#full gear '23

[thedivineelite]

[taigastyle]

well at least the next six weeks are going to have incredible wrestling 🥰 can’t wait for the elite to win in chicago

[muffin-man-marq-lynch]

Guys terrible news, i've reviewed the tapes and I know we thought we all saw just the BCC fracture beyond repair with the BryanMox divorce in Chicago September 7th, 2024 but I think we actually all saw the BCC fracture beyond repair with the BryanMox irreconcilable differences in Chicago on November 23rd, 2022

Regal Fucks Over Mox to try and teach the BCC to teach Yuta that betrayal can come from anywhere, trust No One, always keep your head on a swivel.

This is his means of exiting gracefully and Being of Use to the BCC when he feels he no longer serves a purpose and has a value, simply being loved is not good enough when he nothing to teach or value to impart.

Mox shows up at the Dynamite in Chicago on 11/23 after full gear ready to tear Regal apart, but Bryan stops him. This seems to be somewhat unexpected for Regal, but even more so the fact that eventually Mox listens when Bryan pleads for Bryan to let him go 'for me, if for no other reason than I love him'.

We find out two weeks later that Regal has recorded a final goodbye message to the BCC where he says that Jon Moxley is a calculating man and will understand his message before affirming that he is Blackpool Combat Club until he dies. Mox seems confused, and responds after a moment:

"The only thing I know is that the three men in this ring, live and breathe Professional Wrestling, call us whatever the hell you want."

The three men in the ring that night are Jon, Claudio, and Yuta.

What happened Jon? Decide Bryan wasn't living and breathing professional wrestling anymore so you had to set the example and have him stop breathing?

Or were you just waiting all this time? Until he was the champion Because as we all know. You aren't really the champion until you have your first title defense.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Hi, for the wip ask game, bff Soap Hurt Comfort? :') please and thank you!

for the wip ask game--lighter, sweeter bff!Soap. you're meeting him at the airport. he's coming home after being MIA. scared you to death.

this one is short, so here it is edited + posted in full. for the hurt/comfort girlies :)

600 words / 23

…

“Thought you couldna live without me, eh?”

You tackle Soap in a hug, tactical gear and all. "Shut up. Shut up. God, you're alive."

He laughs and returns the embrace. "Too stubborn to die. I thought I told you not to worry about me."

You grip the straps on the back of his vest and keep your face in his chest to hide the tears threatening to track down your cheeks. "You can't just say that and go MIA. They talked about putting your name on a memorial and everything."

"You know me. Always gotta do things my way."

"Your way is stupid."

He chuckles and rubs your back. "Yeah, I'm stupid. I've missed you, though. I haven't stopped thinkin' bout you."

"Really? Cause I..." The dam breaks. You can't stop the flood of hot, angry tears. "I missed you too." Then you start sobbing. God, it's embarrassing. But you refuse to let go of him.

He strokes your hair. "Hen, don't cry. Please. I'm here and I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm your man, aye?"

You shake your head, stubbornly refusing to move.

He rests his cheek on you. "I don't want you to be sad. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I love you."

Hearing him say that just makes your heart skip before the tears come out faster. You love him, too, more than a friend should. How could anyone not fall in love with him? He's Johnny. It's just that you were always too chickenshit to tell him. You thought you lost your chance.

"Come on, look at me."

"No," you mutter, refusing to unbury your face from his shirt. Scared to, maybe. "I don't want you to make it up to me. I want to stay here."

"That's no problem. We can stay here for however long. I just need to know you're not upset at me. I can't stand seein' you sad. Makes me sad."

You sniff. "You deserve it."

"Aye, I do. But what can I do to cheer you up'?"

"Nothing," you mumble into his chest. "I've been crying for two weeks because of you."

You try to collect yourself anyway, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. His squadmates stand a little ways away from the terminal, looking curious at this scene you're causing. This isn't exactly how you wanted to meet them. You're supposed to be Johnny's cool best friend, not a weepy mess.

Johnny recaptures your attention, wiping away a stray tear track with his thumb. "You've been cryin' about me?"

You shove him, but it's light and there's no anger in it. "Of course I have, asshole, you're my best friend. They said you were MIA. Why wouldn't I cry?"

He grins. "But I'm here now, though. Could use a wee bit of comforting myself. You mind?"

You sniff, nodding as you press your sleeves into your eyes one more time to dry them. He's right. He's the one who's been away from home for a month. Probably endured some draconian shit, missing for two weeks and all. But the way he's looking at you through those blue eyes of his... it's not fair how easy it is to fall under his spell again.

"Yeah. I guess. What do you want? More fawning and crying?"

He laughs softly and pulls you into another tight hug. He presses a kiss to your temple, and you have to act like it doesn't make your heart explode into tiny pieces. He rests his chin on the top of your head, content to keep you here, totally enveloped in his frame. "Mm, that'll do. Just to start."

...

wip ask game / more Soap / masterlist tag

[symbruary]

SYMBRUARY 2024

Symbruary returns with a full prompt list provided by YOU, the slime appreciation society. This February, draw something, write something, make something, and select symbiotes as your subject.

Apart from Marvel symbiotes, we're also celebrating any creatures from any other media (or your own imagination) so long as they bond to other creatures! Think the Tok'ra, Khaji Da, Eddie but not this one but the one from Guilty Gear...

1: xenobiology | 2: culture | 3: instinct | 4: bonds | 5: unusual pairs | 6: fix-it | 7: underappreciated goo | 8: iridescent | 9: hostless symbiotes | 10: in sickness/in health | 11: symbiote mecha | 12: symbiotify a non-symbiote character | 13: symby learning cold vs. warmth | 14: girls' night | 15: FREE DAY | 16: faith | 17: regret/apology | 18: dragons | 19: free! | 20: crunch | 21: research | 22: hive | 23: symbiotes wearing clothes | 24: symbiote ot3 | 25: learning something new | 26: yearning/longing/pining | 27: anti-venom | 28: cozy | 29: sibling rivalry

If your submission is safe for work, you can @symbruary or tag #symbruary to have it featured on the blog. We also have an ao3 collection.

[swervestomp]

heres how i personally can win

the coffin path, katherine clements / aew full gear '23, scott lesh / bed of dolls by sugarcoma / in the kliq podcast / dynamite, 2. 07. 24. / to the desert, benjamin alire sáenz / crush, richard siken / aew full gear '23 / speeches for dr frankenstein, margaret atwood / aew revolution '24, jj williams / don't let them see me like this, jasmine gibson / aew full gear '23, scott lesh / frankenstein, mary shelley / aew revolution '24 / waco, texas by ethel cain

[aces-and-angels]

verification source | verification source disclaimer: i do not vet/verify gfm campaigns myself. i can only share campaigns that have already been vetted by other individuals. (i.e. el-shab-hussein, nabulsi, 90-ghost, etc.). nesma's campaign has been vetted by sayruq, nabulsi, and el-shab-hussein (proof of verification linked)

for those able, please consider donating to nesma's campaign here:

current stats: $65,702/$80,000

regardless of your ability to donate- please read the following below the cut. thank you🖤

///

hello friends~ i would like to take a moment of your time to highlight the following gfm campaign for @nesmamomen. nesma has recently reached out to me through my inbox asking me to help spread the word about her campaign. here is the beginning of her message (text is also included in image description):

nesma story starts similarly to what i think many of us here can relate to: a 23 year old student gearing up to finish their degree. in nesma's case, her final year studying IT (information technology). for years- she has worked hard to make her family, 12 members in total + the best cat: lucy and the best bird: koko, proud. her home was full of love and joy- precious memories that are near and dear to her heart. however, nesma's joy has turned into unimaginable horror and immense suffering beyond our comprehension.

and it's been that way for almost one year.

at every turn, she has desperately tried to get people to listen to her story. to have the words 'help me' not be enough- to need to constantly validate yourself in order for people to care- only to be silenced is nothing short of deplorable. as nesma mentioned in her message: her account has been repeatedly suppressed. (the first verification link shows her old account)

the rest of her message to me contains some graphic imagery of the current state of her family. multiple members are injured. her father is in desperate need of medical care. her younger siblings sustaining wounds no child should ever have to bear. just reading all of that would make someone want to fall into a pit of despair. i am here to implore you to look beyond that grief and push against those feelings of hopelessness. we have been conditioned to turn away. conditioned to believe that there is nothing that can be done.

nesma's message alone is proof enough that there is hope. you reading her story, as devastating as it is, is enough to know that she and her family still need help. they still need us to be their voice in a time of crisis. because they are still alive. and it is up to the rest of us to make sure they get the chance to truly live.

to quote nesma herself:

"I do not know whether I will survive or die in this war, but know that your help for me will contribute to saving my family from death."

please follow nesma on her social media (@/nesmamomen on tumblr). she also has an instagram linked in her gfm page. please learn nesma's story in her own words- not mine- and read the campaign yourself. linking it again so you don't have to scroll all the way back up:

if you made it to the end: congrats! you've unlocked a secret poll ✨

[benzatthanin]

AEW: FULL GEAR | 11/18/23

[thedivineelite]

matt & nick throwing a sissy whiny bitchy lil' tantrum. <3

[nexo-cuffs88]

Northwestern University Part 1

A story for @wishmaster

It's another boring day for you at your office job. You had once attended and graduated from Northwestern University, you had always been the type to focus on studying rather than sports. Why not, everyone has different talents, some are more intelligent and some are more athletic. You were given intelligence and what did it do for you? A boring office job.

While you're working, you overhear a new colleague at the company talking to someone about Northwestern University, your school. He says:

?: "Hey, have you heard that the university is going to be demolished, my father graduated there and he said it was still relatively new when he left and that was over 20 years ago. It was also recently modernized."

You pick it up and think about the time again yourself, it's been 23 years since then, you're now 45 and it seems strange to you too. The university had really been in great shape when you left. You don't know how she had changed in the years after you graduated. You realize that in all your years you have never gone to school and looked at it. You actually didn't notice anything about the renovation work, either.

?: "My father would like to go there one last time in the near future before it is finally torn down, for the sake of old times and all. Unfortunately, he doesn't have much time left for that, the demolition work is supposed to start next month."

This gives you an idea, you could actually visit the university one last time after work this evening. It was an important part of your life and now you can't leave it without a degree.

Your working day is over, it's already late and it's getting dark outside, but you still decide to go to university. You get in your car and drive to university. Once there, the sun has quickly set and the university can hardly be seen anymore. But what you notice is that a huge fence has been built around the site.

There are signs hanging there that say: “No entry allowed. Buildings in danger of collapsing.” You think to yourself that you can’t just ignore the warnings about what if someone catches you. However, you also think about the fact that nothing happening in your life and it could be something exciting. Finally you decide to enter the area. You look around and make sure no one is around. You go to the gate and push it open. The gate isn't locked but you don't care. You walk across the grounds and see the courtyard, the school team's football field and also some of the buildings that used to be classrooms, living rooms and cafeterias. Some memories come flooding back about how much you loved watching sports teams, even if you never had the chance to play. You walk across the area and at some point you see a door to a building with a light on, it seems strange to you since the electricity should actually be turned off. Out of curiosity, you approach and finally open the door. When you did that, you just heard a crack above you and you just saw a piece of wall falling on you. Your eyes go black.

?: "Hey, are you okay?"

You open your eyes and look around frantically. You are in the hallway of a school, you see lockers, students and a person standing in front of you. It's a young handsome wrestler, he stands in front of you in full gear, with his tight singlet, his headhear and wrestling shoes. He holds out his hand to you.

?: "Come on, take it, I want to help you, bro!"

It's not easy for you not to look at the bulge in his singlet, but you do your best and take his hand. He pulls you up. You ask:

Jon: "What happened, where am I?"

He looks at you confused:

?: "You just tripped, you're in Northwestern University. Are you okay? Normally you don't forget your school after you trip."

Jon: "Yes, it's okay, I just need to compose myself for a moment. Why are you wearing that?"

?: "Okay, is everything really okay? Funny that someone like you ask that. I just came from training and didn't have time to change since, I was just helping you, buddy. Good so you don't forget. Hi, I'm Cameron, but everyone calls me Nexo, I'm the captain of the wrestling team, I wanted to recruit you for the team but you did something different. I don't share your decision, but I don't have anything against it either. Whatever it is. I gotta go, a captain should be with his team."

He turns around and leaves, you look at his ass, which is highlighted by his singlet, he looks so hot. But you immediately organize your thoughts again. If you aren't injured, at least a stone fell on you. And Northwestern? Your old school? You're at university even though you were standing at the construction site just a few seconds ago. Are you somehow lost in time or are you in a coma? Questions you can't answer and what did he mean by your decision and "someone like you"? You decide to go to the bathroom first, some water will definitely help you. You go into the bathroom, open the tap and wash your face. You look in the mirror and you're shocked at what you see.

You look into a face you don't know. It is the face of a young man with brown hair and beautiful eyes. You notice that you have headphones on and are wearing jogging clothes. You take your shirt off and now look at a muscular body, you have a muscular chest, great arms and a tattoo on your chest. You also notice your big ass and that you have a boner in your pants, you're not sure if it's from Nexo's ass or the sight of you.

The doorbell rang and you quickly take your shirt again. You look at your phone and want to find out where you have class now. You realize that it's history now. You also realize that it can never be time travel. You didn't have cell phones like this before and it feels too real, diffrent them a coma. But now you don't have time to think about it, you have to go to class. You quickly walk to the room that was on your phone. When you get there, you sit down and a person comes to you.

Alex: "Hey, Jon. I thought you weren't coming today, I didn't find you this morning. What was wrong?"

Jon: "Sorry, I'm off track right now, why am I so important?"

Alex: "Are you kidding? Today is training, we have to be ready for our game."

Jon: "What game?"

Alex: "Really? The football game against the Hawks. Have you forgotten that?"

Jon: "Of course not, sorry."

The bell rings and everyone goes to their places. Alex also leaves, you only see his ass which looks great in his football pants and you feel something moving in your pants again. Apparently the athletes here like to wear their sports uniforms to class.

Jon: *So football? But how can it be? It's all so real and now I'm a young jock doing the sport I've always wanted to do. What happened?*

Class begins and you continue to think about everything. Maybe you'll learn something during training.

Sequel follows...

PS: It's a little longer than expected, the second part is coming soon.

[solverse]

Miscellaneous Stroll. (i)

Quo; A scenario for Genshin characters! (SAGAU)

Characters; Al-Haitham, Cyno, Candace, Dehya, Nilou, Collei, Faruzan, Tighnari, Kaveh and Nahida.

Notes; Just a little something I wanted to post since this has been in my draft for quite some time.

Disc; Not a character study whatsoever. Just a self-indulgent piece.

The Creator/Guide is named Raphael.

[Miscellanous Stroll] ( ii )

Today was a good day. It was a really nice day with the beaming sunshine, the cool breeze accompanying them, the refreshing taste of the beverages, and delicious snacks occupying their taste buds. The ambient sound of peace, the gentle flow of leylines, chatters of birds along the trees. Surely, this was a–

“ SON OF A BITCH! ” 

–good day. 

“ OH, IT'S ON! ” The shrieking yell of Cyno's voice echoed through the space and Raphael smiled away that incoming headache knocking at their door like a bad tinder hook-up at 3 a.m.

Nilou eyed the general with a worried look, smiling awkwardly as she silently lamented the intense metaphorical fire appearing in his eyes. She fidgeted slightly, blue eyes flickering down anxiously. The object in her hand felt heavy for a moment as her body trembled. 

Faruzan watched her closely before her hand reached out, bringing forth an incoming doom as Kaveh and Collei gasped in shock. Tighnari raised an eyebrow, a neutral on his face. Although, if you look close enough, you can see the man holding back with all his strength. He then turned to Kaveh with a placating look. 

Kaveh blinked out his shock, “ Wow– Oh yikes. We are doing this, huh? ” He grimaced. Cyno's eyes sharpened even further when the blond made his move. The General Mahamatra laced his fingers, glaring at Collei who was starting to sweat anxiously. 

“ Cyno, stop that. ” Tighnari chastised and Cyno only huffed in response, tearing away his gaze as he chose to look somewhere else. Collei swallowed before she reached out to confirm her move. Everyone gaped at her and Dehya started laughing. Candace could barely hide her smile as she continued, gaining even more shocked looks. Cyno clenched his fist. 

All eyes turned to Al-Haitham. The man was in his own thoughts before he glanced at each of them and Raphael could see the gears in his head turned at an impossible speed. He glanced somewhere else before shrugging. 

Faruzan gasped, not able to hide the huge grin on her face. “ No way! ” 

“ Oh, we're continuing?! ” Kaveh laughed in surprise. 

“ Seriously? ” Collei muttered behind her hand, eyes wide. Tighnari snickered in amusement. 

“ Don't you dare. ” Cyno hissed out, holding out a fist as he clenched his jaw. Al-Haitham cocked an eyebrow, halting in his movement. He stared at the general, face serious and blank. Cyno doubled down on his glare. 

Al-Haitham moved very slowly, observing every part of Cyno's reaction. 

“ Do it, do it, do it. ” Dehya chanted with a cheeky grin and Cyno sent an irritated look her way. The mercenary just rolled her eyes, the mischievous smile still on her face. Candace watched with an almost sorry look. 

“ Al-Haitham, I swear– ” 

Al-Haitham did the exact opposite and placed down another 4+ UNO card on the stack of cards. Cyno stared in disbelief while everybody else burst out laughing. Dehya was full-on cackling, leaning against Candace, who was also laughing. 

Nilou was laughing like there was no tomorrow, body trembling as she attempted to stifle her laughter. But one look at the Cyno's face of despair, she failed to do so, joining Faruzan as the two women cracked up.  

Kaveh banged his fist against the table multiple times, burying his face in his hand as he silenced his laugh. Collei gaped with a look of awe at the number of cards Cyno had to take. What was even worse was that Cyno had one card left but now he was holding a whopping 23. 

Cyno, on the other hand, was downright murderous. 

Raphael watched from the side awkwardly, sipping on their tea with a bored look. Nahida happily hummed from the side, a cup of milk tea in her hand. 

“ Oh boy. ” The Guide muttered, sipping their tea as they sweatdropped, trying to ignore the incoming deathmatch. It was just UNO. They did not want to think what would happen if they started playing Monopoly. Oh, the divorce rate will skyrocket. 

Nahida giggled and Raphael huffed, the little gremlin– she knew. 

–

[veinsfullofstars]

⚔️ How ‘bout a li'l training montage? 🏹

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Shadow Kirby honing his battle skills with various different Copy Abilities, feat. Dark Meta Knight and Shadow Dedede. More detailed descriptions below the cut. END ID.)

Part 1 | Part 2 (here!)

So I keep thinking about how Shadow Kirby is confirmed in canon to be just as powerful and capable as regular Kirby, so long as he can push past his own reluctance and fears. Then I started thinking about the unique color palette he has for the Fighters games, if that could be a sort of visual indicator of him reaching that full potential. Then I started thinking about who was around to teach him these skills, and the differences in their techniques, and how SD’s treatment of SK might be vastly different from DMK, and how that affects the relationship that DMK & SD might have, and how it all ties in to the sociopolitical climate of the Mirror World as a whole, and oh stars dammit am I making another AU again???

On an unrelated note, screw the Mirror World for giving everyone in it just the most annoying color palettes to shade. Grays on grays on grays and sometimes red but mostly grays. I am languishing in render hell and ready to move on to the next one thank you. Too many headcanons - not enough time or hands or energy.

UPDATE 03/01/24: Changed SK's eyes to purple instead of blue, and changed DMK's cape from gray to dark red.

Started 11/7/23, finished 11/16/23. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 11/16/23.

---

Image descriptions

Top left: SK in Ninja gear, facing left, looking focused and holding out his katana, imitating DMK standing beside him in a similar pose with his own sword.

Top middle: SK in Archer gear, leaping up to fire an arrow from his bow.

Top right: SK in Bomb gear - also sporting his darker swirl coloration from Kirby Fighters - winking and sticking his tongue out as he tosses a bomb towards the viewer.

Middle: SK - in Wrestler gear with KF colors - delivering a strong leaping kick to a wooden training dummy, while DMK & SD observe in the background. SD stands with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, his mouth pulled into a sinister, calculating grin. DMK stands at his side, wrapped in his cape with eyes hidden in the shadows of his mask, a pensive ellipsis over his head.

Bottom left: SK facedown on the floor with a cross of bandages on his head, exhausted from training. DMK’s hand awkwardly comes in from off-screen, placing a bottle of Energy Drink beside him.

Bottom right: SK powering up into his KF form, fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a roar, an aura of purple-black flame flickering around him.)

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 6, Mouse Trapped

Now it's Mouse's turn in the hot seat after she is captured by Kortac. But, what if getting away is actually the worst thing that could happen?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care, misogynistic comments

AN: Hello everyone! Wow, life has been a straight up doozy. Unfortunately, I ended up having to leave where I was because it was not safe and my whole life went on pause for a good 8 months while I was at my previous place. I just wanted to let everyone know how much this community means to me. At my absolute worst, believing I deserved the ways in which I was being hurt, I would look at all the lovely things people have said about my writing. I just wanted to take a moment to say, no one should be hit by a partner under any circumstance. If they tell you it was an accident, it was not if it happens multiple times, especially not if it happens repeatedly in the same way. It's hard to see when you're in it, but I promise you deserve better. No one should have to face public humiliation for how they dress from a partner. No one should be told that their trauma is inconvenient by a partner. If your partner ever says "I do not respect you, I don't even like you," please do not stay to try and make it work. Nothing you do can be enough for those people, but every single one of you liking/sharing/commenting/enjoying this story has shown me that I am enough. I am now safe, in my own apartment, free from that experience. And I want you to know, you all gave me an incredible amount of strength in ways I will never be able to repay you, so I may as well just update the damn story! But enough about me, lets get back to it! This chapter has been in editing for a literal year (whoops!). I hope the length, the angst, and the next two chapters make up for it!

Prev | Pt. 6, Mouse Trapped | 5.1k words | Next

The heavy footfalls echoing closer to her position in the compound throb in time with the blood pooling in Mouse’s wrists bound above her head. She hears them approaching with a certain determination that she’s sure unlike the dozens of other sets, these are determined to reach her. It’s only been three hours inside this dark-lit room in a KorTac black site. Her stakeouts are, at minimum, twice as long. Even so, her contorting muscles ache as she awaits her interrogator with bated breath and low hopes.

She’s gotten out of a lot of things over the years, getting into even more than she can remember. Everyone’s luck runs out, she won’t hold her breath this time. The footsteps stalk ever closer, and every nerve in her body alights in pure prey instinct. She wants to gnaw and chew and bite and scratch at whatever comes through that door, she wants to run or crawl or flee with every fiber of her being. She takes a desperate shuddering breath in and an equally labored breath out as the thundering steps stop somewhere behind her.

She must seem unaffected. Unfrightened. Uncaring. If she has any hope of getting one over on her captor. She will not even entertain the thought that she will get tortured.

The door behind her opens after a series of three, heavy, multi-spring locks, are undone. She can pick them later with the multitool she’s kept on her person, strapped on a hidden thigh garter beneath her pants. Each key has 7 pins, 21 pins total. She can crack one in 15 seconds if she’s smart about it. Locks will take under a minute total, adding that to the 23 seconds that it will take to undo her gear to get to the pick it-

The figure behind her does not move to get closer to her. Instead, it looms ominously behind her. The air in the room gains an otherworldly oppressiveness like the devil himself has just frozen her to her spot in the ninth layer of hell. Suddenly, she feels arctic cold as the locks all slide back into their places.

Trapped. She thinks, chewing at the inside of her lip.

The hulking mass behind her only takes one full step, and its back is now nearly flush with hers. Its head is somewhere much higher than her own. She feels the warmth of another person and she has to fight her animal instincts to get closer to it and beg for salvation. 

The figure takes an inordinate amount of time inspecting her holdings, crouching, craning, but never touching, around her confines. She studies the black wall in front of her with serious intent to remain composed. Its uniform smells distinctly of over-sanitation masking any human scent- likely the wearer so often got into bloodbaths that repeated cleanings have made the thing over-saturated with bleach. 

She lets out a stutter of breath when one massive hand reaches down to her shoulder. Despite her clothing and the tac gloves, the touch burns and she wants more.

“Guten abend. Wie get est ihnen?” König asks softly.

Only fucking König would ask how a captured prisoner was doing like he was asking his dinner date how her day was. 

I’m doing fucking shit, thanks for asking, King. She thinks.

He gets closer, bending down and nearly resting his chin on the opposing shoulder to where his hand dwarfs her entire shoulder blade. He is so close if she were to turn her head, she could nuzzle into the soft fabric of the hood that covers his face and spills onto her form. He is so close, that she can smell the remains of a cherry-flavored cigarette on his breath hidden behind the freshness of stringent aftershave and tea-tree hair oil above the nauseating smell of bleach from his uniform. He is so close she could bite his fingers and taste some of his blo-

“I asked you how you were doing, Maus.” He whispers her name with a false sweetness that makes her stomach flip. She steadies her traitorous heart with a fake huff.

“Hmm,” She hums, tossing her head playfully to the side where his hand is. Her cheek nearly rests on the course fabric of its covering. “I’d be doin’ much better not tied to the goddamn ceiling.”

She expects a sharp backhand for that one, or at the very least an amused refusal. To her infinite surprise, neither happens. The giant devil on her shoulder lets out a gentle chuckle and retracts his body, but not after a gentle squeeze to the sore muscles between her neck and arm.

“But of course, Fürstin.” He says, voice sweet as honey and laced with a smile she can taste behind the hood. She feels a massive hand tenderly embrace itself around her right wrist and she hears the hollow cla-chck of a knife being unsheathed. She stops studying the wall just in time to catch the glint of a knife cutting the paracord used to affix her to the metal hook above her head. He brings the 3 odd feet of now limp rope, along with her hand, to her left hand, but before he does anything “Lean back a little,” he says, and she does. She stops leaning back when her ass hits his thigh and she shudders with just how desperately fucked she is. He ties her right wrist to her still-hanging left wrist, both now not entirely above her head.

He tugs on his handiwork, and seemingly satisfied, he reaches down to put his arm without the knife in the crook behind her knees. He stills experimentally, anticipation practically dripping from his now motionless fingers. “Are you going to be a good girl?” He purrs, holding the knife tantalizingly close to the rope from which she is still hanging. She lets out an indignant puff of air.

“Only one way to find out, my majesty…” She purrs back.

She can feel his diaphragm rumble with a jovial ‘Mhmm’ that fades into a satisfied laugh in response. 

In one fluid motion, he cuts the remaining chord and she falls into his waiting arm. With the same grace she so admires on the battlefield, he swoops her into his arms in a bridal carry. She gasps tucked into his warm body. Yet again, his body shakes when he laughs at her little outburst. Her face flushes and once again as he gets onto his knees and gently deposits her onto the ground. 

The cold concrete of the floor digs through her tac pants as she sits sideways, König sits cross-legged in front of her. Her tied wrists lay in front of her body. She tries to catch her breath. He looks at her with some emotion she’s never seen in his eyes before, pupils dilated leaving only a thin, icy ring clinging to the bloodshot white. In the dimly lit room, she fails to catch her breath. 

He sighs looking at her hands. He puts his own up, palms to her as though promising a frightened prey animal he means no harm before he can pluck it from its trap. 

Without a word, he takes her bound hands in his and gently rubs at the purple flesh. 

And like a fool who believes in God, she unfurls her fisted hands into open palms facing the stars she cannot see as if in prayer. She doubts God could hear, or care for, her prayers in this futile box of a room with eyes on her the color of God, or at least a cloudless December sky.

If she’s praying by opening a vulnerability to him, it seems König prays back, the way he cradles her hands like he’s sculpting her out of clay. She’s infinitely thankful for his combat gloves in this intimate moment, full-on contact would be all too much to bear in this awful circumstance. His eyes smile as he regards their hands, a satisfied rumble somewhere in the front of his chest as the normal color returns to her flesh. 

“You need to be more careful, mein mauschen.” He says, looking at her like a prince looks at the portrait of a long-kidnapped princess. He regards her with the same care as a boy, growing up in a castle, deciding the portrait of a local maid girl, long locked up in a tower, will one day be his bride. His tone is whistful and tacitly anxious. Despite this, the implication of a smile does not leave his paradoxically fire-hot ice-blue eyes. 

She is more than capable as a soldier, as a tactician, as a sniper. She has gotten into and out of traps just like this one before, and really, when Gromsko needed cover to patch Reyes up in the field, she didn’t really think about going to help. Out of her depth, she still ran at the chance to abandon her post in the hopes of helping others, a decision that had her snatched and thrown into this little box with the thing she both runs from and to in equal measure. 

If it were anyone else, she would yell and spit and cuss about how she can do it. She’s done it on her own. She’s a sniper for Christ’s sake! She’s supposed to do it on her own, she doesn’t need any pity cover. She’s capable. She doesn’t need some surly giant telling her what to do. 

“I’m sorry.” Is what Mouse says. 

Because it’s not anyone else. 

It’s König.

König, who has risked his life to save hers more times than she can count. König who tells her awful jokes in the dead of her shift to cheer her up. König who prays in the shape of her callsign gauged into soft birch wood. König who has never once doubted her abilities as a tactician and a sniper or talked down to her for it. König who keeps her company from far away and promises to always come back. 

König who looks at her like she is worth the world, König who treats her like a princess more than an enemy soldier. 

König, who she’s set free from this exact position before. König, who may just be her knight in shining armor. König, whose hands have yet to leave her wrists in his quiet supplication, fingers whispering apologies for what others have done. 

“Nein.” He tuts, voice soft and reverent, hands now retreating from hers. “I am sorry,” he confidently, if quietly, declares, eyes still affixed to her battered flesh like his stare could undo any damage done. “I should not have let them capture you. It is my fault.”

He’s not her keeper. He’s not her knight in shining armor. Hell, he’s not even her fucking comrade, he’s on the other side of this pointless war and he’s got the nerve to apologize and take blame for her situation? She wants to rip the words out of his mouth, angry and sorrowful all at once that he’s taken any responsibility for her well-being. 

Instead of the things she wants to shout at him, she stays quiet. She knows better than to correct her captor, all too aware of the distinct power dynamic in the little interrogation room she’s in. This is still war. He is still her captor. There is nothing to be done here. 

She sighs. 

“Don’t do anything stupid on my behalf.” She whispers, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips, like a trapped animal begging a child not to get attached in case the glue is too strong. After everything, she’s gotten quite the soft spot for the man, she would hate to get his hands messy while trying to free her. (Despite the fact that he’s done so, many times before.) 

He chuckles, eyes everywhere but hers. He’s begun to rap-tappa-tap at his thighs with his fingers, a tell she’s come to notice is his way of thinking while anxious. 

“It is too late for that.” Their eyes meet and at once she understands. 

Because I know you’d do the same for me, her own words echo in her head. She swallows building trepidation rising in her chest like the tide. Just how is he planning on keeping true to such a promise? 

“This is quite the mood shift from the last time we saw each other,” she gives a pitiful little giggle to him. At once his eyes alight with some sort of silent battle, a war of wills is waged in an instant. Ice-cold-fever-hot eyes narrow menacingly at her. 

“I hate seeing you trapped.” He says, and her heart, whatever doesn’t reside in his chest already, lodges itself thick and pulsing in her throat. Mouse blinks away confused tears, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeved shoulders. 

She has nothing to say to that. She thinks about the tears she cried in the shower when she realized his mark in her was fading. She thinks about warming her cold fingers pressed into her thighs all night, imagining instead he was warming her hands. She thinks about his teeth proudly displayed on her neck. She thinks about his hands holding her down. She thinks about the solid expanse of his chest as he promises her the world. She counts every joke he’s ever told her like the faithful count prayer beads. She clings to this idea of him like fog clings to a mountainside, ever-present and yet intangible. 

She throws these ideas deep buried into her subconscious, trying desperately to call any sense to mind. Fear settles back into the forefront of her mind, confusion taking a backseat. She worries about how to get out of here- without König getting harmed. 

“What’s the plan?” She whispers. 

“What? Not going to talk me out of it?” He laughs voice thick with sad irony. 

“I’m not looking a gift- soldier? In the mouth.” She sighs. 

He looks thoughtfully down at her hands and wrists that he’s still holding. He pulls in a rough breath and it hisses out through his teeth. 

“You’re in luck. It’s a shift change. It’ll be…” he lets go of her hands and fully stands. He peers down at her through tragically thick, romantic lashes, he’s very nearly almost charming the way he regards her from on high. Almost being the key term as his stare turns cold and he squints down at her. “Messy.” He settles on. “If you’re coming, don’t delay now.” He holds out a hand to help her up. 

And what choice does she really have? Stuck in this room, always minutes away from death, with only one plan of even halfway reasonable escape- she takes his hand. 

And they dash.

This is not a thought-out affair like Mouse’s rescue of Konig had been. This is quick, it’s sloppy, and it’s not really romantic. He’s tugging hard on her arm doing his best to make her keep his pace as they dash through empty hallways- occasionally taking an unorthodox passageway to, maybe?, avoid camera surveillance. Konig doesn’t say anything as they twist and turn through the labyrinth, he just picks her up or seizes her shoulders if he wants her to stop. To his credit, it works, and ice-cold adrenaline runs through her spine every time he grabs her with enough force to hurt her if he just wanted to. 

But he doesn’t, doesn’t hurt her, doesn’t get sloppy so they get caught, doesn’t do a damned thing except run with her hand in his through the dim hallways, lit exclusively with blood red signs denoting “EXIT”, “ARMORY”, “M-D BA-“ (apparently KorTac does not give enough of a shit about the med bay sign to have it replaced), and anything else worthy of note- which is to say just about jack and shit, respectively. 

What feels like miles of corridors passes her in quiet seconds- flashes of what her mind could construe as pictures and memories whirl by, her only true anchor to know where she’s been and where she will be in the direction that Konig pulls her through the labrynth. 

He breathes as heavy as an ox when they come to a hallway cut-out in front of a little station where a lone man plays solitaire on the table. He casually picks at his teeth with a knife as he thumbs through his discard pile, nonchalant to the peril he will certainly be in should Konig decide to take exception with the man. 

Konig pushes Mouse’s shoulders down so that she’s kneeling, and her bones hit the floor with a heavy clack. Konig shouts “Was is das?” as he yanks her up roughly. The man at the table discards his cards and rushes up, coincidentally leaving his knife on the table. 

Betrayed? He’s fucking betraying me? Mouse’s mind races as she tries to think of a single reason Konig would abandon her in the hands of another man, one that sees her as a prisoner no less, and she has half the mind to bite his dick off where she stands in incensed anger. She’s too dumbstruck to even attempt a fight when Konig takes the rope she’d 

“Lieutenant. I caught this one escaping.” Konig states sternly to the man who comes over to check the now kneeling Mouse. 

The unnamed man looks her over, the arms of a behemoth holding her down, and he graces her with a sardonic grin. 

Prey,

Prey,

Prey, 

I am prey. 

“Oh, so it’s this one… If I remember correctly,” the man says, laughing over her trembling form, “she’s quite the war prize.” König’s grip on her shoulders, holding her prone on the cold concrete, tightens just a little.

“She got out of her confines, I’m moving her.” He says with all the authority of a man given the mandate of heaven.

“Say, Colonel,” the man speaks, and Mouse only registers for half a second that is König’s rank before she meets his gaze. Only his eyes are visible from his plain baklava. They look hungry, but not quite the same way König’s ice-cold eyes receive her image. He looks at her like he’s planning on taking one bite. König’s breath stutters as the man comes closer and attempts to touch her face. König yanks her up before he gets the chance, hands pinned behind her back. 

“Could I convince you to give me, oh say, I don’t know… half an hour with her? I can’t imagine the ransom or intel would be worth any more than her cu-”

Mouse promptly headbutts the man square in the nose, and blood sprays on the nearest wall as she fights out of König’s grip to get a better chance at knocking the man unconscious. He reaches for a throwing knife somewhere in his pocket and he brandishes the blade towards her face and she almost entirely dodges the quick glint of silver aimed at her neck. She feels a shallow cut on her cheek but she doesn’t stop thrashing. He sputters with rage and tries to say something but only frothed red liquid comes out of his mouth. König laughs mercilessly, still restraining her fighting against his grip, kicking and screaming in barbaric rage at the audacity of this man. Without missing a beat, König grabs the man’s hand with the wildly swinging knife and she hears the acrid cra-ckkk of bone splintering in flesh. He screams in pain and his eyes well with tears streaming down his bloodied mouth.

“She bites.” Is all König says before he plunges the man’s knife between his ribs. He drops the knife and grabs her hand, fingers sticky and intertwined. He looks at her with the most romantic sincerity imaginable, cold eyes smiling after just having killed a man over her honor. 

The blood everywhere is almost killing the mood.

The key word is almost and suddenly Mouse is thankful that König’s strides are twice the length of hers because she doesn’t have time to consider the way his thumb gently strokes her hand. The way he was all too happy to kill a man for even considering hurting her. The way his frigid stare thaws for a moment when he looks back at her, suddenly warm like a sunny afternoon in May, enveloping her body like a soft bed of straw, safely tucked away in someone’s barn.

They escape through some back exit and he holds her up by the hips as she scrambles over the chainlink fence with all the skill of a veteran climber. Before she can chastise him for what is obviously a bit more of an amorous touch than is necessary, she hears gunfire behind her as her feet hit the ground on the other side of the fence. Three shots, then one from König, and silence. 

He scales the wall and hits the ground with a slight grunt. She can’t hear what he says, the ringing in her ears (whether from the gunshots or his close presence) obscures it, but she gets the memo as he grabs her hand again. They run for what feels like another 2 miles through as the world alights around them. The leaves on the forest floor go from grey to beautiful shades of thousands of different coffees, all with differing amounts of milk to the taste of their owners. The evergreen trees gradually grow greener and greener with every passing moment.

She hears a little twig crack and she stops dead in her tracks. König stops, too. 

The coo of a solitary mourning dove sounds. The creature looks at the two starcrossed escapees with an odd knowing before it takes off from the ground, leaves scattering behind its tailwind.

And suddenly, the world takes its first breath in pale, premorning light.

And it’s quiet.

“We’re even, now.” She says, standing in the forest outside of the base. She breathes in the smell of rotting leaves and blood and gunpowder with more thanks than she ever has in her life. 

König doesn’t respond. In the morning sunlight, he studies her with a renewed vigor. His worried gaze settles on a bleeding cut on her cheek, the one dripping into her mouth ever so slightly. She licks at the blood idly, his eyes widen and he looks away hurriedly. 

He gives an anxious sigh and a curt soldier’s nod. 

She watches him with her own newfound sense of dismay as he rifles around his pockets for something. 

She stops breathing.

Her heart slides clean out of her chest when he presents the minuscule thing in his massive hand. He holds his- no, her- whetstone to her, in a flat palm facing upwards. 

Her breath does not return to her lungs even when her eyes prickle with tears. 

Is he saying goodbye?

What little she can see of König’s face furrows more desperately as she stares down at the offending gift like it was a decapitated rat that the cat brought in. 

“It’s yours.” Is the explanation he lands on after an eternity of silence. The sun is rising, nothing is certain, they cannot be using whatever fleeting seconds they have wasted on goodbyes. He must know this, he stares at her nearly ready to get on his knees and beg her- for what? She doesn’t know. She thought he would beg for her but the key to that hope died in the shape of that little pouch that holds her soul in it. 

“No. It’s yours.” No, I’m yours. Her weak voice wavers, like a leaf fluttering about until it inevitably hits the ground. 

She doesn’t give him the time to think out whatever stupid thing he wants to for allowing her to get hurt as she launches herself around his shoulders. 

König nearly stumbles backward as her arms wrap around his neck. On instinct, he grabs at her sides to hold her up in the air and prevent them from crashing back into the earth. Even if he weren’t, she’s sure she’d feel like she was floating, locked in a warm embrace like a scar holds the memory of a cut. 

She loves him more than she can stand, and as ever cruel and ever-giving Fortune would have it, he is more than happy to hold her up. She clings to him as she clings to the trees she climbs for her vantage points. In the rising sky, she remembers the ravine. She wants to forever be caught in his eyes but not his arms, because she does not know how she will ever be warm again without his embrace. She wants to scream and hit him and cut his chest open instead of pulling away, she wants to enact violence on his person for daring to make her love him, for his audacity in caring for her, for his everything. It would be so much easier if he didn’t care if one of them died if she didn’t have to think about what came next. 

She shakes with fury. 

She is so sick of following orders. Of listening to men telling her what to do. Of re-tracing the line between duty and desire. Of contextualizing and rationalizing everything she does on the axis of “me” and “my orders” 

But most of all, she’s miserable that she can’t break out of her battle line no matter how hard she tries. She wants König to just tell her to stay, to give her the order so she doesn’t have to decide if she wants it, and all the implication of what that means for her fucked up obsession with him. She wants the easy out, she doesn’t want the blame. She wants him to figure it out. She wants him to tell her to stay. 

He says nothing, he just breathes deeply, like she is air and like she matters to keep tethered to him. Like there’s anything worthy in her. Like she’s important. It only makes her angrier to think he’s so gentle when she wants to tear through his flesh and climb inside his rib cage instead of being forced to say goodbye. 

She gives one last shuddering breath before she unwinds her sore hands from the anchor of his strong shoulders. 

“You’ve saved me,” she whispers, wrenching her way out of his equally mournful grasp. He shudders, holding her tighter. 

“No, you’ve saved me,” he whispers back into her ear. She doesn’t know what that means but she figures she doesn’t want to know when his massive hand finds the weak spot between her neck and shoulder and starts soothing little circles into it. She thrashes violently against the little spell he scries into her skin. She wants to stay. She wants to go. She wants him. She wants to be wanted by him. She doesn’t know what to do with a heart full of foreign wants and no direct orders to follow, so she thrashes out of his grip with all the ferocity of a mouse about to snap its neck getting out of a trap. 

After a moment more of thrashing, he drops her to the ground. 

Her fingers linger in his as she untwists her body from his, dancing away in the dying leaves. Their hands are connected even after the embrace. His warmth haunts her the same way the cold side of the bed haunts a widow, his eyes sting the same way a rusty cut does. 

With the last of her willpower, she finally takes herself from him but the look he gives her makes her sure he understands: she could never go anywhere that doesn’t end with him. She gave him the whetstone that sharpened the knife that gave her the scar, and now some part of her will always be a result of his action. The blood loss isn’t helping her scattered thoughts and she’s only reminded of her worn-out physical condition when more blood leaks into her waiting mouth, soft lips parted and waiting for him to say something, anything. 

“Promise you’ll find me?” She asks, soft and fragile, waiting for the world she’s placed on his shoulders to shrug to the ground and shatter into millions of pieces. 

“Always, Mäuschen.” He replies, quiet and reverent, like he doesn’t know how he’s going to make it work, but equally cannot imagine a world in which it doesn’t. 

She runs back to her base in the early morning light, sprinting like a nymph on a war-hunt through the trees, escaping an ill-fated encounter with an undesired suitor. Except it’s quite the opposite, she feels her heart beak with every hollow footstep she makes, unparalleled by his own sprinting after her. 

She runs away, but her heart stays in his pocket, in the shape of a little whetstone. 

She cries the whole way back. When she collapses on her bed after her debrief she imagines his hands messaging hers (and other things…) and his arms pressing her to him like he might fall apart the second he lets go. She thinks about the smell of him- like salty sweat and spruce aftershave and stinging tea tree. She bundles herself into the covers and prays that when she wakes up, she will have wound herself into his embrace and not just some discarded cloth around her body and separating her legs.

Her bed is impossibly big, and she wakes from it all hours of the night, hands not able to reach its edges like they never have before. The sheets are a paradoxical limbo of desperation: simultaneously as cold as a glacier and hotter than a forest fire. She dreams she’s stuck in a burning house until the roof caves from the animated flames and a blizzard pummels her into the wreckage. 

From the nothing, two massive hands grip at her fragile sides and hold her up. She stills in the protective grasp of something the size of a mountain, it whispers the sound of a radio in her ear. She sinks into it and wakes gasping, only to realize she’s been asleep for not even half an hour and the dream repeats when she wrestles whatever fitful rest she can out of the nighttime. Each time she wakes up, tears stream down her cheeks. 

She cries. 

Because she’s not home. She will never be home, not if he’s not there. 

Mouse is free to do anything she pleases. Unbound, untrapped, and unburdened, in theory, nothing hinders her. 

In reality, she’s already dead somewhere in the trap of cold blue eyes, sharp knives, and strong arms.

It does not matter that she has been the one chased. Now there is nowhere he could ever go without the largest part of her carried with him.

Tag list: @kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird

[theblue6ook]

Our Stupid Smart Kids

Summary: Y/N’s interview didn’t exactly go as planned, but don’t worry John and Alfred have got it all figured out. [B (23) & Y/N (21)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce]

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Well hello there. If you liked this story, it’s a part of my “Out of My League” series. There will be more to come ;)

Alfred had known John a long time. He’d known him since Bruce’s Gotham Academy graduation gala, which he pleaded not to attend. The florist had a mishap, and John and his wife Dorthie picked up the slack and had several arrangements sent over to the manor for free as a way to introduce their new business. Alfred reimbursed them, of course, but he also highly respected them.

They’d often catch up during lunch or get coffee. They’d been meeting up more frequently since Dorthie passed away, and Alfred was happy he could be there for John. Currently, they sit at The Little Cafe, a French-styled coffee emporium only a block away from his Flower Shop. Alfred's choice, of course.

“I just don’t get it, Pennyworth,” John started, mouth half full of a chocolate croissant. “She’s so god damn smart, and I’m not kidding either, but she just can’t - ugh, I don’t know.”

“I don’t know what to do with these bloody kids either,” Alfred shook his head, sipping his tea. They’d often do this, talk about the respective people in their lives. Alfred would pick John’s brain now and then about what to do with Bruce without going into too much detail, and John would do the same about Y/N and Carrie.

John swallowed hard and went in for another bite, "She is stubborn as hell. I know something's up, but it's like she would rather die than tell me. She's such a pill. It's ridiculous." 

He inhaled deeply, shaking his head as he looked out the window. 

"Don't get me started on stubborn," Alfred rolled his eyes. "Trying to get Bruce into the office is like playing a game you can never win. He'd rather faff around."

They sat in silence for a moment. John finished the rest of his croissant and didn't take his eyes off the road. Alfred could tell John was in deep thought. He appeared to be doing some sort of mental calculation. Eventually, John sat his coffee down in a serious manner, leaning back into his chair. He finally looked over at Alfred.

"How long have we known each other?"

"Does it matter?" Alfred leaned forward and chuckled. 

"I know, but let's say it's been about seven years, give or take," he grinned, "In all that time, I've grown to trust you as you have to me."

"What is this about-"

"Now," he interrupted. "I know we have a silent agreement not to pry, but I think we could help each other here."

“What do you have in mind?”

"Well, Y/N has way too much on her plate to be worrying about bills, and she's great at bossing people around," he smiled. "Your Bruce clearly needs someone to tell him what to do and has more money than he knows what to do with. You see where I'm going with this?"

"You want me to give her the assistant's job," Alfred grinned. "If she needs help with money, I could always cut her a check-"

"Oh god no," he laughed. "She's too stubborn for that, but she would get him working."

"You would think," Alfred looked tiredly down at his tea. "They all end up quitting eventually."

“You don’t understand,” John smiled. “After Dorthie died, I was a mess. Didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. The store was in shambles. Then, Y/N came back from school. She put my ass into gear. She a fixer.”

Alfred looked hesitant, “I’m not sure, John. Master Bruce can be persistent, to say the least.”

“Alfred, all I’m saying is if the Mister Wayne needs to get his shit together,” he grinned confidently, “she can do it.”

[babyjakes]

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event | jan '23 blurb night

summary | the sweet camp nurse takes advantage of you during a fever spell.

pairing | soft!dark!camp nurse!ari levinson x camp counselor!reader

warnings | soft!dark!ari, non/dubcon (mayhaps ari drugs reader), fingering, forced orgasm, crying, mocking and humiliation vibes, praise, ari is so yummy to me <33333

word count | 891

requested by @onsunnyside | you’re a camp counsellor for the summer, spending the hottest months of the year by the lake and soaking up the sunshine. the kids love you, as do all of your fellow counsellors !! you’re up for anything, always ready to take the kids on a hike or participate in the activities (crafts are your favourite). you want them to look back at these days and treasure the memories !! oh but then you start feeling sick, waking up in a cold sweat and unable to fall back asleep. it’s so sudden that you brush it off like nothing, but then it happens again and again, and soon enough you’re utterly exhausted which isn’t good when you have a group of kids to keep entertained all day. the first person to notice your change in attitude is the camp nurse. admittedly you’ve got a little crush on Ari (who wouldn’t? 😌) he’s tall, handsome and beefy, and has the prettiest smile. you haven’t spoken to him much but you do enjoy staring at him when he tans on the boardwalk 😳“May I?” He holds his hand a few inches from your forehead. You nod, fighting back a shiver as his warm palm gently touches your skin. “You’re pretty warm. Why haven’t you come to see me earlier?” You shrug, ducking away from his disappointed stare. “You should focus on setting a good example, sweetheart. The kids look up to you, so you’ve gotta take care of yourself too.”

an | oh sonny 😵‍💫 no bc he would absolutely be the hottest camp nurse ever, your mind wtf 🫠🫠 so sweet, great with the kids, full of concern for you— it’s just too easy to trust him and that’s exactly what he wants 😔✋ THANKYOU for this brilliant thot bby!!

so he does really take notice so quickly; as soon as he sees you for the first time in your deteriorated state, he pulls you aside gently while motioning to your other team leader to take over in the meantime. he brings you back to the hallway by the restrooms and drinking fountains, where there's more privacy.

"everything okay, sweetheart?" though he already suspects you're burning up. "here, can i feel for a fever?" his hand is so gentle on your tender head, and you're so woozy you honestly just want to lean into the soft, comforting touch. he sees you being lulled a bit by the contact and his face softens. "c'mon, i'm taking you back to the nurse's cabin. you need some ibuprofen and a nap."

he goes and checks in with the rest of the team for a moment, making sure your position will be covered until you can return. then you start off on the walk over to the cabin. it's somewhat tucked away, on the edge of the group of buildings. "you need me to carry you, honey?" he offers several times, but you're too shy and embarrassed to accept, despite feeling like you could tip over at any moment.

the cabin's interior looks a lot like a school's nurse's office. a few cots lined up with drawable curtains on tracks placed in the ceiling. some medical gear over on a counter with a sink, along with packets of crackers and bottles of water. ari's station is a little desk over by the door. the place looks surprisingly pristine compared to the state of the rest of the facility. "don't get many visitors?" you ask as he guides you over to a bed, laying you down gently after placing a paper napkin under your head.

"nope, honestly only a few scrapes or bruises here or there. but i don't mind," he tells you as he washes his hands before grabbing a thermometer and returning to you. "open up, angel. that's it," he hums as he guides the covered wand into your mouth. a few seconds later it beeps. "a hundred and two," he tells you with a frown. "poor thing."

he grabs you a water and some meds out of a little safe in the cabinet under the counter before returning to you, "here you go, sweet girl. careful taking those down," he reminds you.

you take them and try to lay back and rest as he tells you, but pretty quickly, you concerningly start to feel worse. a lot worse. you're hot all over now, writhing not from pain, but from something else- some sort of ache, deep in your tummy, you can't quite identify. from his seat at his desk across the room, ari notices your discomfort. "honey? you okay?"

"n-no, feels worse, feels-" he looks alarmed as he rushes over to you again, closing the curtains around your cot for some privacy before sitting on the edge of the blue mattress beside you, reaching out a gentle hand to place on your forehead once again. "oh angel, it's even worse than before. what's wrong, darlin'? you're so restless..."

his hand trails down to sit on your chest, feeling your heart beat heavily at a concerning speed. humiliatingly, you've begun to rub your legs together in desperation without even thinking. ari fakes concern, but really it's all going according to plan. "sweetheart," he coos, "what's the matter? something going on down here?" he gestures with his gaze. you're in tears at this point, writhing shamelessly as you start to let out the sweetest, softest whimpers he's ever heard. "shh, pretty girl. let me see. it's okay, don't cry," his voice is so steady, so soothing as he brings his hand down to pull at your leggings, your panties coming with as brings them below your knees.

you're soaking wet, dripping down onto the cot below. his brow furrows in concern. "oh no, honey. looks like you're burnin' up down here, too, huh? here, let me take a closer look," he leans down to examine your mess, easing your legs apart a little as he parts your folds with both of his big hands. "look how swollen it is down here, poor baby. here, just let me help you, angel..."

you begin to protest as he presses two fingers into your aching cunt, jerking sensitively as his thumb finds your clit. "p-please ari, this isn't-... we can't..."

"shhh," he shushes you, quickly finding your sweet spot as his thumb rub rub rubs in tight circles over your puffy button. "this is exactly what you need, y/n. gonna feel so much better, just gotta be a good girl and cum for me"

you have no strength to fight it, to fight him, and it doesn't take you long to get there at all. he brings a hand up to brush away your tears as he murmurs softly, "there- you're close, aren't you? come on, sweet thing. let go for me."

you sob through your orgasm, your needy hole clenching down with impressive strength against ari's massive fingers. he brushes your cheek and keeps whispering sweetly to you as you cum, "good girl, such a good girl for me. there you go, angel. doesn't that feel better?"

mmmm um, i need this. i need that. please.

[phoenixyfriend]

Calls for Action, Call Your Reps: 2/26/24

This is USA-specific, as that is the place I live and know.

Find your elected officials.

As usual, most of my information on what bills are on the floor comes from GovTrack. I am including some suggested listening/reading (you can find text versions if you google the title and 'transcript') at the bottom of the post. I am also including a current event that is likely to be a very powerful argument, with the right politicians. The event is prefaced with a red warning tag, and followed by event-specific verbiage.

Suggested verbiage and strategies for calling your elected officials.

GovTrack has said that there are still no votes scheduled, in this blog post from Friday: What's Next for Congress? (Feb 23, 2024)

In practice, that appears to mean that they are arguing over the budget to avoid yet another government shutdown. Given that the delays to the budget so far have been tied directly to the Israel/Ukraine/Taiwan military funding and Southern border.

Use this time to call their offices and tell them to vote the way you want them to.

The most immediate and pressing issue at this moment is the famine in Gaza. Widely reported today is that a two-month-old boy recently died of starvation, and the World Health Organization is declaring that it has become famine and a mass starvation event, no longer just a threat of one.

At this time, the three greatest factors in that famine are:

Israeli bombardment (destruction of existing food stores and farming land)

Israeli blockades of the Egyptian border into Gaza, preventing aid trucks from places like the US from reaching people

The cessation of funding to UNRWA, which has been the lifeline to Palestinian civilians for decades, and is currently the best and possibly only chance to save the one and a half million dying civilians

This information is being reported by the WHO, UNRWA itself, UNICEF, and more, along with journalists that are in Gaza at this time.

The other issue, more domestically, is the rising tide of concern for US Reproductive Rights stemming from the IVF ruling in Alabama.

Both House and Senate:

Reinstate funding for UNRWA. While the claims made by Israel that employees of the relief agency were involved in Oct. 7th are troubling, THEY are not well supported, and western officials did not do their duty in investigating the claims before cutting funding. This arm of the UN is currently providing food, water, shelter, and medical care to the 2.3 million displaced peoples of Gaza. It is especially disturbing and concerning that the many children of Gaza, who are already suffering due to this conflict, are now having this support revoked. Many sources are also claiming that the evidence is flimsy at best.

Urge both Senate and House to refrain from funding Israel, or to at least put some strings on it. The IDF cannot be given funding without some regulations on what they can do with it. They have proven that they are unwilling to take steps to protect civilians.

Sanctions must also be placed on Israel for its continued impediment of aid intended for Gazans, including aid from the US.

Urge for the US to stop vetoing ceasefire demands in the UN. No, the suggested replacement written by the US is not an excuse.

Not directly related to Gaza: It looks like they’re gearing up for another push at KOSA. The canned email responses I’m getting are really proud of being in support of KOSA, which is… bad. It is also bad for people outside the US, including Palestine, apparently. VOTE NAY.

Not related to Gaza: Alabama's recent court decision has put IVF services in danger in the state, with multiple fertility clinics halting all related services for any pregnancy that is not yet in progress; there were implantation appointments for last week that were canceled with no knowledge of when they might be greenlit. Push for full spectrum reproductive rights protection (fertility services, family planning, birth control, abortion, and more), and if you have a pro-lifer as your elected official, cite the Alabama ruling as a cause for concern of how the lack of codified reproductive rights protection can impact even those who do want children.

FOR THE SENATE: Urge your senator to put their support behind Bernie Sanders and his motion to restrict funding to Israel until a humanitarian review of the IDF’s actions in Gaza has been completed. Cite it as Senate Resolution 504 if your Senator is right-wing enough to react negatively to the mention of Sanders by name. NOTE: This resolution was TABLED by the Senate on 1/16, but it is being brought back in as conditions continue to escalate.

Passed in the House recently, so bother your senators about it, is H.R. 3016: IGO Anti-Boycott Act. Vote Nay. This appears to be intended to force US companies to do business with US allies instead of participating in boycotts. This appears, to me, to be an attack on movements like BDS. To Dem Reps, argue that this refuses the right of peaceful protest to US citizens. To Republican Reps, argue that this is a dangerous government overreach and that it is not the right of the government to force US citizens to purchase products and materials from specific foreign partners.

FOR THE HOUSE: Recommend that they support House Resolution 786, introduced by Rep. Cori Bush, Calling for an immediate deescalation and cease-fire in Israel and occupied Palestine. ALTERNATELY: Urge your representative to put their support behind Rep. Rashida Tlaib’s petition for the US government to recognize the IDF’s actions in Gaza as ethnic cleansing and forced displacement, and put a stop to it.

Alright, now the current big news story.

Warning: Self-harm, public suicide.

I will preface this with an explanation of a recent event.

The big American news of this week that is being talked about on all political news sources, from BBC to NPR to Al Jazeera, is the self-immolation in DC. A US Air Force service member walked to the Israeli embassy in Washingon DC, set up a Twitch Stream, and stated that he refused to be party to the genocide being committed with the support of his country's government. He then doused himself in a flammable liquid, set himself on fire, and shouted 'Free Palestine' on repeat until the fire grew too great for him to do anything but scream in pain. The man was rushed away to a hospital, but has apparently died since. Twitch has understandably removed the video for ToS violations, but the video has been saved and reshared to other sites since.

To be clear, the airman, a 25yo named Aaron Bushnell, explicitly stated that this was an act of extreme protest, but not as extreme as the current lives of Palestinians in Gaza. Please do not allow people to convince you this was just a random act of mental illness. It was tragic, yes, but this very public, recorded, in-uniform, motive-declared suicide was by all appearances a calculated choice based on centuries of precedent.

If your senator or representative claims to be pro-military, bring this up. Even if they don't, bring it up.

"A service member, someone who presumably has access to more information on what is happening 'on the ground' than the average citizen, someone who has proven their dedication to America, is dying in agony to prove a point: that Israel's actions cannot be condoned, cannot be justified, and most certainly cannot be supported with fourteen billion in military aid."

The above is one possible verbiage you can use when you call.

Today, I would also recommend listening to NPR's Politics Podcast as the episode contains some good information on The Michigan Problem, and the Democracy Now podcast, which has some good interviews on the confirmed famine going on in Gaza. I will note that there are some claims being made in the latter about the US government, including comments by Biden himself, using law enforcement and college administrations to punish pro-Palestine groups, from Students for Justice in Palestine to even Jewish Voice for Peace (notable since one of the major arguments for these actions is that anti-zionists are antisemitic). I am saying 'claims being made' as I have not had time to corroborate this with other news sources, and the other casts I listen to have not mentioned it.

If you wish to support my political blogging, I am accepting donations on ko-fi.

Alternately, I would also suggest that you send any spare money to PCRF (Palestine Children's Relief Fund), UNRWA, or Save the Children Sudan, which has been undergoing an incredibly deadly civil war for a year or so now, but that the US has significantly less involvement in on a bureaucratic level, so IDK what any of us in the US can do to help in that regard. But many of us do have money! So there's that.