#rage fire institute

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Rage Fire Institution

Movement. 11.

“You have heard of resting, haven’t you? You’ve been in estrus again, and you’re still recovering. When’s the last time you’ve been home to see mother?”

Nursing the drink he’d had for the last half hour, Tatsumi had indeed heard of this mythical resting thing. And he had indeed been through estrus with the help of medical technology. The sleep pod took care of everything. From deification, feeding, pheromone release, breathing capabilities through to the mess of release. Everything was handled by the self contained unit once he’d shown up at the omega only clinic. The omega wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep until the end of the year, yet that was completely unacceptable. He’d woken up to dozens of messages from other students, even a couple from Doctor Poaw and Skylark, both filling him in on Maki as if that was the first question on his mind post-estrus.

Glaring slightly at Samara, it hadn’t been Tatsumi’s idea to go straight from the clinic to the cafe. He’d had other plans, only he’d gotten his timing wrong and bumped right into Samara when dealing with other business

“That’s where I was headed next”

“Nonsense, you would have gotten caught up then returned to the institution. When’s the last time you visited your poor mother?”

“I took a month off. She’s still the same”

“Ah, maybe I’ll take her some flowers. You really ought to be thinking about a prospective mate. Even if it’s only physical, it’d do you the world of good”

“I’m…”

“You’re busy with work. I can get you a deal on the optics you need, you don’t need to keep suffering this way”

Tatsumi sighed. Samara knew too much. Too much about him. Coming out of estrus and bumping into him had been a serious stroke of misfortune

“It’s fine. The pod works for me”

“It’s still not the same. Generic alpha pheromones, tricks to make your body think you’ve been knotted, pheromones to deal with a lack of conception…”

“My mental health is better than it was. I would have been fine had someone not stuck his nose in”

“Hardly. Any alpha would take one look at you and know you’d just come out of estrus”

“It’s fine. I appreciate your concern but it’s not needed”

Samara gave a light laugh. As someone who’d dealt with his estrus on his own terms, Tatsumi didn’t see the need to go changing things this late in the game

“Alright. Finish your drink, I’ll run you home after”

“I’m going back to the school”

“You need rest”

“And I can rest in my quarters there. Blame it on omegas needing familiar grounds or whatever you want, but I’m going back there”

“I expect you to stay there. If I hear any word that you’ve turned up at the club…”

“You won’t because I won’t. You ruined that. I only went to notify Donny”

“Yeah, yeah. I know what that means. You can’t keep living like this. I don’t want to see you this way. They wouldn’t…”

Anger flashed over Tatsumi’s face. For half a moment he had the desire to throw his drink on Samara’s face then storm out, but that would only prove Samara right. He had no right to bring any of that up, not now and not ever

“Don’t. I like where I am. I like the other students. It’s not what it was, but that doesn’t make my life bad. Everyone who comes back has to find a way to move forwards again. This is mine. Now, I’d appreciate the lift, but I’m not sticking around for a long winded lecture about how I choose to spend the rest of my days”

Samara raised his hands in defeat. Tatsumi could understand his friend too well. All the government campaigns were total bullshit and the moment you became a burden to them they ceased seeing you as anything remotely human. An unmated, unwed, unbonded omega with psychological scars could only expect their government payment and maybe a few medical perks in the first few years. His government payments went to the upkeep of his family home, leaving him limited option on that sense. He couldn’t say he was happy all of the time, but being around people forced him not to withdraw further, that alone should have been seen as a win. But not to Samara… Samara who had a long term partner and soon would have kids… something so out of reach of Tatsumi that it felt like an insult.

“Alright. You win this round. But don’t think I won’t keep trying to recruit you. I don’t want to see you left rotting when there’s something more out there. Take your time, I’ll get you some food, space knows that fridge of yours will be empty”

“I don’t need you too”

“Relax, if I don’t then how will be able to face my misses? She’s going to pick up your pheromones the moment I get home”

“That’s not my problem. You shouldn’t give her reasons to be upset”

“Just finish your damn drink already”

Taken back to the institution by capsule car, Tatsumi made a show of waving until Samara left. He’d bought him far too much food. With classes in session, Tatsumi’s plan was to head straight back to his quarters and crawl right into bed. He’d nearly succeeded too when a knock came on his door. There was only one bastard who’d come bothering him within the walls of the institution the day he came back, and that was Skylark.

Dragging himself back up, Tatsumi crossed to the door, counting to three before opening it. Skylark standing there as if ready to barking orders at him, the man seriously never knew how to relax. Casually, Tatsumi leant against the door frame, counting off the coming conversation points on his fingers

“I’m fine. I have food. I’m not going back to work until next week”

“You look like shit”

“And you look ready to blow up. Come in then, you can get it all off your chest. I’ll get us some food”

Food turned the omega’s sensitive stomach. Lighter food would have been easier to digest, yet Samara had bought mostly heavy pastry and noodles. Plating himself up some noodles, Tatsumi half hearted pulled out a few meat pastries, before bringing the two plates over to the sitting area. Taking the plate when offered, Skylark raised an eyebrow

“I didn’t think you’d get this fancy”

“Samara stuck his nose in. Is this about Maki, what’s he done this time?”

Skylark shook his head

“You don’t know the concept of rest, do you? Off having a date straight out of estrus…”

Skylark was as delusional as Samara, Tatsumi tiredly correcting him

“You know it’s not that way. I’m struggling to see what was so urgent you had to come the moment I got back”

“That kid, he been out lately?”

So it was about Maki. His username might be “MakingGood”, but right now he was “MakingAHeadache”. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tatsumi sat across from Skylark

“I wouldn’t know. I was intercepted before I could see Donny. Did he sneak out again?”

“No. That’s the damn problem. The little bastard hasn’t done anything”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing”

“Not when it comes to him. He and that mate of his came to see me, pissing themselves as they did. You didn’t tell you’d cleared their project already”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking about the pair of them. Did you sign off?”

“I did. The little shit��s managed to pull off something half decent. I get you want to help them all, but you can’t be giving them projects like this”

Tatsumi sighed at implication

“I didn’t. You know I want to keep my head down. He thought that up with Poaw while I was sleeping. Though it does seem I gave him the idea”

“Now, you know…”

Tatsumi knew what was coming next. He was pilot who was stuck in research and Maki was a researcher stuck on the pilot track

“No. You knew the kid was smart, that’s why you wanted someone keeping him out of trouble”

“I didn’t think it’d actually work”

Maki wouldn’t be curbed so easily from seeking out what he wanted in his life. If the young alpha wasn’t going out, he’d have a good reason. Probably so Skylark wouldn’t deny him and Li access to the student mechs. Tatsumi expected more from Skylark as he spelled it out

“You should know some of the worst kids have a way of coming around in the end. Though I doubt he’ll give up his freedom any time soon. I’d place money that once this project is over, he’ll be going out again”

“The little bastard’s going to get himself hurt if he keep this up”

“You can’t stop a curious mind. Anything else happen I should know about?”

“No. Not particularly. He’s been going to classes and been seen over at the research wing. You had to go stick your nose in, didn’t you?”

“If all you’re going to do is complain about your plan working, then what’s the point?”

“Who else am I going to bitch too? Those little shits piss themselves when I come round”

Tatsumi knew Skylark was only bitching to prolong checking in on him. He knew Skylark well enough to know he felt superior to the students… even to him. Drawing his knees up, he made himself comfortable

“You can take that to go if you want. I’m not rushing anywhere”

“You should be. You know you can’t let your pheromones out on campus”

“They’re only a problem because you showed up. Don’t go sniffing me without permission”

“Then learn to take a shower before you come back. I’ll take this to go, like you said, but only because I don’t want your stink on me”

“Sure, sure. Next time, don’t come racing to me when the kid doesn’t mess up. It’s not my job to care about him”

“See that you don’t. That kid’s got a career a mile long in front of him if he doesn’t fuck it up now. I don’t want to be bailing him out in five years time down the road”

Leaving the conversation at that, Skylark left. Tatsumi poking at his noodles without any desire to actually eat them. If only Skylark would give a little. No. He’d never break face and tell Maki to pull his head in because he’d seen too many good people die. The man was a bundle of contradictions that made the omega’s aching head throb harder. Maybe it was better to forget eating and simply shower before someone else decided to darken his doorstep?

***

“Dude, did you hear, the prodigal Professor has returned. He walked right through the front gates like it was nothing. Man, I wish I had the balls to do that”

Humming, Maki didn’t look up from his data pad. Li sliding into his seat next to him, before pulling out his own data pad. Maki has hoped to finish what he was reading before his best friend arrived, but from the buzzing next to his ear, he’d run out of time. Li disliking the hum he’d gotten in reply

“Are you listening to me?”

“Not really”

“I’m telling you the Professor’s back and you don’t even care”

Maki didn’t have time to care. Annoyingly, his curious mind had locked onto the research student project and he’d been able to get it out of his head. He knew he’d let his friendship slide as he hadn’t told Li about the research group, but no one had ever called him a social butterfly

“Hurray? It’s not like we needed him”

“Aren’t you curious? Skylark said the end of the week, not 7 days with change and no explanation. He didn’t even tell us he was back”

“And? How do you know he’s actually back?”

“It’s on the school forum. What’s for you so interested you don’t have time for me?”

Before Li could lean over, Maki turned the data pad screen off, then placing it down and looking to Li

“I was reading. It’s not that important. The Professor totally bailed on us. He didn’t even bother explaining, why should we be the ones to make the effort of caring?”

Li rolled his eyes so hard that there should have been sound effects. Part of Maki was curious, yet the bigger part of him was angry that Tatsumi had first pushed his way onto the project, then left as if he didn’t have some form of responsibility as to whether the project passed. Li sassing him

“You should care because he’s our friend. You know what a friend is still, right?”

Ouch. Okay. Maki could see why he deserved that

“I said I was sorry. Cut me some slack, I’ve been working on our project”

“You said that, but you haven’t changed anything that I can see. How can you be working on it still?”

“So I can remember what’s in the presentation”

Li gave him a good hard look before burying his face in his hands

“You’re right. I’m no good at this stuff. What if we totally fail because of me?”

“And what if we don’t? If that prick turns up and slides by on our work, I’m not going to be happy”

“But if he doesn’t pass we won’t either. Can you message him? Ask him to meet with us?”

His best friend cared too much. He was faithful to a fault when it came to friendship and he seemed genuinely worried

“Li, you’re too kind hearted for this world. I’ll message him later”

“Thank you, I’m sure he’ll reply if it’s you”

“Don’t go saying weird things”

***

Skylark was a strange man, Maki decided that on the spot seeing his ban from piloting had been lifted suddenly. Taking pity on him, Fleur matched up with him for the hand to hand drills, their comms open with each other as they both pondered and speculated about why. Given his suit wasn’t against school rules, he’d swapped from his trainee pilot suit to the one produced by Doctor Poaw, the effects of which raised his synchronisation by 2%. In an actual battle a 2% raise was huge. Even to him the extra 2% felt huge. The cut of the fabric, and the feel of the fabric, felt far nicer too. There was no rubbing on his glands, and it had excellent sweat absorption.

Once the warm up was done, the entire training hall was converted. The floor moving to take the shape of a simulated battlefield so two teams of three could take part in mock battle, working to capture the flag in the middle. Student mechs lacked any actual firepower. The limiters on what they had were lifted by Andes in the control room. First years only had access to lasers and tiny smoke bombs. The lasers signified a hit provided a pilot could hold the target longer than 10 seconds. In the second year that became 5 and they also had small energy chargers that would spread across the point of combat like paint, then vanish with instruction from Andes. As shields didn’t fall into direct attack weaponry, they were one of the first things pilots learned about before even getting into a mech and allowed to be openly used. Still, they took a large amount of focus.

The days simulation was a jungle type environment. Technology making it so real around them that was it hard to think of the environment simply as generated pixels. Nature sounds accompanied, to the point where should a tree be bit, the sound of cracking and falling was authentic, as was taking fake damage if hit by the falling tree.

Thanks to his stupid reputation, Maki wanted to do what he usually did, recklessly charge the flag and get it all over with. Thanks to his new suit, Maki also wanted to make the most of it. He didn’t care if the other students saw it as an unfair advantage. They should have picked a similar concept for their own projects instead of modding mechs that meant unmodding them after. The research students had been working on a mod system for mech barriers, which also helped him in situations such as these. Without their own private mech and team of pilots, data had came from the piloting classes of past years. His mind a whirl of figures that he’d crammed into his brain, trying to assess the project from every possible angle to predict battle techniques.

With the same system for everyone, everyone knew what their mechs could do. Melee combat a given, yet Maki’s eyes had been opened. Even in melee combat, if he could shape his barrier, the barrier edge could be used effectively to subdue a mech while staying mostly protected.

“Sato, what are you doing? The match has already started”

“Leave him out of it. He always goes for the flag, everyone knows it”

“That doesn’t mean anything if he doesn’t move. Andes is going to be all over us if he stands there the whole time”

Flexing his mechs hand, Maki bit back a snappy retort. His team mates would have been the same if they had new suits. He and Li had tried hand to hand combat, but that wasn’t with the terrain in place. Maybe if he asked Skylark again, he’d let them try suit to suit combat with terrain activated… then again, the sky just might fall down if he asked too many questions

“Give it a rest. I’m thinking”

“Forget it. He’s thinking. Great. Let’s go without him”

If his team mates were going to do as they pleased, he may as well as do as he pleased. Activating his barrier, Maki slowly drew it out between both hands, watching the edges rather than the shimmering middle. It brought up new ideas and a new need to ask Li a favour. Being inside the mech meant he couldn’t be outside checking how the suit did against the barrier or how thick it was. If the research students could get permission to observe it’d do a lot for their project. Not that he cared about them… they simply provided an interesting idea.

“Sato! Stop messing around and get moving! They’ve already advanced!”

Scowling at the overhead voice of Andes, Maki had to admit now was not the time to be intrigued. Now was the time to be his labelled self and charge the damn flag as they all expected. If he kept dawdling he’d be benched again, and how could he test his new theories if he was?

“Yes, sir”

Following his teammates route through the dense jungle, Maki was the last one there. The melee had already started, three against two, with all five mechs around the central flag. Despite the dislike his teammates had for him, he couldn’t simply leave them that way. If this was a street brawl he also wouldn’t have been able to leave two against three and keep a clean conscious.

Plowing straight into the battle, Maki activated his smoke bombs as he went, using his barrier to keep his vision of immediate area in front of him cleared. Cursing him, it didn’t stop the alpha as he manoeuvred behind his teammates, pulling the first one back from the blindly swinging opponent. It was a total rookie move. If the smoke was in the way, the only thing you could do was back out the space

“What the hell, Sato? What are you trying to pull?”

“Activate your barriers and use the space to clear your footing. When I’ve got their attention again, go for the flag, you’ll be fine”

“You arsehole, what are you trying to pull?”

“I’m trying to win. It’s not my fault you didn’t use your own smoke bombs to put distance between you”

If his teammates didn’t like him before, they certainly didn’t like him now. Both cursing as Maki jumped backwards to move around the smoke field. Activating his laser weapon, Maki charged the opponent mech ground from the side, with no other plan of forcing them into to the smoke and hoping they’d swing at each other in the confusion.

Unfortunately things didn’t go that smoothly. As soon as one mech cleared the smoke, the others followed. Annoyed at the cockiness of dropping smoke bombs, all three mechs teamed up against him… while his two teammates focused on the flag. If only he could weaponise his barrier. If he could have modded the barrier to form how he desired a lance would have been good, or even a whip. Instead, alarms started going off as the three mechs started firing at him. The best he could do was return fire.

But his best wasn’t good enough. Three mechs acting independently meant three opponents, all with different thoughts. As he barrelled into the closest mech, the alarms in his cockpit suddenly stopped, the word “Eliminated” popping up on the display. The defeat was bitter, yet it would be unseemly to fight after being disqualified, even if his mech had more to give.

Reluctantly, Maki was forced to sit back as he watched his team lose. He’d not gotten to fight, nor had he gotten to test his suit’s capabilities further. It stung.

[cinemacrypt]

So so so fucking angry tonight

[reigningm4x]

Where are the bruises ?

these are definitely silverstone crash related bruises but.......h*t. would keep them marked up!

[alliseaisfandom]

this will probably be disproven across episodes but I have the Gwen brainrot so indulge me.

I know a lot of people hope that Elias is out walking around happy and high, but see the Magnus institute burned down in 1999. Jonah took Elias in 1996.

So don't imagine Gwendolyn coming 'home' after a few years studying on daddy's money, daddy's name and daddy's contempt that his youngest daughter seems perfectly fine with ignoring what is expected from a Bouchard.

Don't imagine Gwen running into her brother one night after he himself hasn't been in their family house for weeks. And realising the thing in front of her isn't Elias.

The stone cold sober, easy smiling man with impeccable posture is not the man who taught her how to play their parents to secure a peaceful life and a place in the will at the same time.

The eyes looking back at her never winked at her from across the dinner table, never shed tears of rage at the golden chains around both of them, never looked at her at her lowest and told her everything would be okay one day. Because those eyes do not belong to Elias.

'A promotion' it tells her, with the same pride Elias used to talk about a student strike that would absolutely wreck their name if it were printed on papers, but this thing wouldn't do that because this thing is. Not. Her. Brother. But she's almost as good at acting as it is, so she plays along. 'Head of the Magnus Institute'.

And Gwen knows very little of the Magnus institute. But she knows enough about Elias Bouchard. She knows about Allan and the eyeless thing that got to him, tale whispered in a panic on the night she first saw her brother as a child instead of a role model. She knows about the letter that arrived unprompted. She knows the stories of what goes on inside the too old building.

And she knows how easy it is to get her hands on gasoline for the bits of it that aren't already flammable.

When she's called in as his emergency contact, she feigns shock at the fire, throws the bone that 'the idiot couldn't even keep his fucking lighter straight' between tears.

She throws the ashes off a foggy cliff onto the sea and attends the empty casket funeral with the same expression she learns to carry from that day on. And after years of clipped conversation, she does what she promised Elias to never do.

'Get me in.' She tells her father. And his smile of relief at 'still having a worthy heir' on the day of his son's funeral sickens her. But she keeps the same expression.

Because she may have killed the thing that took Elias. But the OIAR is the place that can tell her what she killed exactly.

And she won't make her brother's mistakes.

[inkskinned]

one of the things that's so frustrating is how often the arguments against us are actually happening to us. we said - you need to watch out, this will evolve into allowing fascism into legal statute. and we were told: you're a sensitive snowflake. you're annoying and stupid and have no concept of reality. nobody really believes that stuff.

but it's indoctrination for kids to even see queer people. it's grooming for kids to even be around queer people. it's disgusting to even put rainbows on kids clothes. it's inappropriate, shameful, still-an-argument. like any of this is new - we know already. for you, even seeing someone unashamed is the same thing as "forcing" it onto you. because god-forbid you confront any internal thought you have. because god-forbid you practice empathy. rage is better, i guess. it keeps you pretty.

this has always been the way of some people - a while ago, it would have been "sinful" for my white mom to marry my hispanic dad. once, in the year of our lord 2015, someone told me that "mutts" deserve a woodchipper. that one particular insult stayed with me - not because it was the first or last, but because there was something so unbelievably violent about it that i couldn't figure out how to hold it. the idea that someone is so assured of their bigotry and rage that they would paint this kind of a picture. even jokingly, even with the anonymity of the internet, it kind of centered things for me. a sense that, for some people, their rage burned so unimaginably large that it blocked even the basic fact of my humanity.

at one point, while i still had enough fire in me to get into long arguments, one of the bigots i was "debating" (being harassed by) said: to be honest, it's about the sex, not the love. between you, me, and the four walls of this blue hellsite, i actually didn't really care for "love is love" as the slogan of our community. it seemed so placid, so gentle, so ally-focused. where was the vitriol? where was the hours i spent agonizing over myself? where was the quiet moments of my life, filled with the sound of other people's hatred? this static that settles over everything; even for the action of holding her hand.

the world is unfair. i am an adult, and without the veneer and small-pond syndrome of my teenage years, the slogan has started sounding more desperate. the more places i went, the more people i met. love is love. love is defending him on a rooftop bar. the drink she throws at me goes down into my shoes while i stand there, wishing i had a better retort than what the fuck. love is both of us, keeping our heads down, the black SUV full of frat boys (?) pulled up next to us, howling, for five whole blocks, until we both gave up and had to stick our bare legs into the thicket by the side of the road, giving over into tick country rather than let it go on any longer. love is a lazy spring afternoon, my hand on her belly, the fan spinning overhead. did you hear the whole thing about target?

did you hear about being the target? that's a fun little parallel, isn't it. it almost feels like the game that-is-about-me is being played without-my-participation. someone wants to set fire to my life, and i have to wait for a response from a capitalist institution. i am watching a tiktok where a white woman under white lights complains about adult swimsuits, even though i think a lot of people would benefit from having swimming options that are not "instagram-inspired bikini" or "impossible to move in but otherwise pretty".

sometimes it just seems so fucking stupid. like, just to check, the rage you feel and the hatred - you could really just avoid all of that by minding your fucking business. sometimes (and this is true): it's not about you, and people don't need your permission. like, i don't understand any obsession with sports, but it seems to make other people happy. american football literally results in grievous bodily injury - and yet there are onesies for babies that say future quarterback. i personally don't love it, so i just don't buy that stuff. i walk by it, and don't let it bother me. there have been so, so, so many times that i was told - "so what if he's a little bit homophobic, if you don't like him, don't watch his movies." "so what if they fired her. don't buy their product." "so what if they wouldn't make a rainbow cake. just don't support them."

sometimes i feel the meaning of it scud against my body, an orca whale inside of me, threatening the boat. it is too large to see from my place; this shadow of a thing that dwarfs my petty other-concerns. i need to find a dress for an event, and florida is passing more anti-gay legislation. i need to text my friend back and confirm our plans, and someone is throwing beer bottles to the floor in a walmart because a different case had rainbows on them. it is a long fall, if i look down into it; this sense like the bottom doesn't exist. like i have only ever dipped my toes in.

sometimes i am unbelievably tired of talking about it. it feels like it has become too trite in my own poetry - queer writer complains about the state of the world! how original! - and then something else happens, and i am here again. i remember that it isn't a moment. i remember it isn't a scattered population of cartoon evil-doers, intent on world domination from behind handlebar mustaches. it is a concerted effort of real people with real power who really-do want to see my end. it is a lifetime of dodging the beercan as it sails out of the back of the van. it is a lifetime of not-kissing once we leave the apartment. it is a lifetime of watching someone protest our existence and then, very slowly, giving them the finger. it is a lifetime of holding my friends' hands and hearing the same agony in their life that i lived through. it is us, together, our faces turned upwards, the night sky so vast, milky way overhead like a lacework zipper.

it is a lifetime of staring down woodchippers.

[scattered-dreamers]

What I find absolutely hilarious about my AU is the amount of fucking sticky notes Tim will keep finding long after Jon has left the Institute.

Because Jon—the autistic MF that he is—will break into the archives and the research department and scour EVERY FUCKING THING and make notes for Tim.

Like he remembers EVERYTHING! He’ll leave notes in the beginning that have Tim going “what the fuck?”

“Don’t let Sasha hide in Artifact Storage”

“Have Elias install a CO2 system”

“Tim, you and Sasha had better not make out in the artifact storage”

“Beware of worms”

All the while Tim is like, the fuck?? Are you in the walls?? Where are you fucking motherfucker. You obviously didn’t die. Stop being ominous and come back to work.

Because, I figure, like any office job, the Archives are only scheduled M-F, Jon is just an obsessive MF who lived there 24/7.

(Why else would he tell Georgie he “needed to find an apartment”? He couldn’t have told her “I’ve been fired and my apartment is being sprayed for bugs”? Instead he told her “I’m out of work and homeless”. The fuck?? Really, who says that, unless they ACTUALLY ARE in that situation?)

So, while Tim, Sasha, and Martin work in the archives M-F, Mr. I’m Gonna Live In The Tunnels is there Saturday and Sunday sitting among the boxes leaving notes for Tim.

Dead

Didn’t die

Spider freak

Check the basement

Yes, being encased in web is very much a thing of how he died. Don’t be like me

Leitner is in the tunnels

Let Martin sleep in the archives

Martin isn’t sick. He just can’t leave his house.

Check on Martin

Don’t destroy the table whatever you do. The NotThem is attached to it

By that point Tim is like “What the fuck is the NotThem??”

All the notes are attached to the files, by the way—Unless they have to do with the archive crew. Then they’re all over the top of Tim’s desk instead—and every note on a file that can be cross-referenced with another has the other file numbers on it.

Eventually, Jon had a system worked out where all the files can be cross-referenced by locale, entity, person, year. Like, the man has it figured out.

At some point, Tim realizes Jon wasn’t off his rocker because everything is falling together. Martin gives his statement about the worms and Tim realizes Jon was right. Eventually, he asks to hear more of his nightmare and Jon leaves him a tape that goes through all his encounters and he went through and everything.

Tim is floored and awed and enraged while listening. And then he hears Jon “while I know you want to set the place on fire, if you do, you’ll all die.” Tim almost does it, but he turns his rage to Orsinov and the circus instead.

[catboybiologist]

Tangent on the optimism post I made earlier about societal doomerism.

Most of the waste in the Pacific Garbage Patch is industrial fishing and factory waste.

Industry, overseas shipping, unsustainable agriculture, and energy production, that could all easily be replaced by sustainable alternatives, all dramatically overshadow anything you produce with your personal "carbon footprint", which I'm sure you all know is a BS concept.

Nations and political forces that you have no voice in control your healthcare, or maybe whether your identity is legal.

War rages overseas. Or maybe over your own head. It's heartbreaking and terrifying and the progress we've made to stop it seems tiny in comparison.

All of this is true.

But have you ever done a creek cleanup, and seen that specific creek slowly come back to life?

Have you ever organized one tiny event for your local queer community?

Have you ever voted in a local election and seen one local regulation help establish queer safe havens, or medical aide, or help the homeless?

Have you seen an institution that you're part of quietly stop supporting one of these systems because of actions you played some tiny part in?

Because I have. All of that, and more. Tiny scraps of things getting better on a local scale. They do work.

Will they save the world? No.

Will they make things a bit brighter for the people around you? Yes.

And is it unfair that the world continues to get worse overall anyways? Yes. But there are tiny things you can make better bit by bit.

I'm not absolving capitalism or corporations or governments of blame here. In fact, like my last post, I'm enraged by them even more from this mentality. Because when you have something on a local scale that you can improve, and find joy in, and bring that joy to other people, then you have something that fires you up to fight against the larger systems that threaten it.

Never forget who the real enemies are. Never allow them to guilt you or make things "your fault" for existing. But you also can't let it destroy the ways you can improve your community. Giving up is what they want you to do.

[chronically-ghosted]

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants. 

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did. 

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it. 

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking. 

Which had led to this. 

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there. 

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything. 

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place. 

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase. 

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room. 

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star. 

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him? 

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care. 

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want. 

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message. 

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his. 

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision. 

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.” 

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut. 

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out. 

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t. 

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.  

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines. 

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants. 

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing. 

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.   

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.” 

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving. 

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance. 

“So I’m here.” 

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.” 

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet. 

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face. 

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column. 

“Because I was a good boy?” 

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.” 

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center. 

“Go lock the door, baby.” 

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department. 

“Really?” 

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”  

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper. 

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.” 

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.” 

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling. 

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers. 

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock. 

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive. 

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock. 

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.” 

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest. 

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” 

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all. 

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens. 

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue. 

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week. 

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard. 

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock. 

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. 

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.” 

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes. 

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt. 

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.” 

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked. 

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.” 

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us. 

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.” 

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing. 

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?” 

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.” 

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.” 

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.” 

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck. 

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.” 

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees. 

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.” 

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips. 

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head. 

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein. 

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet. 

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head. 

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him. 

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull. 

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes. 

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer. 

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor. 

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates. 

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him. 

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some. 

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze. 

No roles. No games. No landmines. 

Exposure. 

Blistering and brittle.

Safety. 

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder. 

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose. 

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud. 

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs. 

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,” 

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it. 

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves. 

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna –  oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his. 

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days. 

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards. 

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move. 

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?” 

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it. 

For now. 

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead. 

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.” 

His smile widens. 

[soranatus]

DC’s Amazons Week -  Day 3: God(desses) & Monsters

And Hera…. Goddess of women. Hera sees with a thousand eyes. She is your Queen Bitch, your sin-eater. Hera bears the burden of foresight. A prophetess, Hera knows your pride and your rage before you do… Every bruise to your dignity burns her like fire. She is branded with it. And she loves you beyond reckoning, for you all belong to her. The subjugations and abuses of non-men by men are too numerous to catalog in a library… let alone a book. "It's just his nature,” they say. We say nature may be brutal, but it is not sinister. But if it were in his nature to dominate his sisters, t’would be an instinct garrisoned by civility. For the institutions of men care not for the weal of women. You don't have to be the Queen of Gods to recognize injustice. Can you imagine what it would feel like to bear witness across millennia? To see it all at once… With a thousand, thousand eyes?

@dccomicsamazonsweek

[imaginesforfandom]

A Wolverine's Heartache - Part II

Part I Part II

Logan/James Howlett x Reader

She/Her Pronouns

Summary: The Sentinel battle takes a turn for the worst causing Logan to lose someone dear to him.

Before the Sentinels descended upon them, there had been a quiet undercurrent of tension between Logan and Y/N, an unspoken dynamic that lingered beneath the surface of their friendship. The Xavier Institute, a haven for mutants, had become a place where emotions and connections were heightened, but not always openly acknowledged.

Logan and Y/N had shared moments of camaraderie, their friendship deepening over time. Yet, a subtle dance of longing and hesitation played out between them, unnoticed by others but felt in the quiet glances and stolen smiles. Each held a key to the other's heart, but the lock remained unturned.

In the tranquil moments before the storm, Y/N often found herself stealing glances at Logan, a flutter of uncertainty in her chest. She admired his strength, both physical and emotional, and valued the camaraderie they shared. Yet, there was an unspoken desire for something more, a connection that hovered in the uncharted territory between friendship and something deeper.

Logan, too, grappled with his own conflicting emotions. He had always been a lone wolf, accustomed to the solitude of his own thoughts. However, Y/N's presence had become a soothing balm to his restless soul. There were times when he caught himself staring at her, a vulnerability in his gaze that betrayed the unspoken depths of his feelings.

Their interactions were laced with a delicate balance, a dance around unexplored territories. A brush of hands during training, a shared moment of laughter by the fireplace – each encounter left an indelible mark on their hearts, pushing them closer to a truth neither was ready to confront.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The battle with the Sentinels unfolded in a crescendo of chaos and destruction. The ominous hum of their massive metal bodies echoed through the war-torn landscape as the mutants of the Xavier Institute rallied to fend off the relentless onslaught.

The sky crackled with energy as Storm unleashed her powers, attempting to create a barrier against the relentless advance of the towering machines. Colossus, his metallic form glinting in the harsh light, clashed with the Sentinels in a display of brute strength. Cyclops fired optic blasts with precision, desperately trying to hold the line.

Amidst the chaos, Logan moved like a feral blur, his adamantium claws slicing through the mechanical monstrosities with unmatched ferocity. The air was filled with the acrid scent of burning metal and the distant cries of mutants in peril.

Y/N fought valiantly alongside the team, her powers contributing to the defense, but the fear of being overshadowed by the more powerful mutants gnawed at her. In the midst of the mayhem, she kept glancing towards Logan, seeking reassurance, but his attention was consumed by the battle.

As the Sentinels closed in, a momentary distraction led to a tragic turn of events. Y/N found herself isolated for a brief second, and in that moment of vulnerability, a Sentinel seized the opportunity. A deafening scream pierced the air as Y/N was ensnared in its metallic grip.

Logan, several yards away, sensed the danger too late. His instincts kicked in, and he sprinted towards Y/N with an urgency that defied the chaos around him. With a primal roar, he lunged at the Sentinel, claws slashing through its armored exterior. The metallic giant released its grip, but the damage was done.

Time seemed to slow as Y/N crumpled to the ground, Logan catching her in his arms. The battle raged on, but in that harrowing moment, everything faded into the background. Logan's heart pounded as he held Y/N, the world collapsing around them as her life slipped away.

Logan's world shattered as he held Y/N's lifeless form in his arms. Time seemed to freeze, and the chaos of the battle faded into a distant murmur. The weight of grief pressed down on him like an unrelenting force, threatening to consume him whole.

In that agonizing moment, Logan's senses, normally keen and alert, dulled to the outside world. The smell of burning metal, the distant clashes of mutant powers, and the acrid taste of despair in the air became distant echoes. All that remained was the profound silence that accompanied Y/N's departure from the living.

Logan's heart, usually a steady rhythm amidst the storm, now pounded with a raw, aching intensity. His hands trembled as he cradled Y/N's lifeless body, unable to comprehend the reality of her absence. The world around him blurred, and tears – a rare expression of vulnerability – welled up in his eyes.

Regret and guilt gnawed at Logan's soul. If only he had been quicker, more vigilant. If only he had protected her better. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed the one person who had silently meant more to him than he had ever admitted.

A guttural, primal scream tore from Logan's throat, reverberating through the battlefield. It was a scream of anguish, of a grief so profound that it echoed the depths of his soul. In that moment, the Wolverine, known for his stoic demeanor and unyielding strength, crumbled under the weight of loss.

As Logan clung to Y/N's lifeless body, the reality of her absence sank in, leaving him stranded in a sea of sorrow. The battlefield continued to rage around him, but in his world, everything had come to a standstill. The connection he had shared with Y/N, the unspoken bond that had grown between them, was now a painful void that threatened to engulf him entirely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!! this made my heart break :,( i just wanna give him a real big hug now

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Rage Fire Institute

Movement. 6.

Barely squeezing in enough time to shower, Tatsumi gathered his things and headed to the student lower library to meet with Maki and Li. Samara hadn’t informed him that the latest arrivals to the institution would contain both Erebus and Goliath models, making for the delivery being a rush job at the end under the eyes of prying students. With one functional Erebus on board, they’d had to wait for the correct paperwork to be signed off at each military gate on the way out, and naturally, that meant inspection each time. The only time he’d had to relax was when driving the semi-trailer, while Samara was snoring his head off next to him. He’d thought perhaps he’d be able to begin his part of the team project seperately, yet that Li kid had messaged him repeatedly about not skipping out on them again, leaving him both amused and feeling obligated to show his face.

Ever early, Tatsumi took enough time to pick up obligatory snacks for both alphas. They were still growing and he could hear Li’s voice whining over lack of sugar already. It seemed something more likely for Li to do, rather than the frostier Maki who’d chug coffee from a pot if left to it, no matter how long it had sat. Choosing a desk out of the way, his bringing of snacks and coffee into the library was permitted thanks to his good relationship with the library staff. They might not have been quite so willing if they’d known Maki would be meeting with him… though the real trouble would come if Li forgot to keep his voice low. The pair were clearly close, despite the distance between backgrounds, and thanks to Li, Maki seemed a tad less resentful towards him.

Pulling out his sketch pad, Tatsumi connected it to his data pad, then set up the small holographic 3 dimensional projector. He had no idea what the two had planned for their project, and being older naturally meant he had more technology at his disposal. It was highly doubtful to him that either would come up with a revolutionary idea he’d not heard of before, but he wasn’t about to crush the dreams of the younger alphas. He firmly believed that the visions of dreams was the only thing preventing the civilisation from slipping back into stagnation. Still, he was early, and with no one else, Tatsumi opened up the specs for the Erebus MXV 7 that had been delivered that day. He’d only piloted it for a few moments, but it had been long enough to cop a scolding over. Though laced with concern over his condition, Tatsumi wasn’t fooled, the scolding more about the mech than him.

“Is that an Erebus?”

Preoccupied, Tatsumi hadn’t heard Maki approaching. Hurriedly he went to close the projection, then changed his mind. Li hadn’t arrived with his friend, so indulging Maki may make his temper less volatile than simply denying everything. Plus, Maki’s eyes were so transfixed on the projection that there was no way Tatsumi could simply turn it off now

“Yes. It’s an older model. A DXO002. It’s been sitting for some time now. The previous pilot made it out alive, yet was forced to abandon it. Do you want to see the specifications?”

“Am I allowed?”

Tatsumi bit down smiling as he manipulated his data pad

“It’s fine. All combat files are encrypted, so even if it fell into enemy hands they can’t access the data. Its main memory has been removed, but the mods are still in place. Are you interested in Erebuses?”

“I think Sandgropers are more fit for combat these days. You can scrap’em down to nothing in an instant. But, there’s something about the Erebus models that seems… it suits its job. Are the mods all individual custom or hard built?”

Hard built parts came from the military and had limited modification ability outside of enhancing war weaponry. Pulling the specs up, Tatsumi let make guide the conversion

“Custom. I didn’t think they’d allow such liberal design alteration. Two power cores… damn, the sync rate must have been high. Then again, it would have been modded to match its user. It seems in pretty good condition considering all things. Why did they boost jumping capabilities and not weapon output?”

Tatsumi zoomed in on the mechs knee joints

“You can’t always shoot horizontally. Mods like this are good for uneven terrain. It allows more room to move in all directions, and hence increases dodging capabilities”

Maki nodded, brow scrunched as he did

“Of course. It’s not always nice smooth terrain. Still, those knee joints… it’s a brilliant idea really. Added dampeners for minimal impact on the user despite the length or height of the jump. It has uses in both long distance and short distance combat. What else is there?”

Zooming out, Tatsumi pulled the specs up again, curious to know deeply the alpha’s knowledge on mods were

“Advanced communication and navigation capabilities. Automatic defibrillation. Nanobot emergency aerosol… They don’t mess around”

It was true. The mech once belonged to a captain and had been nodded accordingly. Tatsumi feeling almost proud that Maki wasn’t hiding his dire thirst to know more

“No. And so you know, not all captains mod this way. You’ll still come across those who will sacrifice movement capabilities for raw power. You’ll also come across captains who’ll save their own skins in a heartbeat. What are your thoughts on Goliaths?”

Maki scrunched his brow further, before scratching the back of his head

“An Erebus would have them beat. The relay lag between barrier activation and successful particle arrangement is a disadvantage. Goliaths have the height and the width, but everyone knows that lag factor is the big killer. If the school is going to acquire old military mechs, then how is it fair that pilots aren’t trained adequately from the start? I know we must get used to fighting in the worst of the worst, yet… don’t they think they’d get more out of their students if the mechs weren’t as limited?”

Tatsumi remembered. Piloting a school mech felt like piloting a brick cemented in place

“Don’t you think that’s exactly why? It takes dedication to be a pilot. You have to be prepared for times your mech feels every bit of its weight. Couple smooth moves and accuracy with a group of alpha males showing off for dominance and someone could very well end up dead. It’s meant to wean out those looking for an easy ride and those who can grit their teeth and bare it. As of next semester there will be an update across all school training mechs”

Maki sighed heavily. Tatsumi supposed he had over spoken given the research department hadn’t made the announcement. Over the semester break the mechs available for students to use would all be overhauled. Placing his backpack down, the alpha finally took a seat across from him

“It’s bullshit, that’s what it is. How do you know so much?”

He couldn’t very well tell Maki he’d gone to pick up the mechs

“I do have friends, you know”

“Like that man you were with earlier?”

So Maki had seen him with Samara. Samara in a great mood after napping the drive away. Sliding one of the coffees in front of him across to Maki, Tatsumi couldn’t help wanting to tease him a little

“So you saw that? Worried I’m seeing other alphas?”

Maki clicked his tongue as his expression turned to a glare

“Tsk. I never said that. You simply don’t seem the type”

“And what type is that?”

“The type to be piloting mechs. Was the man who piloted that Erebus today the same one that defeated all the students?”

Tatsumi shrugged off the comment. He didn’t want to think of his days as a pilot

“Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t go getting involved with Samara. Even if he offers you what seems more money than you’d see in your life, it comes with a catch. Not to say he’s a bad man. He used to be a front line engineer. Worked in the emergency repair department on Sylax 7. Now he follows the money around”

Maki boldly lied

“I’m not one of those research types, you know. I’m going to be a pilot. Skylark can punish me all he wants, yet he won’t change my mind”

No. The more Skylark pushed Maki, the more Maki dug his heels in.

Before their conversation could continue, Li came rushing over to their table

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Yon got talking and it’s so hard to hang up. Did you two start without me? I can’t believe it. I told you I would be here!”

Smiling at Li, Tatsumi pushed down the memories of his first love. It really seemed the day was set on forcing him to remember his past 28 years. Calmly he pushed Li’s coffee across the table, making it clear Li would be sitting on the same side as his friend

“It’s fine, you’re only a few moments late. I’ve got coffee and snacks. I’m hoping you both have ideas of what you want to produce for this project. You’ll need to budget it and submit the plans early if you want a good technician on this project”

“Excuse me, you’re our team member, not our teacher. This is our project”

Now Li was there, Maki seemed to be retreating into himself. Tatsumi’s hard work going out the window, despite that, a genuine smile tugged on his lips as he apologised

“You’re right. Forgive me. I haven’t worked on a team project for a little while now. It’s our project. Do either of you have ideas?”

Li pulled his chair out and dropped himself down to sit. Excitement lighting up his face

“I have so many ideas. What if we come up with a new modification?”

To his right, Maki sighed

“We’re not installing x-ray vision so you can perv on the other pilots”

Li smacked Maki’s arm lightly

“As if, as if. No. But what if we made a mod that could trigger a rut or estrus? You can’t pilot when that comes around. No. My mouth won’t stop I’m so nervous about this all, I mean your babysi- oof! Don’t hit me!”

Tatsumi couldn’t help but snort as Maki hit Li in the stomach, Maki grouching

“Will you stop with the crap. We’re here to study”

Li sighed as he hung his head

“I know. But the Professor is right there…”

“And?”

Li gave a frustrated sigh. Tatsumi taking pity on him. As the oldest one at the table, it went with the territory to be the calming influence

“Mister Kang, it’s honestly fine. I’m not a professor so try to think of me as a fellow student who also wants to get a good grade. Do you have a list of your ideas?”

Li nodded, perking back up a little as he produced his data pad

“I don’t know how good they are. You know I was joking right? I’d never…”

Tatsumi flashed him a smile. The alpha was more than nervous, despite the chain of messages he’d sent prattling on. It seemed he was quite famous for being “stuck” taking care of Maki

“I know. The infamous babysitter is right across from you and you’ve only seen things from the outside. There’s no need to be so nervous, Mister Kang”

“Li is fine… everyone calls me Li. Do we call you Mister…?”

Li looked to Maki to supply Tatsumi’s last name, Maki instead seemed to glaring at his coffee as if it he’d never seen one before

“Tatsumi is perfectly fine. I’m not one for titles or positions between students. Please relax, here, I’ve got coffee and I’ve got snacks. Despite what Maki may think, they’re not poisoned”

Swapping the data pad for a coffee, Li’s ideas were far more terrible. The alpha had gotten distracted and started drawing a rather sad looking mech battle. Some of the ideas were already in use, and some were completely impractical. Taking a rather loud slurp from his coffee, Li’s eyes went wide

“Hey, this is great!”

Tatsumi took no offence

“I thought you may need the sugar pick me up. Classes are long enough as it is. Maki, do you have any ideas?

Pulling out his own data pad, the alpha slid it over

“I don’t know if they’re any good. Probably not up to your standards. And since when is your name Tatsumi not Tatsuma?”

This time Tatsumi was slightly offended. He’d spent months with Maki, yet he didn’t even know his first name

“I’ve told you this before. Skylark started calling me Tatsuma long ago and now I’m certain he’s forgotten it’s Tatsumi. He said I was quite the stoic bastard and should go plant myself outside until my attitude changed”

Li choked on his coffee, thumping himself on the chest

“Wait. He bullied you too?”

“Skylark knows he can get away with it. I think we’ve talked more than enough about myself. If we want a good grade, we’ll need to come up with a solid foundation for this project. We’ll also need to sort the information into sections for each of us to present. Now, I see here, Maki, you’ve suggested improvements with the heating and cooling systems of the pilot. There’s technology already in place for that. What did you think could be improved?”

Maki shrugged it off

“It gets too hot in the training mechs. Sync rates rise and fall with pilot comfort”

Tatsumi nodded along. Maki had no experience with advanced mechs after all. The school mechs were a joke compared to piloting the real thing

“I understand what you mean. So rather than working on modding the mech, you’d rather mod the pilot suit?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s just an idea. Maybe fixing the student suits… it’s dumb”

“Not really. Having never piloted a professional mech, students are at a disadvantage when it comes to projects such as these. A proper pilot suit will react far better than a student one. I think I’m having an idea”

Both Li and Maki cast him doubtful looks at the same time. Tatsumi doubted that the looks would remain there for long

“You both know students are able to access the research wing, aren’t you?”

Where Maki slouched further, Li lent forward

“Yeah, but, like, they don’t like us there. We were told to keep away from interrupting them there”

That sounded about right

“If you’re going there for no reason. For projects such as these, it’s expected especially in your next two years. If modding a suit is what you’re interested in, they’ll be only too happy to help. You can download the less complex specifications off the school network. Some data will be limited, but remember, there are as many different ways to pilot as there are pilots”

“You mean, we can go for it?”

Li sounded so excited that the librarian cast a glare in their direction. Tatsumi nodded again

“Yes. You could even approach this project from a dozen different angles. You could think of relay speed, dynamic synchronisation, cooling, fit, species customisation… or, if you wanted to be more unique you could customise your own two suits. You both have institution provided suits yet a lot of pilots in combat have their own, even their own tailors that they’d never think of taking to another brand”

Li groaned suddenly, reaching for the bag of snacks on the table

“This is why you brought them, isn’t it? Because we have to think. You’re not just a pretty face behind those glasses. Do you even need them? Why haven’t you gotten surgery. A few bips cures everything these days”

“Nyctalopia. Night blindness. Thanks to a certain incident my eyes are sensitive to high levels of light and darkness. Glasses really aren’t so bad. And I’m glad to hear you think my face pretty, though you’re not my type”

Maki chuckled at the confusion, then blush, that rose on Li’s face

“You started it. Prof-… ah… Tatsumi, ignore him. You get used to his mouth pretty quickly”

There was “Professor” again. Tatsumi thought Maki more comfortable by addressing him as such due the age difference, not because Maki seriously thought he was

“Tatsumi is fine. Honestly, you only need to worry about talking formally in front of actual teachers. I don’t want any use of proper titles or honourifics, I’m not that old. I’ll submit a request to research department over suit specs. But the main problem is that we aren’t agreed on the project. Li, you would rather concentrate on making a mech modification, right?”

Li grinned

“You caught me. What pilot doesn’t dream of modding their own mech? Skylark would choke if we pulled something major off”

With Maki looking displeased at his best friend’s comment, Tatsumi knew they were in for a long night. Either way, one of the two friends would have to give ground or they’d never get anything done.

[schraubd]

Resilient Fascism

I still haven't decided if I'm going to do my traditional liveblog of the election. It may just be too stressful. Plus, I have to teach an early-morning class tomorrow, and it would be bad if I stayed up all night tracking election returns (lol, like I have a choice). While we're waiting for results to come in, I want to briefly comment on news abroad -- namely, that Israeli Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu has fired his Defense Minister, Yoav Gallant. It is yet another incident of capricious chaos meant to appease Netanyahu's furthest-right base, and is being greeted with yet another round of mass protests throughout Israel. And I can't help but think it is a premonition of what America will be like if Trump wins another term. When I look at what's happening over there, what stands out to me is the resilience of the Israeli government -- and not in a good way. What's been striking about the current Israeli government is not just the blundering into crisis after crisis that has typified its time in office, but how it has managed to survive and endure them while barely budging. It has survived near-constant protests, brutally sagging popularity, a seemingly endless (now two-front!) war, complete abandonment of hostages, regular evidence of widespread corruption, and increasing international isolation, and has through all of it only deepened its commitment to the furthest-right fringes of its governing coalition.  It's not that it's been able to accomplish all its heart's desires (the judicial coup continues to tread water), but it has hunkered itself down and proven nearly impossible to dislodge. Why isn't widespread public rage and scandal enough to bring down the government? Simple: because the people in government know that the minute they dismount the tiger they've been riding, they'll get devoured. So they bound about from desperate move to desperate move, breaking this rule, smashing that norm, all in complete defiance of the popular will, hoping to find a magic bullet that will forestall the inevitable day of reckoning. Chaos, dysfunction, unpopularity, public rage -- even in extreme doses none of it has proven enough to dislodge the authoritarian nightmare once it took root. This isn't an Israel-only story -- I saw someone else making a similar observation about India -- but it is a grim harbinger of what will happen if Trump re-enters office. It was hard enough getting him out of office the first time. The second time around, he'll be even worse. It is beyond obvious he will take extreme, authoritarian measures to protect himself and to hurt his enemies, ones that will prove ruinously unpopular and will prompt widespread public protest. And it won't matter -- even leaving aside the myriad ways our "democratic" institutions do not reflect the democratic will, every incentive of Trump's ruling coalition will be to not respond to popular outrage, to not give an inch, to double-down at every moment. And the evidence from Israel suggests that this is a workable strategy -- when the fascists take power, their power is alarmingly resilient to public fury and terrifyingly immune to public outrage. The first results should start appearing momentarily. I've spent all day on a "doom and bloom" cycle, but at this point we can only watch. I'm praying that America makes the right call, that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/tx4jSyf

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

There are so many funerals taking place in Israel, they have to be queued up and the amount of time each family has to bury their loved one/s has to be limited.

Israel officially said it estimates about half of those who are considered kidnapped by Hamas are probably not alive. They were either taken as bodies to be used as blackmail material, or they died on their way to or in Gaza from their wounds.

The most northern Israeli town, Metula, has been declared closed military territory due to Hezbollah's firing at Israel.

Hamas has declared a 'day of rage' and asked for its supporters to attack Jews everywhere. Many Jewish schools and institutions have decided to remain closed today to be on the safe side.

In Beijing, an Israeli diplomat was stabbed, this is believed (but still not confirmed) to be a terrorist attack.

Bruna was a Jew from Brazil and only had a mom and a sister in Israel. According to Jewish tradition, there should be a minyan (a group of 10 Jewish men) to pray for the dead at a funeral, so the family posted online, asking for 10 Jewish men to come. Ten thousand Israelis showed up for the funeral.

Another personal story of a murdered Israeli:

May his memory be a blessing!

Another.

Sagi Golan was about to marry his boyfriend, Omer Ohana, in 8 days. When Hamas attacked, he didn't wait for the army to call him for reserves duty. He took the initiative, drove down to the south and led a team to fight the terrorists. He was killed by them. At his wedding, Sagi and Omer's wedding song was supposed to be Zachiti Le'ehov (I Was Privileged to Love) by openly gay singer Ivri Lider. Ivri sang this song at Sagi's funeral.

On a personal note, every Israeli has a list that keeps getting longer of who they know that's been affected by Hamas' attack on Israel. This is mine.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Preview

Please enjoy this excerpt from my forthcoming Hancock one-shot! As I said previously, I'm going to be focusing solely on finishing this up for the next couple of days. Once it's wrapped up, I'm planning a major inbox cleanout (currently sitting at over 100 messages in there...I'm terribly sorry, but also, I love hearing from you guys so much!), with lots of blurbs and shorter posts to hopefully get the oldest/simplest requests fulfilled. I also have a few other things planned for funsies, because, y'know, Kinktober.

Brace yourselves to be absolutely sick of me in the back half of this month. Thanks for reading!

John Hancock (FO4) x Virgin!Reader One-Shot

Warnings: smut (18+), very sexual pining, loss of virginity, corruption kink, reader's first "real" orgasm, absolutely perverted thoughts, mutual and consensual drug use, discussion of addiction, mild exhibitionism, finger fucking, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), cock piercings, possessive sex, manhandling, hair pulling, breeding kink, slightly dishonest creampie, jealousy, self-hating John.

Preview Word Count: 2,200

Notes: Reader is a former vault dweller but is explicitly not Nora/the Sole Survivor. Post-Institute destruction. It was difficult to choose an excerpt that's representative of the whole piece; do not let this preview trick you if it seems overly romantic. It's nasty.

Your heart raced under your skin, your pulse flying under the press of his fingertips as he pushed you firmly against the decrepit wall. You exhaled harshly through your nostrils, hands coming to knot themselves into his work flannel as his mouth pressed forward with its assault on yours. He expected you to begin to push him away using the shirt for leverage, but couldn't force himself to pull back first through the blinding possessive rage he felt.

John had always been more of a “free love” sort of guy most of his life, jumping from partner to partner without much thought or care, and, because he'd never put much emotional investment or time into any particular partner, had never really cared enough about another person to feel possessive of them. Jealousy was such a negative, ugly emotion that he hated to waste any of his time on it, but the fire he'd felt in his gut from the moment he'd watched that asshole place his fingers under your chin to tilt your face up, obviously angling for a kiss, could not be ignored.

He heard the whispers of the people around Sanctuary, around every settlement and trade outpost; the speculations about why a woman like you would choose to travel with a ghoul as a companion, why you'd spend almost all your time with him, how you were so comfortable touching and being touched by him. Criticism from shitheads about his own actions and choices rolled off of him like water off a mirelurk shell, valid or not, but it stirred him up fiercely to hear these people you'd given so much of yourself to judge you, as if they had any room. Some of the more hateful ones called you a fetishist and a freak when they thought no one else could hear, and if it weren’t for you specifically asking him to not start trouble around the settlements unless you started it first, he would have made those people swallow their own teeth long ago.

That guy had added himself to that list the moment he made it clear that he pitied you for your choices.

John hadn’t previously had much problem with him, save for noticing the glint in his eye when he spoke with you. He couldn't necessarily begrudge him his attraction to you, though; you were, after all, the most beautiful woman in the Commonwealth, hands down. Beyond that, you were kind, generous, hardworking, and terrifyingly smart. You’d give the clothes off your back to anyone who needed them, and would offer a stranger your shoulder to cry on if they needed. It was nearly impossible to not fall in love with you, just a little. He knew; he had tried and failed as miserably as he'd ever failed at anything.

The guy’s feelings themselves weren't the problem, though. The problem was that he obviously thought himself some sort of contender for your affections. Or, he was trying to make himself one. It couldn't be tolerated. If this trespass was allowed, every man in the Commonwealth who fancied you or cut of your vault suit would feel comfortable trying to pick you up right in front of him, and it'd be nothing but trouble for everyone involved.

His mouth found the side of your throat, placing open-mouthed kisses and sharp nips the way he knew you liked in a beeline from your clavicle to your ear. When you squirmed, letting out an airy moan as you yanked him closer, he latched onto your pulse point and sucked, bathing the skin with his tongue hard enough to leave a spotted, wine-colored mark that you wouldn't be able to hide the next day. You liked that, too, but you’d never admit it out loud.

Well, unless he made you, maybe...

A low, drawn out moan escaped your mouth, your hands moving up to cup the back of his head, pulling him still closer. He obliged you, pressing the line of his entire body against you, making you feel his throbbing need against your belly, and you whimpered in response, your hands finding the top button of his flannel and beginning to work it open.

He paused his ministrations, reaching up to cup your cheek gently, your own fingers stalling for a single beat as he gazed into your eyes, trying to reassure you that he wasn’t upset with you. And he wasn’t. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But he was upset at that guy’s uncharacteristically bold actions, his disregard of his place in your life. The disregard of the others.

He needed to assert his place. He needed to show you how he felt.

Promptly, he resumed his ministrations. By the time you'd managed to undo the last cracked button, he’d left a huge, oblong purple bruise along the side of your elegant throat.

“John,” you whispered in between harsh breaths, your hands moving to yank the thin shirt over your head. “I want you.”

The tone of your voice was sure and clear despite how it trembled. When he fully looked up to your face, you were gazing at him dreamily, your brow furrowed with effort as your hips began to move, trying to find some friction against his. Just like the previous night, he could clearly see your desire, your trust, in the way you gazed at him. Still, though, a tug of guilt in his chest had him chastising himself as he hesitated; he should protect you and tell you to not do this. Not only because of the societal response you could expect for being with a ghoul, but because he was far from anyone’s ideal man. He didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t sure he could be everything you needed, and wasn’t sure a man even existed on Earth who could be all that a divine woman like you deserved.

Even knowing this, he couldn't pull himself away from you. The overwhelming desire he'd felt since the moment you'd met burned too hot in his gut, long transformed from a deep want to a need.

“John.” you repeated, slightly louder though just as winded.

His head dropped to your shoulder, kissing across it placidly for a moment. Your hands traveled up his back, eventually moving up to grab the tricorn from his head and toss it onto the counter beside you. He felt the warm bloom of self-consciousness as you pecked along his bald head gingerly, your lips feeling extra plush against his ruined skin.

“This really what you want, sunshine?” he asked, forehead coming to rest against your own as his hands rubbed your sides.

You didn’t respond vocally, but instead reached out to stroke his cheek like he had yours, thumb swiping back and forth for a few moments. There was a silence, but a warm, comfortable one that wrapped you together in your own little bubble. When your eyes met again, he had his answer.

He led you by your soft hand to the next room, the two of you dropping onto the mattress in the corner, chuckling at the plume of dust that rose from the thing as you cuddled close. Your hands absentmindedly petted at him, one twiddling at one of the frayed tails of his shirt, averting your eyes. Soon, the unoccupied hand began to move down his chest, stroking the wiry muscle of his exposed torso. Your palm was warm and soft against him as you explored his chest, eyes following your hand as it slowly moved lower. He tensed a bit as your hand swept along his abdominals ticklishly, fingertips dipping below the waistband of his jeans. You hesitated a moment, your fingers retreating slightly to sweep back and forth along the upper seam, toying with the loose threads there.

John was radiating tension at the way you were touching him; you had never been quite this bold before, and his head swam with the overwhelming amount of emotion that he felt as your fingers began to dip below again, shyly. He was proud of you, knowing how much work you’d put into getting over your nerves to get to this point; at the same time, he was beyond touched that he was the man you’d chosen to share these milestones with. Both of these tender feelings made the overwhelming arousal he felt at your soft hands on his body a little embarrassing.

His breath caught in his throat when the tips of your fingers lightly brushed his erection, the sound odd. You froze, eyes moving to his to assess; he gave you a small head shake to convey that you hadn’t hurt him or anything, his usually silver tongue caught in his throat.

Given the green light, you slid your hand just a little further down, warm against the side of his shaft as you gently explored; your ginger poking and prodding was unpracticed, almost clinical, your hand trembling a little as you made him squirm. He was already rock hard, electricity sparking from where you touched him, and his frazzled emotional state didn’t help in the slightest. He gave a little grunt, trying to remain quiet and calm but feeling a mounting need to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you down against the filthy mattress and make you come undone.

He wanted you naked.

Generally, when you two got to fooling around, you were more than okay with him touching you both over and under your clothes, and you responded to him beautifully, making it easy to figure out what you liked and what you didn’t. However, you were often very skittish to fully remove your clothes when he made it clear he actually wanted to touch you. In the past several weeks you’d been so bold as to let him push up the hem of your shirts or open the blouse of your dresses to softly fondle and kiss your breasts, which you held and shielded with your hands when he wasn’t directly touching them, your face dusted with a dusky, embarrassed blush.

It hurt him terribly to see that you doubted your own beauty; if he had his way, he would spend every day from here to the next end of the world showing you how gorgeous you really were. But at the same time, the lingering shyness you demonstrated drove him wild.

A sharp inhale left his mouth when you suddenly wound your index finger lightly around the head of his cock, the softly calloused pad collecting some of the precum that dribbled from the slit and dragging along his piercing. You jumped a little at the sound, but when he looked at you in the dim light, your eyes were wide and the corners of your mouth were turned up ever-so-slightly in an expression of gentle confidence. He didn’t dare interrupt you, not wanting to risk throwing you off whatever wave you were currently on, instead tucking what remained of his lower lip between his teeth as you shimmied a little closer to him, the new proximity granting you a little more length of your arm to slide into his pants.

When your soft fingers curled all the way around his shaft, he nearly lost himself.

He cried out, the sound embarrassing and dragging out as you moved your grip on him up and down, slowly, hesitantly, his face burning with the shameful realization that he’d nearly cum in his pants like a teenager from a single touch from you. He was grateful his blush couldn’t be read on his tarnished skin as he dropped his face to your shoulder once more, placing a series of little kisses across the tan softness there as your blush began to work it's way down to your chest. One of his hands swept down your spine, caressing you softly as it slipped low and came to rest in the small of your back.

“Fuck.” he grunted, his jaw clenched tight as you continued your gentle ministrations, “I wanna see you, baby. Please.”

Your hand paused for a moment, giving a couple more gentle strokes before pulling back. When he lifted his head again, you were looking at him straight-on.

“Only if I get to see you, too.” you replied simply, your voice just above a whisper.

He was surprised at that; John had no real issues being a ghoul, but generally made it a practice to stay mostly clothed during sex for the ease of things (and, you know, just in case someone decides they don’t like what they see). His shirt was already hanging open, exposing his chest, but he went shirtless or open shirted frequently, both at home and on the road. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to you. He pulled back from you a bit to straighten up, his hands coming to work the fly of his jeans down as he gazed back at you, lips swollen and throat heavily marked where you sat, leaning back against the moldering wall.

“Deal.”

[goddesspharo]

↻ FLIP FLOP: Jake's Pov from when he's awakes in Vegas.

[ask me for extras about my fics!]

↻ FLIP FLOP: the flip side of the waking up in Vegas scene at the beginning of can't fake what you can't break up with in Hangman's POV

(Also here now for housekeeping purposes!)

Jake's first extremely dramatic thought upon being yanked out of REM sleep by Phoenix's equally dramatic shrieking is that it feels like something died in his mouth and then that dead thing was unceremoniously moved to a shallow grave in his brain and now, in the cruel light of day, it is slowly rising from the spongy matter like a body washing up on shore at low tide – only there's not enough room in his scalp to accommodate the flotsam so his head feels like it's being split apart from the inside. He needs more sleep and a cup of industrial strength espresso, but he'd settle for Phoenix not ruining this for him – the this in question being Natasha looking flushed all over as she stands in the middle of his hotel room in her underwear and points menacingly at him with her phone while threatening to murder him for the crime of rocking her world – by reading Instagram captions out loud like he fucked a delusional Kardashian last night instead of her. (Jake blames Sammy for the fact that he is immediately able to clock that Khloe would be the delusional Kardashian who couldn't take a hint the morning after.) With a groan, Jake reminds Natasha that it's not a Vegas vacation if at least two people don't drunkenly wander into an Elvis chapel and take wedding selfies with The King. His mother has albums full of Jake dressed like Woody from Toy Story when he was in the first grade – that doesn't mean he was spending his days solving crimes instead of figuring out how the hell subtraction worked. Jake tells Natasha that the institution of marriage requires a little more than "pics or it didn't happen" to be valid while slowly stretching out his sore muscles. She has finally stopped yelling at him for three seconds – no doubt to marvel at the legal expertise he culled from watching reruns of The Practice – but when he looks up, what he discovers is even better than Phoenix losing the power of speech over his genius. Natasha Trace, the woman whose response to him flirting with her has always been to remind Jake that she'd be hard pressed to spit on him if he caught on fire – is shamelessly checking him out like someone who went for a test drive and now can't hide that she'd pay sticker price to drive this Mustang off the lot immediately. "I'm going to hop in the shower." Flashing Natasha a grin that is sure to infuriate her, he drawls in a low trickle, "Want to conserve some water with me?" Her face turns murderous within seconds as Nat slips on a hotel robe and loudly plots his demise. He'd make a crack about foreplay, but her grip on the hanger seems deadly. Jake settles for sauntering to the bathroom while whistling the Usher song that Gina played on repeat when Jake had a crush on the college sophomore his parents paid ten bucks an hour to teach them tennis one summer. Phoenix can deny that she's not hot for his bod as much as she wants, but his back looks like a subway map when he catches a glimpse of it in the bathroom mirror. It takes everything in him not to cry out when the scalding hot water hits the scratches, but Jake can't find it in himself to be too mad about it when he finds a red bird sketched onto his skin like a brand. Jake is still laughing about how proprietary Natasha is when he steps out of the bathroom a few minutes later and immediately needles her with, "You won't believe this, but I think you tried to draw a phoenix on my ass with a Sharpie last night!" He doesn't expect her to find it as funny as he does, but Jake is caught off guard when Natasha starts raging about paperwork instead.

[good-old-gossip]

Israeli Terrorists TARGET & SLAUGHTER children in Gaza for FUN!!!!!

At least 30 Palestinians, mostly women and children, were killed on Sunday when Israel launched air strikes on two United Nations-run schools in the west of Gaza City.

Palestinian Civil Defence spokesperson Mahmoud Bassal described the strike on Hassan Salameh and al-Nasr schools as “a massacre in every sense of the word” and the scenes of the attacks as “difficult and tragic”.

The Israeli military said it struck fighters inside a Hamas command centre embedded within the schools. Hamas denies using civilian institutions for military purposes.

On Sunday, the Israeli army carried out air strikes across the Gaza Strip, killing at least 49 Palestinians.

At least five people were killed and 18 others wounded in an overnight strike that hit a tent camp in the courtyard of al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital, the Palestinian health ministry said.

Thousands of displaced Palestinians have sought refuge in the hospital in Deir al-Balah, one of the few operational hospitals in central Gaza. Footage on social media showed Palestinians rushing to rescue the wounded and extinguish the large fire caused by the attack.

“The night was relatively calm when we heard a deafening sound of an explosion. I ran to the window, thinking the strike had hit an area near the hospital. But to my shock, they [Israeli forces] had hit inside the hospital’s compound, a few metres away from us,” Ali Tawil, a doctor at al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital, told Middle East Eye.

“I saw the fire raging, people running in all directions, a state of hysteria and panic. I tried to compose myself quickly and rushed to the emergency room to treat people. Some had burns and others had shrapnel wounds." Tawil added: “The scene was horrific. It was extremely difficult.”

Israel has struck 172 designated shelters, mostly schools, housing thousands of displaced families since the start of the war in October 2023, according to the Palestinian government media office.

In northern Gaza, an Israeli strike destroyed a house in the Jabalia refugee camp, killing at least eight people, including three children, their parents and their grandmother.

Another strike in the area killed three people inside a car. Sunday’s strikes came hours after an Israeli air strike killed at least 17 people and wounded 21 others sheltering in a school in Gaza City.

At least 39,550 Palestinians have been killed in the Israeli military campaign in Gaza since last October, according to the Palestinian health ministry.