewed that whole American flag her damn self. They love lying about history here until you start unearthing them old documents.

In conclusion, Juneteenth is a Black American holiday. Respect us and our ancestors.

#juneteenth #juneteenth flag #black american history #black american culture #ben haith #black american heritage flag #melvin charles #gleason t jackson #grace wisher #american flag #mascogos #juneteenth 2023

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zorciarkrildrush · 2 months

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@grupusdestroyerofworlds-blog saying that isn't Nazi behavior, of course it's not Nazi behavior.

But you don't have to look hard for examples of Nazi behavior, I'll help:

1. There are 5 current "Major wars", as well as several dozen other ongoing wars. Each one has tens of thousands of fatalities, if not hundreds of thousands (with particularly high counts in Syria, Russia/Ukraine, and Africa). There is also the Uyghur genocide in China, which is not classified as a war because there is no armed resistance against it, but is very well documented by actual investigative journalists. You wouldn't post about any of that, or go into random posts to start talking about it, because the only thing that matters (apparently) is one (1) conflict, the one with the Jews.

2. Your blog does not advocate for peace in Sudan, or freedom to the Uyghurs in China (who you might say are also tens of thousands - many more actually - of civilians brutally murdered by a brutal racist state), or any of that. No, you are much more comfortable sharing this:

On Oct 9th. 2 days after mass slaughter, rape and kidnappings of primarily Jews (and not only Jews), the absolute majority of them civilians, it was high time to signal to your lovely followers you support this 'resistance'. Hamas does not represent the PLO, by the way - that will be Fatah, part of the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian peace process and the government in the west bank. Hamas started a civil war against them, because establishing a Muslim-arab ethnostate in Israel/Palestine is their goal and soft-hearted concepts like peace and co-existence are laughable to them. But, pish posh, facts shmackts.

3. Finally, on a post about antisemitism in the US, which is surging by every possible metric, you decided to hijack the post and make the antisemitism something righteous which is actually related to Israel-Palestine, when it is not. It's about people of every political alignment in the US and worldwide feeling more comfortable to be antisemitic, including you, and using Palestinian liberation as a comfortable guise.

That is Nazi behavior, and you can get fucked. Fuck you for proving horseshoe theory is right, so long as hating Jews is involved.

#i/p #antisemitism

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pressfreedomday · 1 month

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ETHIOPIA - Discussing the state of freedom of expression.

The World Press Freedom Day national celebration gathers media workers and partners to discuss the state of freedom of expression and media freedom in Ethiopia and the challenges on the safety of journalists. This May 3rd event will explore the theme from a global perspective and with a specific focus on the Ethiopian context.

#state of freedom of expression #right to freedom of expression #free expression #freedom of expression #ethiopia #UNESCO Eastern Africa Regional Office #31st edition of world press freedom day #events #3 may #displaced journalists #investigative journalists #media professionals #media communication #independent media

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sneakyparsnipslicer · 5 months

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Held In Bondage

Steve turned the key in his front door, opened it, shut it behind him and locked it. He heaved a deep sigh of relief, finally, another work day done.

Amidst the amount of change going on in Steve's life recently, it was always good to get back to his new flat. He'd been there about a month now and whilst it wasn't quite looking like a home yet, at least it was his own space to get away from the world. Today had been a stressful day at work, but then retail often is. He'd been close to a panic attack but had managed to hold it together. He took off his coat, placing it on his coat stand and walked into his living room, flopping down on the sofa and looking at the ceiling and began to contemplate what to do with the evening.

Since moving out of his parents' home, he'd found he had a lot more freedom with his spare time, able to order takeaway without his mother scolding him on wasting his money, able to purchase things online without his father questioning him on what he'd got. It was heavenly. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through the apps, wondering where to order dinner from. Pizza Hut? Domino's? Failing that McDonald's was always cheaper. Whilst pondering food, he had a thought. Maybe he could order something other than food for the night, like a cute guy looking for a good night. He looked around and wondered about it. Why not? It was his home, it wasn't like he was bringing someone into his parents' house. Steve began to get excited at the idea and began searching dating apps. Hundreds of cute guys in his area! But eventually he decided to stop scrolling. What was he thinking? He'd never had sex before, it wasn't exactly something he'd ever been able to get any experience in. It was embarassing to think about it, but he was 30 and had never made it with a man let alone a woman. People told him he was sweet, but he'd never had the confidence to ask anyone out on a date. The more he thought about it, the more it sounded like a stupid idea. Not looking at the screen he locked his phone and decided to search his cupboards for some Pot Noodles.

After he'd prepared and eaten them, he heard a buzzing noise from in the hallway. He jumped at first, but realised it was the intercom. Probably one of the work friends coming to hang out with him. He hurried and picked up the receiver.

'Hello?' Steve asked.

'Hey, is this Steve?' asked a voice.

'Uh, yeah. Who's this?' he asked.

'Oh, you clicked on my Profile. Found your address and here I am!' the voice chuckled. Steve began to sweat, had he accidentally invited someone on one of the apps earlier without realising it?

'You gonna let me in?' asked the voice.

'Oh yeah, yeah sure. Come on up!' said Steve, pressing the button to unlock the door downstairs for the person. Steve hung up the receiver and began cursing himself.

'Why the fuck did you let them in?! You didn't even get a name! Shit!' he hissed through clenched teeth. He hurried through to his bathroom mirror, trying to smooth his hair over quickly, no time to change his clothes. His t-shirt and jeans would just have to do. He sprayed some deodrant over his body quick as he heard a knock at his door.

'Coming! Just a sec!' Steve shouted, looking at himself, taking a deep breath and nodding. He walked briskly through his hallway to his front door and swung it open.

Before him stood a person dressed from head to toe in a PVC bondage suit. Light shining off everything with gloves, boots, a mask. Not an inch of skin to be seen.

'Hey there man, nice to meet you!' said the guest, offering a hand to shake. Steve looked to it and shook it. The guest pulled him close to him and took a deep inhale.

'Mmm, Lynx Africa. Seems like someone sprayed in a hurry!' the guy chuckled, pulling back and slapping Steve heartily on the shoulder. Steve was lost for words.

'Well say something!' the guest insisted.

'You came over here dressed like that?' asked Steve, looking them up and down in surprise.

'Well sure it turns some heads, but it's kinda my deal' said the guest folding their arms, shrugging. Steve laughed nervously.

'So… do you have a name?' asked Steve.

'That all depends on you big man, what's your favourite name?' asked the guest.

'My favourite name?' asked Steve.

'Sure, like if you were getting railed what name would you want to be screaming?' asked the guest.

'Ben, I guess' said Steve.

'Ben, huh?' the guest asked.

'Yeah, I like the name Ben. Known plenty of Bens, they tend to be sweet guys' smiled Steve.

'Fair play then mate, call me Ben!' said the guest giving him two thumbs up.

'Alright, would you like to come in Ben?' asked Steve, beckoning to the front room.

'Thought you'd never ask Steve!' replied Ben, swaggering off down the hallway. Steve followed his guest. Ben looked around the front room.

'You been here long?' asked Ben.

'Only about a month' said Steve, chuckling.

'Figures. But at least you have a couch!' said Ben, walking over to the couch and sitting down, making himself at home.

'Umm, would you like a drink or something?' asked Steve, pointing to the fridge. Ben shook his head.

'Nah, I don't need to drink. Thanks for the offer. Come on and sit with me' said Ben, patting the seat next to him.

Steve gulped and made his way over to Ben. Sitting neatly beside him. Ben leaned in and put an arm over his shoulder.

'So, tell me about yourself Steve' said Ben, stroking Steve's shoulder.

'Aren't we meant to remain anonymous to eachother or something?' asked Steve.

'Well sure some people like to keep their private life secret. I like to get to know my clients so I can do my best. Go on and have a feel' said Ben, guiding Steve's hand to his chest. Steve could feel some very firm pecs under the bondage gear.

'Oh wow… do you work out?' asked Steve, turning to face him.

'Well I work some things alright!' chuckled Ben, moving his hand to stroke Steve's growing bulge. Steve began to laugh too.

'So are you a top or a bottom?' asked Ben, moving his hand to stroke Steve's thigh.

'Sorry?' asked Steve.

'When fucking. Do you like to fuck or be fucked?' asked Ben.

'Umm, actually I've never had sex before' said Steve looking away in embarassment.

'Untouched territory huh? That's ok' said Ben gently, placing his hand on Steve's jaw, moving his face to look back at him.

'It is?' asked Steve, trembling.

'Sure, every man has his first time at some point!' said Ben reassuringly. He held Steve's hand gently. Steve looked to the ceiling and exhaled, he wanted to cry from how embarassed he felt.

'Hey, hey come on mate. It's ok really!' said Ben stroking Steve's shoulders.

'Sorry, it's just you were probably expecting some nympho and you got The 30 Year Old Virgin' replied Steve. Ben giggled, but stopped shortly after.

'Steve, buddy. I know you must be feeling embarassed right now, but please try not to. I'm here to help you through it' said Ben, caressing Steve's cheek. Steve looked to Ben's mask, wondering what kind of beautiful man was behind it.

'Thanks Ben, I really appreciate you understanding' smiled Steve, at which Ben sharply nodded his head.

'Steve, do you trust me enough to make you a changed man?' asked Ben. Steve thought for a moment. Ben seemed willing enough to let him experiment, and he seemed friendly enough.

'Ok, I trust you Ben' smiled Steve.

'That's what I'm talking about Baby!' cried Ben, pulling Steve off the couch and into a tight embrace. Steve was enjoying the feeling of his chin against Ben's bondage-clad bosom.

'Well aren't you gonna cop a feel?' asked Ben, not letting Steve go.

'Cop what?' asked Steve.

'The bakery! I recommend the buns, they're nice!' insisted Ben. Steve understood what he meant and placed his hands on Ben's waist, sliding them down, he squeezed Ben's butt cheeks, firm and a lot to hold.

'Oh shit!' said Steve, surprised.

'Yes! An ass man after my own heart! Oh we're in for a good night!' laughed Ben, grabbing Steve's face and attempting to kiss him through the mask but wound up bumping him on the nose due to his mask's nozzle. The two looked at eachother for a moment, then burst out laughing. Steve was taken aback but he was loving Ben's energy. He took a moment to properly look at Ben, at how the suit was hugging his skin tightly, showing off his muscular build, his abs, his sharp jawline. He had everything Steve liked in a man.

'Are you ready to give this a go?' asked Ben. Steve nodded with a newfound confidence. He wanted to give Ben everything.

'Good, then I guess we should head to the bedroom. Giddy up!' laughed Ben, turning Steve around and smacking him on the ass. Steve began to laugh too and led the way.

On arriving in Steve's bedroom, Ben pushed Steve onto the bed and laid down on him, pinning him down. He took a good inhale of Steve's neck. Steve tried not to moan, this was so hot.

'Don't hold it in, moan if you've gotta' said Ben, grinding his crotch into Steve's. Steve held onto Ben's broad shoulders and began to gasp.

'Oh fuck yeah!' Steve moaned, biting his lower lip. He moved his hands to Ben's waist as he continued to gyrate him into the bed. Even fully clothed this felt amazing. Eventually Ben stopped and nodded.

'Alright, I'm ready' said Ben. Steve looked at him confused.

'I know you want to be inside me, I'm ready' said Ben. Steve wriggled out from under him and Ben proceeded to lay stomach down on the bed. Steve climbed back on and positioned himself over Ben's butt, excited to see who was under the plastic.

'I'll bet you're hot as fuck!' smiled Steve as he began to pull at the zip that started at Ben's neck and ended at his tailbone. Carefully zipping it down, the suit seemed to hiss. As the zipper slid further down, steam began to cloud out of the back, assailing Steve's senses. It felt warm and he could smell sweat and leather. He coughed and fanned the steam out of his face. Looking to the suit's opening expecting to see a man's back, there was nothing. The suit was hollow.

'What the hell?!' asked Steve aloud. The suit was completely empty, had he been tricked?

'Ben?!' asked Steve, looking around. He couldn't see anyone else in the room, just him and the suit.

'Maybe you should try it on!' Steve found himself thinking. He looked down at the suit and felt inside, it was warm and slippery, the texture did make him tingle a bit. He proceeded to remove his t-shirt, jeans, socks and boxers and pulled the bondage suit off the bed, climbing into it. Fitting the gloves, boots and mask on. Shortly after Steve felt a fresh wave of passion wash over him and he fell onto his bed. He gasped in surprise and then groaned. The suit was alive, he could feel it. It was squeezing and stretching him, kneading and pressing. At the same time he could feel something entering his ass, was the suit fucking him? Steve let out a scream of pleasure as the invisible force began to ride him.

'What - the - fuck - is - ha - ppe - ning?!' Steve yelled as he felt his body being compressed and moulded to fit the suit, edging closer to shooting his load.

'Just enjoy it Steve, it'll be ok!' said the suit in Ben's voice, continuing to thrust into him. Steve moaned and struggled to catch his breath.

'What does Ben look like to you Steve?' asked the suit. Steve closed his eyes and began to imagine a muscular man with dark hair and tattoos was fucking him, the kind of man he wanted to be fucked by. Steve smiled.

'Don't lose sight of him!' said the suit, continuing to fuck the cum out of Steve. He couldn't hold it back any longer and began ejaculating, crying out in pure pleasure. String after string as he imagined Ben's gorgeous face. Eventually the suit stopped and began to melt away, leaving Steve lying naked and sweaty on his bed. He turned over and groaned, aching.

'Fuck me, that was nice!' he said, wiping sweat off his forehead, chuckling. He looked at his hand, then his arm which he noticed was inked with patterns.

'Hold on…' he whispered, feeling his chest. Big pecs, abs, he looked down at his body. He gasped and hurried over to the mirror, being greeted by the man he'd just imagined, by… Ben!

'Is this… did I just become Ben?!' he asked. He felt his ass, big and firm. Yep, that was the same ass he'd felt not half an hour ago. And there was no denying his voice either.

'Oh shit! I'm Ben!' cried Ben, laughing.

'Or was Ben even real? Was I Ben all along? Did Ben and I become one person?' Ben asked. He looked to his bed, the suit had completely vanished leaving no trace of it ever having been there. The more he thought about it, the more he could only remember being Ben as far back as forever, filling his 20s with gym workouts and banging guys on the sly, moving out of his parents' place recently and working retail, spending some evenings as a PVC-clad sex maniac. Almost felt like two lives melded into one.

'Well whatever, gotta get some sleep. Work in the morning!' Ben chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. He turned his attention to a pile of clothes on his bedroom floor. The boxers read the name 'Steve'. Ben wondered who that could be. Couldn't say he knew many Steves. Must've been a client or something, probably a sweet guy. He must've left his stuff here.

'Ah well, if he needs his stuff he knows where I am!' Ben said, giving the t-shirt a sniff.

'Hmm, Lynx Africa. That's adorable!' he chuckled, smiling. Somehow it felt familiar.

#gay #male tf #male transformation

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