#Fortification Mission

[fogaminghub]

🐜✨ Master the "Fortification" mission in Empire of the Ants with our comprehensive guide! From resource management to defensive strategies, we’ve got everything you need to succeed. Don’t miss out - check it out! 

[sunderwight]

Moshang AU where Airplane transmigrates into a demon NPC from one of the fanservice clans he created, rather than into Shang Qinghua.

So basically, there was a point in time where a lot of PIDW chapters were just Luo Binghe running around propelled by political plots and rebellions from the demon kingdoms, and most of that actually just ended up being Luo Binghe collecting wives with cute animal ears and tails and various abilities that Airplane used all of once and then completely forgot about. They covered the usual bases of the sexy cat girls, sexy fox girls, sexy bunny girls, sexy bird girls with wings, etc, before moving into more, erm, niche animal hybrid demon territory.

Which is all a roundabout way of explaining Cute Hamster Boy Shang Qinghua in his faithful-to-canon clan of Hamster Demons, whose primary skills include cute squeaking noises and digging abilities.

In the process of making his braindead written-in-a-panic-at-3-am "world building" on this front actually function in a real version of the setting, there has got to be a way for the otherwise-unremarkable fanservice demon tribes to actually survive the incredibly hostile environment which Airplane otherwise described, though. Like yeah sure when you're writing a book you can just say in one breath that the demon realms are incredibly brutal and cutthroat, and then in the next that this tribe of bunny girls with no visible skills at self-defense has existed here for thousands of years, but if you actually tried to set that up in some kind of a simulation the bunny girls wouldn't last one year, let alone one thousand.

In that case of Airplane's hamster tribe, their digging skills are so supernaturally prodigious that they are able to construct massive underground fortifications in otherwise hostile terrain. But that still doesn't solve all of their problems, because they still need to acquire food, and for that they mostly do have to go up to the surface. Some of their weakness is mitigated by sheer numbers -- they have a lot of kids to offset the high mortality rate. However, to further increase the survival rates, the hamster demons also try and make contracts with some of the local liege lords or ruling clans whenever they expand into a new territory. In exchange for protection, they send some of their extraneous family members out as servants, to either cement alliances through marriage (that high fertility is helpful and was indeed the crux of Wife #whatever's acquisition in canon) or to work as diggers or even high-level architects.

As the like, twelfth son of the Hamster Demon chieftain, this is Airplane's fate. On the one hand he's highly positioned enough to get an education, and his plot knowledge helps a lot. On the other hand, he's not high enough in the hierarchy to be kept around, so it's either go work for some other clan or else risk his neck doing missions on the hostile and deadly surface. Neither seems great, but Airplane would rather try his luck as a sycophant than a warrior.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on his mood when he thinks about it) when Airplane reaches sixteen years of age, it's around the same time that the Hamster clan's tunnels have expanded towards the Northern Desert. Airplane ends up being part of the "hiii~ pleasedon'tkillus let's be friends~" tribute to Mobei Jun's father.

Mobei Jun's father tosses him to Mobei Jun, so Airplane dutifully latches onto him in order to avoid being eaten by any of the other retainers. Airplane has been educated in various subterranean building skills and is under the impression that he's been given to MBJ in order to build him his own palace or something?

Everyone else assumes that the Hamster demon is a concubine.

Mobei Jun also thinks that's what he's been given, but he's too busy bristling in teenage offense at being given a concubine by his father to actually consider taking Airplane to bed. So when Airplane starts doing other things for him, he just sort of bemusedly lets it happen.

Gradually it becomes apparent that Airplane himself isn't interested in being a concubine. No. Clearly, this Hamster is gunning for future empress of the Northern Desert! How else would one explain all the lengths he's going to not only to win Mobei Jun's favor, but to secure his position and ensure his future rule? The system also wants Airplane to ensure the Abyss plot arc happens in the future, too, which means Airplane helps Mobei Jun win and instigate conflicts against the righteous cultivation sects too.

Obviously, Airplane wants power. Mobei Jun knows that if he gets an heir off of Airplane that will be that, the wily minx will use any children to secure his position, and MBJ is not convinced he could control himself well enough to prevent that sort of eventually. Airplane is fiendishly attractive, and he clearly knows it, and Mobei Jun is not sure if he wants to accept what increasingly seems to be the inevitable. He won't be a ladder for someone else's ambitions! But... as long as Airplane remains loyal to him, he will consider it. Even if Airplane never harbors any true affection for him, and simply considers him a means to an end. If, by the time he ascends the Hamster has not betrayed him or tried to elevate himself by flipping over this uncle's side, or seduced any of his other relatives or any of the highly-placed lords all salivating to steal MBJ's would-be empress, then Mobei Jun will grant his wish and make him the second most powerful demon in the North.

Airplane, meanwhile, just wants a snack and a nap. Maybe if he builds a secure enough fortress and amasses enough of an intelligence network and hoards a few advantages for himself, and figures out how to stop pissing off MBJ, he'll survive long enough to retire. Somehow.

[toffee32]

normal exchange between Lanius and his liturgy assistant Clodia

some info of them and OC rambling below !!

Since I started thinking ab Lanius I remembered that one little fun fact that Lanius blinded all of his slaves so they wouldn't see his face. I instantly thought of Clodia, this priestess OC of mine, that I designed to be perpetually blindfolded (Introduced her here) She traces her lineage back to Arroyo, her family being one of the saved by Chosen One before the oil rig exploded. Out of the six priestesses working in Fortification Hill, she's their oracle, prophetess and overseer of sacrificial rites. She's basically perfect to be a companion for Lanius. I wonder what I can make out of her being blindfolded, if she's blind, if she can see and it's a deliberate choice, if her story with Lanius goes further back and maybe he's the one who taught her to wear it, or maybe blinded her himself, all to keep her serving him. That's a lot to think about, but anyways she'd be his trusted liturgy assistant aiding him to perform rituals and all that business, they'd benefit from each other a lot, since I imply Clodia could either be a psyker with mind-control and clairvoyance abilities OR actually not and just perpetually high on herb and chems which induce her delusions. The same way Lanius may actually believe that his sacrifices please Mars or he doesn't believe in all of that and just performs out of formality or for the love of bloodshed, they use each other to legitimize their labour and mission.

May be too OP of her, but I also like thinking that she's one (out of the two, the other being Caesar ofc) of the people who get to influence him. If you'd ask Caesar about this and their relationship, he'd get very nervous and go ''It's all LARP. I do not need someone to mind-control Lanius to keep him from going berserk and ruining my project by going on a mindless genocidal rampage through the west!''.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Yesterday watched Civil War 2024 at the movies (had to leave early was disturbing AF 😳) How about Konig x war photographer! Reader? Pls

(My flashbacks from the military correspondence training) You're a pretty, bright-eyed thing with a big camera in that dumb bulletproof case and a death wish written all over your face. Who else would get into KorTac's missions on their own free will - and without a magazine or even a tiny online journal to back her findings? You're only here because the mercenary group needs some good PR after the latest scandals and also because you're fine with sleeping in barracks, remaining completely neutral to all the shit they are doing, and working for food. You were also fine with working under Konig, which was the main selling point. Now, whether or not Konig is fine with working with you, is a different question. Somehow, his annoyance at the presence of a reporter during some greasly missions turned into curiosity. Curiosity then turned into acceptance which later leaked into affection, drop by drop...and then he found himself staring at your ass whenever you would jump out of fortification to make some photos, and he'd haul you back on his shoulder, keeping a hand just above your hip, squeezing whenever you'd try to squirm away. Konig never lets you take his pictures - but you can sometimes sneak a peek with his back turned to the camera, the carnage as a backdrop for his muscular figure. You wouldn't say he is your muse - but his figure, wrapped in dark uniform and a hood dropped over his head, is somehow inspiring you more than usual theatre of battlefield. Konig hates the way you always jump into the midst of action like you're an actual soldier instead of a weakling with camera - so he is dragging you back to the barracks, intending to teach you a very important lesson about obedience...even if he is not technically your colonel.

[whencyclopedia]

D-Day was 80 years ago today!

D-Day was the first day of Operation Overlord, the Allied attack on German-occupied Western Europe, which began on the beaches of Normandy, France, on 6 June 1944. Primarily US, British, and Canadian troops, with naval and air support, attacked five beaches, landing some 135,000 men in a day widely considered to have changed history.

Where to Attack?

Operation Overlord, which sought to attack occupied Europe starting with an amphibious landing in northwest France, Belgium, or the Netherlands, had been in the planning since January 1943 when Allied leaders agreed to the build-up of British and US troops in Britain. The Allies were unsure where exactly to land, but the requirements were simple: as short a sea crossing as possible and within range of Allied fighter cover. A third requirement was to have a major port nearby, which could be captured and used to land further troops and equipment. The best fit seemed to be Normandy with its flat beaches and port of Cherbourg.

The Atlantic Wall

The leader of Nazi Germany, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), called his western line of defences the Atlantic Wall. It had gaps but presented an impressive string of fortifications along the coast from Spain to the Netherlands. Construction of gun batteries, bunker networks, and observation posts began as early as 1942.

Many of the German divisions were not crack troops but inexperienced soldiers, who were spending more time building defences than in vital military training. There was a woeful lack of materials for Hitler's dream of the Atlantic Wall, really something of a Swiss cheese, with some strong areas, but many holes. The German army was not provided with sufficient mines, explosives, concrete, or labourers to better protect the coastline. At least one-third of gun positions still had no casement protection. Many installations were not bomb-proof. Another serious weakness was naval and air support. The navy had a mere 4 destroyers available and 39 E-boats while the Luftwaffe's (German Air Force's) contribution was equally paltry with only 319 planes operating in the skies when the invasion took place (rising to 1,000) in the second week.

Neptune to Normandy

Preparation for Overlord occurred right through April and May of 1940 when the Royal Air Force (RAF) and United States Air Force (USAAF) relentlessly bombed communications and transportation systems in France as well as coastal defences, airfields, industrial targets, and military installations. In total, over 200,000 missions were conducted to weaken as much as possible the Nazi defences ready for the infantry troops about to be involved in the largest troop movement in history. The French Resistance also played their part in preparing the way by blowing up train lines and communication systems that would ensure the defenders could not effectively respond to the invasion.

The Allied fleet of 7,000 vessels of all kinds departed from English south-coast ports such as Falmouth, Plymouth, Poole, Portsmouth, Newhaven, and Harwich. In an operation code-named Neptune, the ships gathered off Portsmouth in a zone called 'Piccadilly Circus' after the busy London road junction, and then made their way to Normandy and the assault areas. At the same time, gliders and planes flew to the Cherbourg peninsula in the west and Ouistreham on the eastern edge of the planned landing. Paratroopers of the 82nd and 101st US Airborne Division attacked in the west to try and cut off Cherbourg. At the eastern extremity of the operation, paratroopers of the 6th British Airborne Division aimed to secure Pegasus Bridge over the Caen Canal. Other tasks of the paratrooper and glider units were to destroy bridges to impede the enemy, hold others necessary for the invasion to progress, destroy gun emplacements, secure the beach exits, and protect the invasion's flanks.

The Beaches

The amphibious attack was set for dawn on 5 June, daylight being a requirement for the necessary air and naval support. Bad weather led to a postponement of 24 hours. Shortly after midnight, the first waves of 23,000 British and American paratroopers landed in France. US paratroopers who dropped near Ste-Mère-Église ensured this was the first French town to be liberated. From 3.00 a.m., air and naval bombardment of the Normandy coast began, letting up just 15 minutes before the first infantry troops landed on the beaches at 6.30 a.m.

The beaches selected for the landings were divided into zones, each given a code name. US troops attacked two, the British army another two, and the Canadian force the fifth. These beaches and the troops assigned to them were (west to east):

Utah Beach - 4th US Infantry Division, 7th US Corps (1st US Army commanded by Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley)

Omaha Beach - 1st US Infantry Division, 5th US Corps (1st US Army)

Gold Beach - 50th British Infantry Division, 30th British Corps (2nd British Army commanded by Lieutenant-General Miles C. Dempsey)

Juno Beach - 3rd Canadian Infantry Division (2nd British Army)

Sword Beach - 3rd British Infantry Division, 1st British Corps (2nd British Army)

In addition, the 2nd US Rangers were to attack the well-defended Pointe du Hoc between Utah and Omaha (although it turned out the guns had never been installed there), while Royal Marine Commando units attacked targets on Gold, Juno, and Sword.

The RAF and USAAF continued to protect the invasion fleet and ensure any enemy ground-based counterattack faced air attack. As the Allies could put in the air 12,000 aircraft at this stage, the Luftwaffe's aerial fightback was pitifully inadequate. On D-Day alone, the Allied air forces flew 15,000 sorties compared to the Luftwaffe's 100. Not one single Allied aircraft was lost to enemy fire on D-Day.

Packing Normandy

By the end of D-Day, 135,000 men had been landed and relatively few casualties were sustained – some 5,000 men. There were some serious cock-ups, notably the hopeless dispersal of the paratroopers (only 4% of the US 101st Air Division were dropped at the intended target zone), but, if anything, this caused even more confusion amongst the German commanders on the ground as it seemed the Allies were attacking everywhere. The defenders, overcoming the initial handicap that many area commanders were at a strategy conference in Rennes, did eventually organise themselves into a counterattack, deploying their reserves and pulling in troops from other parts of France. This is when French resistance and aerial bombing became crucial, seriously hampering the German army's effort to reinforce the coastal areas of Normandy. The German field commanders wanted to withdraw, regroup and attack in force, but, on 11 June, Hitler ordered there be no retreat.

All of the original invasion beaches were linked as the Allies pushed inland. To aid thousands more troops following up the initial attack, two artificial floating harbours were built. Code-named Mulberries, these were located off Omaha and Gold beaches and were built from 200 prefabricated units. A storm hit on 20 June, destroying the Mulberry Harbour off Omaha, but the one at Gold was still serviceable, allowing some 11,000 tons of material to be landed every 24 hours. The other problem for the Allies was how to supply thousands of vehicles with the fuel they needed. The short-term solution, code-named Tombola, was to have tanker ships pump fuel to storage tanks on shore, using buoyed pipelines. The longer-term solution was code-named Pluto (Pipeline Under the Ocean), a pipeline under the Channel to Cherbourg through which fuel could be pumped. Cherbourg was taken on 27 June and was used to ship in more troops and supplies, although the defenders had sunk ships to block the harbour and these took some six weeks to fully clear.

Operation Neptune officially ended on 30 June. Around 850,000 men, 148,800 vehicles, and 570,000 tons of stores and equipment had been landed since D-Day. The next phase of Overlord was to push the occupiers out of Normandy. The defenders were not only having logistical problems but also command issues as Hitler replaced Rundstedt with Field Marshal Günther von Kluge (1882-1944) and formally warned Rommel not to be defeatist.

Aftermath: The Normandy Campaign

By early July, the Allies, having not got further south than around 20 miles (32 km) from the coast, were behind schedule. Poor weather was limiting the role of aircraft in the advance. The German forces were using the countryside well to slow the Allied advance – countless small fields enclosed with trees and hedgerows which limited visibility and made tanks vulnerable to ambush. Caen was staunchly defended and required Allied bombers to obliterate the city on 7 July. The German troops withdrew but still held one-half of the city. The Allies lost around 500 tanks trying to take Caen, vital to any push further south. The advance to Avranches was equally tortuous, and 40,000 men were lost in two weeks of heavy fighting. By the end of July, the Allies had taken Caen, Avranches, and the vital bridge at Pontaubault. From 1 August, Patton and the US Third Army were punching south at the western side of the offensive, and the Brittany ports of St. Malo, Brest, and Lorient were taken.

German forces counterattacked to try and retake Avranches, but Allied air power was decisive. Through August 1940, the Allies swept southwards to the Loire River from St. Nazaire to Orléans. On 15 August, a major landing took place on the southwest coast of France (French Riviera landings) and Marseille was captured on 28 August. In northern France, the Allies captured enough territory, ports, and airfields for a massive increase in material support. On 25 August, Paris was liberated. By mid-September, the Allied troops in the north and south of France had linked up and the campaign front expanded eastwards pushing on to the borders of Germany. There would be setbacks like Operation Market Garden of September and a brief fightback at the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, but the direction of the war and ultimate Allied victory was now a question of not if but when.

[felassan]

this post is under a cut in case anyone would consider it to be DA:D spoilers, as the things it mentions came from the leak a year ago (spoiler warning for link) that included screenshots and a gif of the game. (the things this post mentions are therefore not new information and this does not reference a new leak)

I'm just thinking again about Rook (which seems to be the PC's name or title) and the imagery conjured by the name. ◕‿◕ this post is just speculation and overanalyzing for fun. also this post is a now-finished draft from my draft section from a while back.

I think it would work as a surname (like "Hawke") or a codename (think Leliana's spies and contacts such as "Butler", "Farrier", "Butcher", "Charter", etc although these are all professions that end in "-er" or "or" iirc). it could also be a title (like Warden, Hero, Champion, Inquisitor, Herald) or a nickname - like maybe it's short for "Rookie", it's a Varric-assigned nickname and it references how the DA:D PC is the newest member of the team after he recruits them?

I think it sounds catchy, and cool - it's snappy and short, Hawke-like in this way. and it sounds like the kind of name a spy or secret agent might have in a fantasy, superhero or sci-fi-type setting.

a rook is a black bird, Corvus frugilegus, a member of the corvid family. rooks have been perceived as vermin and nuisances by people in the past, and persecuted due to this. they bear a resemblance to their crow and raven relatives, both birds which have a large cultural footprint and lots of symbolism in areas such as folklore and art. Hawke obviously also had a bird motif going on from their surname and associated art pieces. corvids also bring to mind the Antivan Crows (assassins, thieves, & spies), reminding of the stuff about how in this game the PC may be trying to operate under the radar, and the reporting on a previous iteration of DA:D which had the game concept as being focused on spies and heists. rook plumage is inky black, bringing to mind darkness and shadow.

from the bird angle, a "rook" sounds neat opposite a "wolf" imo. wolves are obviously another animal that have large footprints in culture, myth and folklore. in the natural world there is symbiosis sometimes between wolves and corvids when hunting/feeding. there are lots of photos of wolves and corvids together.

a colony of rooks is called a rookery. of course, the fortress of Skyhold has a rookery. it's from there that Inquisition Spymaster Leliana operates (operated) sending her black birds on missions with letters and messages to her many agents and spies throughout Thedas. what if Rook is one of Leliana's... "rooks"? a spy or agent of the remnants of the Inquisition.

A rook is also defined as "A cheat or swindler; someone who betrays" [noun], "mist, fog" [noun] and "to cheat or swindle" [verb]. it's also a type of trick-taking card game. these sorts of things bring to mind a rogueish, stealthy aspect, and the shady, shadowy dealings and card-game played in Minrathous Shadows.

a rook is also a chess piece. they're castle-like (since "rook" can also mean a castle or fortification) and usually have their top in the shape of a battlement. they can move in any direction along a rank or file on a chessboard on which they stand (horizontal/vertical, not diagonal). they can also do the "castling" move. in history, rooks have also been called towers, castles, rectors and marquesses. in chess, each player starts the game with two rooks at opposite ends of the first rank. chess itself is a game of strategy and tactics. "the chessmaster" as a trope is a character type who manipulates events, tugging on strings and moving 'pieces' into place on a metaphorical chessboard. [Solas' DA:I dialogue about his past, like the one he has with Sera about cells of spies/agents, hark to this]

in the castling move,

"Castling is a move in chess. It consists of moving the king two squares toward a rook on the same rank and then moving the rook to the square that the king passed over. Castling is permitted only if neither the king nor the rook has previously moved; the squares between the king and the rook are vacant; and the king does not leave, cross over, or finish on a square attacked by an enemy piece. Castling is the only move in chess in which two pieces are moved at once."

castling rules often cause confusion, even occasionally among high-level players. historically the move has its roots in the "king's leap", of which there were two forms and which arose in part it seems due to increasing importance of king safety as other pieces were given increased powers through time as the game developed. "the king would move once like a knight, or the king would move two squares on its first move. The knight move might be used early in the game to get the king to safety or later in the game to escape a threat." basically it moves the king away to safety and the rook to a more active position. there is also kingside castling and queenside castling. I wonder, symbolically.. is Rook more the king's rook, or the queen's rook? (reminds me of the Left Hand and Right Hands of the Divine hh). who or what is the king in this hypothetical analogy? the World of Thedas itself? as a castle or fortress.. Rook is the bulwark against what's to come? [over-thinking ik ik, tis just for fun hh].

by now we're all familiar with the chess game Solas plays in banter dialogue with Iron Bull during DA:I. in the in-world chess game, rooks are called towers. Solas moves his right-hand tower once. at a later point in the game, Iron Bull's "Arishok" piece takes Solas' left-hand tower, getting a check and leaving him feeling triumphant. Bull asks Solas wth he is doing as Bull takes Solas' remaining tower. "Your last tower, by the way". Bull, a spy and liar himself, bears down on Solas' pieces "with his full army", thinking a win is in sight. Undeterred, Solas executes a few moves in a sneaky plan and entraps Bull in a checkmate, winning the game after sacrificing various pieces to enact his plan.

rook also brings to mind the Tower tarot card and its meanings. it's associated with sudden, disruptive revelation and potentially destructive change. it connotes danger, crisis, sudden change, destruction, higher learning, and liberation, as well as adversity, calamity, deception, ruin and unforeseen catastrophe. reversed, it connotes things such as negligence, carelessness, apathy and vanity (vanity.. pride). in this depiction of the Tower tarot, lightning strikes from the sky, striking a crown (hubris) off the top of a tower and setting it alight as people fall from the tower to their doom. this imagery and the upright meanings of the card bring to mind the sudden massive change Solas seeks to bring about (destroying the Veil), the revelations and liberation for some that it might bring, his identity as Fen'Harel Lord of Tricksters (deception) as well as the destruction he seems to think the Veil destroying action will cause ("as the world burns in the raw chaos"...). the 'Tower scene' has also already played out once before in Thedosian history, when Solas created the Veil and sealed the Evanuris away, leading to the fall of Arlathan and its wonders. in modern Thedas, Morrigan and Flemeth (as well as possibly some side 'prophecy' type things) both allude to a big change coming to the world.

in DA:I, the Tower tarot card is ofc none other than Solas' ending card, if he is not romanced. in the DA:I version of the card, we see Solas, cloaked in a dark robe and holding a mage staff under a half-moon or eclipse. darkness seeps from his shadow, stark against the orange sky, and blends with the giant black Dread Wolf, looming ominously and open-mouthed above him with its many eyes. (the Tower tarot card Solas scene is later referenced in DA:D promotional art and DA:D-era in-world murals). it makes sense to have assigned this to Solas given the above discussed meanings of the Tower tarot card, but it's a verrry inchresting choice imo to then give "Rook" as a name/title for the DA:D PC.

and most inchrestingly, there's the symbol from the front of Mark Darrah's mysterious Red Book. this mysterious red book shows "a flaming rook" on the cover. the book was an internal guide for developer and publisher eyes only that summarized the vision for DA:D, in its Joplin iteration. we know that the Joplin project has since been revised to an extent that it was the newly codenamed Morrison instead, but the red book is known to still contain plenty of ideas likely to appear in DA:D. most pages of the book remain highly classified. it's the symbol on the front that's of most interest to us though for the purposes of this post. there is a castle, tower, or rook, like a fortress or the chess piece. above the tower, a fire burns, reminding us of the burning tower from the Tower tarot card imagery and what that symbolizes, as well as Solas' "world burning in the raw chaos" line from Trespasser. inside the fire is a wolf, the Dread Wolf, in a now very-familiar and repeated motif in DA:D art, merch, murals, teasers etc. whatever else "rook" may connote, it feels like it's not an accident at all that the PC's name is apparently "Rook", given this depiction of a fiery rook and the Dread Wolf together.

what do you think? ^^

[empyrean-thrones]

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

-XADEN-

Dain Aetos is dancing on my last fucking nerve. Between the petty comments he's been making all afternoon and what I'm sure he thinks are menacing glares, I'm ready to lean over and introduce his face to the Montserrat briefing table.

But Violence wouldn't like that, and as satisfying as it would be to hear his nose crunch against the polished wood, I'm not about to do anything that could end this little training session early and jeopardize Imogen's mission, should her squad realize she isn't actually vomiting in the infirmary.

Not that the healer will remember her ever being there, thanks to Imogen's handy little signet. If she's on schedule, she'll be on her way back from delivering the drop I brought with me. The thought makes me reinforce my shields just in case Dain acts on the threat in his eyes. I'm not letting that fucker's hands anywhere near me.

"So all we do is wait for something to happen?" Ridoc Gamlyn asks - by Dunne, did he just put his dirty-ass boots on the briefing table?

"Yes," the older Sorrengail sister answers from the head of the table to mu left, then gestures with her right hand, knocking Gamlyn, on his ass with lesser magic. "And keep your feet off the table."

The taller of the riders stationed here chuckles and updates the battle behind Violet's sister, but his face falls quickly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion when he catches me watching him. I scratch my neck at the top of my collar, right over my relic, and hold his gaze until he drops it.

Shit like that is why I keep my inconvenient feelings about Violet to my damned self, no matter how good she looks today or how delectable she smells sitting next to me, like some kind of citrus that makes me want to bury my face in the side of her neck and see just how pink I can get her cheeks to flush. No, if I did that, every rider in this room would look at her differently, and not in a good way. Leave it to me to fall for the one woman on the Continent I can never fucking have.

Still, I'd put myself right between her and Liam, ignoring his knowing little smirk, when I took the chair closest to Violet. There's nothing going on there, but he can back the fuck up when I'm around.

"Consider this your Battle Brief," Mira Sorrengail lectures as Gamlyn scurries back into his chair at the foot of the table. "This morning was about a quarter of the patrol we'd regularly fly , so normally we'd just be getting back about now and reporting our findings to the commander. But for the sake of killing time, since we're in this room as the reaction flight for this afternoon, let's pretend we'd come across a newly fortified enemy outpost crossing our border" - she pivots to the map and marks a nearby location with a red flag - "here."

Aetos is too busy glaring at me to look, so I settle back into my seat and do what I do best - stare straight back.

"We're supposed to pretend it just popped up overnight?" There's a little snark in Emery Barnes's tone, but I keep my attention on making Dain as uncomfortable as possible just for fun.

"For the sake of argument, this-year," Mira retorts.

Dain's hands curl into fists on the tabletop, and a corner of my mouth rises. He's pathetically easy to rile.

"I like this game," the shorter of the lieutenants stationed here comments from Mira's side.

"What would our objective be? Mira asks. "Aetos?"

Dain startles and jerks his focus to the map. I   win . "What type of fortifications are there? Are we talking haphazard wooden structure ? Or something more substantial?"

At least he asks good questions.

"Like they had time to build a fortress overnight." Ridoc  quips. "It has to be wooden, right?"

"You are all so fucking literal." Mira rubs at her forehead like we're a headache she can't kick. "Fine, let's say they occupied a keep that's already established. Stone and all." Which means there would be civilians or possibly prisoners inside. Wide-scale dragon fire is out. Fine. Liam scouts out their defenses, then I drench the place in shadow for our assault.

Half of us dismount while the other half take out the gryphons  in the air, and I move in darkness below to free the prisoners with Emery directs controlled blasts of fire by air: wielding, using Quinn as a scout.

My mind runs through three other battle strategies, the stutters in a fourth as I glance in Violet's direction and catch her lips pursing in concentration. Gods, that mouth . I dream about that mouth. Fantasize about that mouth. That kiss burned into my memory like a relic, taunting me with what will never happen again, with what I never should have tasted in the first place.

Mira and Quinn start arguing about the scenario's parameters, and I force my attention back to briefing .

"How many of you have been called out as third-years?" Mira folds her arms.

Emery raises his hand, and I lif t a couple of fingers.

Violet's eyebrows rise, but she stays quiet, just like she has been all afternoon. I crack open my shields just enough to sense that wispy silver bond that's been steadily growing between the two of us - the one she hasn't noticed yet.

" I told you, it's been known to happen between the riders of bonded pairs. " Sagely reminds me, annoyance sharpening her tone.

" And has Tairn  told her? " I ask, to which she doesn't bother replying.

Dain turns a shade that reminds me of a tomato. "That's not correct. We're never called into service until graduation."

I bite back a laugh and offer him a sarcastic thumbs-up.

"Yeah, all right." Emery huffs a laugh. "Just wait until next year. I can't count how many times we're the ones sitting in these very rooms in the midland forts because their riders have been called to the front for an emergency."

Atos pales.

If he knew half of what's actually happening beyond the borders, he'd probably pass out.

"Now that's settled... "Mira sets a six-inch model of a stone kept in the center of the table.

"Catch," she warns before throwing each of us a wooden replica of a dragon.

"Yours are better," I whisper under my breath to Liam.

"I know." He grins, running his thumb over the chunky wings of the figure.

"Pretend Messina and Exal don't exist back there, and we're the only squad available to take back that keep," Mira orders. "Think of the power in this room. Think of what each individual rider brings to the table and how you'd use those powers in unison to conquer your objective."

"But they don't teach that first-years," Liam says like he hasn't been taught battle strategy since we were kids. Lewellen made sure of it once he took guardianship of us after the execution.

Mira's gaze drops to the rebellion relic on Liam's wrist, and I lift my chin. They'd better get used to being in rooms like this, because we're here to stay. At least until we can get Aretia's forge up and running.

Violet clears her throat, and Mira's gaze shifts to her little sister, her eyes flaring before focusing back on Liam.

My chest tightens annoyingly. Whatever look Violet shot her sister, it was obviously in our defense, and damn if that doesn't hit me straight between the ribs.

"They might not teach you this battle strategy as first-years because you're all busy trying to stay on your dragons. You had your first taste of strategy during the Squad Battle, and it's almost May, which means final War-Games should be beginning, right?"

"Two weeks," Dain informs her like  he needs to remind everyone he's still at the table.

"Good timing then. Not all of you will survive the games if you're not prepared." Mira's gaze lingers on Violet long enough to prick my temper. Of all the people in this room, Mira should know how capable Violet is. "This kind of thinking will give your squad - your entire wing - an advantage, since I guarantee your ringleader is already assessing every rider for their own abilities."

I roll the dragon figurine over my knuckles and keep my mouth shut, since I'm not supposed to be here.

"So let's do this." Mira back up and I glance around the table, curiosity settling my attention on Aetos. "Who is in command? And let's pretend that I don't have three years seniority on even the highest-ranked of you."

"Then I'm in command." Aetos sits up stiffly, like someone's called formation.

To my credit, I don't laugh.

"Our wingleader  is here." Liam points in my direction. "I would say that puts him in command."

The spy silver bond solidifies, an emotion - pride - dancing down the pathway even though Violet doesn't move a muscle. Holy shit, we really are connected. This could be -

" Dangerous? Reckless? An unaffordable distraction? " Sagely snaps, and I swear I hear her teeth clash.

" Fun ." There's no denying the bond between us when it's shining at me like a fucking mage light. "We can pretend I'm not here, just for the sake of the exercise." I put my figurine on the table and settle in my chair, then wrap my arm around the back of Violet's seat and enjoy the sight of Dain grinding his teeth, "Give Aetos here the position we all know he craves." His jaw flexes, and I leave my arm planted like a battle marker. The command, he  can have.

I'm mildly curious to see what he does with it. But that's the only  position I'm ceding to the spoiled whiner.

"Don't be a dick," Violet whispers.

" You haven't seen me start to be a dick. " I send the words down the bond.

Her head whips toward mine, her lips parting as she openly gawks at me.

It worked . My heart stumbles, and I bite back a laugh. I was wrong. This isn't just fun , it's instantly vital to my existence. I turn towards her letting a corner of my mouth rise, and look straight into those hypnotic hazel eyes. " You're staring. It's going to get awkward in about thirty seconds if you don't stop. "

"How?" She spits out the whisper like an accusation.

" The same way you talk to Sgaeyl. We're all gloriously, annoyingly linked. This is just one of the perks. Though I'm starting to wish I'd tried it sooner. The look on your face is priceless. " I wink and turn my attention back to the seething pot of jealousy boiling over across the table.

"You're. The. Wingleader." Rain chokes on the words and I can't help but wonder if he's submitting to my rank or accusing me of inappropriate behavior with a subordinate.

Not that I give a fuck either way. If it were safe for Violet, I'd be ecstatically guilty of inappropriate behavior. Wickedly inappropriate. In my bed. In hers. On a table in the Archives, in the bathing chamber and every room with a door to lock so no one else can see what's mine. I'd be so decadently inappropriate that her voice would turn hoarse from screaming my name every single day.

But though she'd be the best thing that ever happened to me, l'd  be the worst thing that ever happened to her. The truth of it sinks like a stone in my stomach.

"I'm not even supposed to be here." I shrug. "But if it makes you feel better, for the purpose of War Games, you'd be getting your orders from your section leader, Garrick Travis, which he'd get from me. You'd be carrying out your maneuvers as a squad for the good of the wing, so pretend I'm another member of your squad and use me as you wish, Aetos." I withdraw my hold on Violet's chair and cross my arms.

"Why are you even here?" Dain whines. "No offense sir, but we weren't exactly expecting senior leadership on this trip."

" Yes, why are you here? " Sgaeyl doesn't disguise the mockery in her tone.

"You're more than aware that Sgaeyl  and Tairn  are mated." My voice stays respectfully level, " It was your idea to bring the daggers. " I'm careful to only speak down Sgaeyl's bond.

" It seemed a prudent course of action, considering your insufferable intolerance to being separated from the general's daughter. " She hugs.

"Three days?" Dain fires back, leaning in. "You couldn't make it three  days?"

" Insufferable? That's a bit far. "

" Where's Violet now? " She mocks. ““ What is she doing? Is she thinking of me? Is she missing me? Is she getting closer to Aetos? Does she dream about that kiss? How many days until Violet's- ””

" Point fucking taken. " She's going to be unbearable on the flight home.

"It has nothing to do with him." Violet slams her dragon figurine on the table. " That's  up to Tairn  and Gayle."

And there she goes again, defending me. Fuck. I love this woman.

" You never considered that it was you I couldn't stay away from? " I ask her. She jabs the point of her elbow into my biceps and I fight the upward curve of my mouth. I love that she isn't scared of me. That she'll call me out in a way no one else besides Sgaeyl does.

Everything she does - even blatantly elbowing me in front of her squad - turns me on. I'm fucked on every level known to man when it comes to Violet Sorrengail. "Now, now, you'll give our little communication secret away if you can't keep from being so....violent. "

"Of course you rush to defend him." Dain whines yet again. "Though how you can forget that this guy wants  to kill you six months ago is beyond me."

He's not lying, but that was when I hated the idea of her, before I knew her - loved her.

Violet stiffens. "I cannot believe you went there."

The hurt in her tone sets my teeth on edge. "Good job remaining professional Aetos." I scratch the relic on my neck to remind him exactly who the fuck I am. "Really shows those leadership qualities to their best advantage."

A rider stationed here whistles. "Do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? It would be faster?"

Liam stifles what's obviously a laugh, and I shoot him a sideways look.

" Enough! " The table vibrates as Mira slams her hands onto the surface.

"Oh, come on, Sorrengail," the shorter rider on her left whines jokingly, and both Sorrengails glance his way.

"I mean...the older Sorrengail. This is the best entertainment we've had in ages." Violet shakes her head, clearing having had enough. "Mira has the ability to extend the shield if the wards are down, so the first thing I would do is send her to scout the area with Teine. We need to know if we're dealing with infantry or gryphon riders."

Excellent point. I hadn't considered Mira in my own calculations.

"Good." Mira sets her dragon close to the castle. "Now let's assume there are gryphons ."

" Speaking of gryphons , ”  I say to Sgaeyl , " Any news from Glane? "

" Still out of range. " she replies.

Sending Imogen an hour south, toward the Draevick border, was a calculated risk given I hadn't much time to get a message to Syrena and her drift, but rendezvousing there was a far better choice than risking her being caught by Cygnus fliers. Cygnus fliers would take the daggers and then kill Imogen to make a point. Stubborn assholes.

"You want to do your job?" Violet's smile practically drips venomous sugar as she turns it on Dain. "I mean, how you can forget you're the squad leader is beyond me."

Fucking love  her.

His knuckles whiten around his figurine. "Quinn, can you astral project from the back of your dragon?"

"Yes," she answers.

"Then I would have you project into the fortress to check for signs of weakness." Dain says.

"And have you report   back.  Same with Liam. We'd use your farsight to see if you can locate where the gryphon riders are and if there are any traps."

"Good. The weaknesses are the wooden gate," Mira adds as the two cadets move their figurines, "and Navarrian citizens they have captive in the dungeons."

"So much for blasting the whole place." Ridos mutters.

"You're an air wielder, right?" Dain asks Emery. "So you can shape your dragon's flames, lead them through the occupied parts of the keep without killing civilians."

"Yes," Emerys answers with a nod. "But l'd  have to be in the keep."

"Then you'll have to get into the keep." Mira's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

Emery's eyes flare. "You want me to leave my dragon and go on foot?"

"Why do you think we get all that hand-to-hand training? Or are you going to leave all those innocent people to die?" Mira flicks her wrist and Emery's dragon goes flying into the air. Mira catches it, then sets it in the center of the model. "The real question is, how do we get you close enough without getting you killed? Since I'm guessing others will be busy fighting off the gryphons  that launch once the fireworks start."

"What's your signet Aetos?" Quinn asks.

"Above your pay grade," Dain answers.

Does he actually think that? Or is he so brainwashed by Daddy that he doesn't see they're going to use him as a weapon against other riders?

He looks at every cadet except me, then sighs. "Any ideas?"

Violet shakes her head then says, "Sure." She snatches my dragon and pushes it at the keep, flaring her hand so the figurine levitates above the model. I shouldn't be impressed - it's just lesser magic - but damn she's sexy when she takes charge. "You stop ignoring that you have an incredibly powerful shadow wielder at your disposal and ask him to black out the area so no one sees you land."

Spot-on.

"She's not wrong." Mira bites the words out.

"You can do that?" Aetos slowly looks in my direction.

"Are you seriously asking?" I reach for Sgaeyl's power and it pours into my veins.

"Just wasn't sure you could cover an area that-"

I lift my palms just enough to clear the table and summon the cooling softness of the shadows. They stream out from under the table and blanket the room in less than a heartbeat, devouring all traces of light.

Panic skitters down the silver bond.

" Relax. It's just me. " I crook a finger, and a strand of shadow solidifies along Violet's cheek.

"Fuck me," a rider to the left says.

"I can surround this entire outpost, but I think that might freak some people out." I close my hands, and the shadows jolt back to their natural shade, letting light pour in through the windows. Damn that was fun. It was even worth the threat assessment I'm getting from Mira. Violet tenses like she spotted it too. " I hope you didn't get any ideas while we were in the dark there. "

She lifts her middle finger without even looking my way, and a laugh works past my lips as Mira leads us through the rest of the exercise.

"Good job," Mira finally says, checking the time. "Aetos, Riorson and Sorrengail, I want to see you in the hallway. The rest of you are dismissed."

This should be fun.

She leads the way, then shuts the door behind us once we're in the staircase and throws a blue wave of energy over the doorway. It's an interesting use of power, when I'm more than capable of constructing a powerless one for the sake of privacy.

"Sound shield," Dain smiles. "Nice."

What a suck-up.

"Shut up." Mira pivots a few steps above me, one above Violet and shoves a finger in Aetos's face. "I don't know what bug has crawled up your ass, Dain Aetos, but have you forgotten that you're a squad leader? That you have a very real chance of becoming a wingleader next year?"

Gods help every cadet if  that  happens.

Violet retreats a step in my direction and my brow furrows. Sibling dynamics are something I'll never understand.

"Mira -" Aetos begins.

"Lieutenant Sorrengail," Mira interrupts. "You're blowing it, Dain. I know how badly you want his job next year." She swings that finger toward me. "Don't forget that we've grown up about ten feet apart. And you are blowing it, because what? You're pissed that Violet bonded his dragon's mate?"

Harsh, but I respect her candor.

"He is the worst possible thing for her!" Dain raises his voice.

Huh. Guess we actually agree on something.

"Oh I'm not arguing that." Mira invades his space. "But there's nothing anyone can do about the choice of dragons. They don't bother with the opinions of mere humans, do they? But whatever is going on between the two of you" - her finger flies between Violet and Aetos - is fucking up your squad. If I can see it after four days with you, then they sure as hell can tell.

And if I'd known that you were going to be such a hard-ass with zero flexibility for the things she can't control, I never would have told her to find you after crossing the parapet. You two have been best friends since you were five years old Figure  your shit out." That last part is directed at both of them.

Dain stiffens, then looks Violet's way and nods, which she returns.

An irrational, ugly feeling sours my stomach. They have the kind of history that lingers, the kind that has me really contemplating the word 'jealousy'.

" Glane approaches from the south, " Sgaeyl tells me. " They were successful. "

" Thank you. " Now to get Imogen to the infirmary, and no one will realize she'd ever been missing.

"Good, now get back in there." Mira nods towards the door, and Dain departs heading through the shield. "And as for you." She descends two stars and narrows her eyes on me.

"Is this what she can expect next year?"

"Aetos being an asshole?" I keep my hands off my weapons. Killing Mira might appease the burning need for revenge I've learned to live with, but it's not worth upsetting Violet or dealing with the older Sorrengail sibling either. "Probably."

Mira glares at me, and the resemblance to her mother is uncanny. "Mated dragons typically bond riders in the same year for a reason. You cannot expect your assigned wing or her instructors to let you both fly off every three days."

"Wasn't my choice." I shrug. Lying is easy, except when it comes to Violet. I haven't quite figured that one out yet.

"What are we supposed to do? Tell the giant, flame-throwing dragons how it's going to be?" Violet questions?

"Yes!" Mira shouts, facing her sister. "Because you can't live this way Violet. You'll be the one who ends up missing the training you need, because he's the more powerful of the two of you right now. But if you don't get to focus on your training, then that's how it will always be. You won't ever become who Train can push you to be. Is that what you're after, Riorson?"

My gut twists with anger, and power rushes through me. Fuck it, Violet would get over her sister's death eventually.

"Mira." Violet whispers and shakes her head. "You're wrong about him."

Only in some ways . The beating organ behind my ribs soothes the anger, and my power recedes.

"Listen to me." Mira grabs Violet's shoulders. "He might wield shadows, Violet, but give him his way and you'll become one."

And the power races back in, shadows pulsing at the edges of the stairwell. I'm the one pushing Violet instead of babying her. If Aetos had his way, she'd be smothered in cream

"That won't happen," Violet vows.

"It will if he has anything to say about it." Mira pins a look on me that I don't appreciate.

"Killing someone isn't the only way to destroy them. Keeping you from reaching your potential seems like a great path to the retribution he swore against our mother. Think long and hard. How well do you even know him?"

Violet's swift intake of breath slices like a knife to my side.

"That's what I thought." Mira's expression softens, and I wait to see if she's going to take the Dain route. "Do you even know why he hates our mother so much? Why the kids like him are put on the para-"

Oh, fuck no, she isn't ready to hear half  of what their mother did to me.

"I'm right here." I step up to Violet's side. "In case you didn't notice."

"You're kind of hard to miss," Mira counters.

"You're not listening." I hold her accusing stare and lower my voice. "I. Am. Here. Train didn't drag her back to Basmath. He didn't break through her shields and pour his emotions into her. He didn't demand she fly across the fucking kingdom. Your sister is still right here. I am the one who left my positing and my executive officer in charge of my wing. She's not missing out on  shit ." The truth of the words stings. I might be accomplishing a very risky run, but Style is right. We're here because I couldn't concentrate for shit knowing Violet was this close to the border. I chose Violet over my wing.

"And next year? When you're a brand-new lieutenant? What shit is she going to miss out on then?" Mira asks.

Yeah, fuck if I know. At this rate, they'll have to station me at  Sgiath if I can't get my shit under control and get over -

" Love isn't something you get over, " Sgaeyl reminds me. " Why do you think I flew you all the way out here? "

" To mock me while cavorting with your mate. "

" I didn't say it was without its perks. "

"We'll figure it out," Violet grabs Mira's hand. "Miram he's taken every spare minute he has to train me on the mat for challenges or take me flying in hopes I'll finally figure out how to keep my damned seat without Train holding me in place. He's -"

Mira flinches. "You can't keep your seat?"

Oh shit.

"No." Violet's voice drops to a whisper.

"How the hell can you not ?" Mira's jaw drops.

Fuck. What are the rules when it comes to interfering with sisters? Am I supposed to step in? Let Violet handle it? Lewellen let Liam and me beat the shit out of each other when we fought, but I'm not sure that's the right approach here. I'm also not about to infantilize Violet when her sister is doing a damned good job of it herself.

"Because I'm not you!" Violet shouts.

Mira jolts backwards. "But you...you look so much stronger now."

"My joints and muscles are stronger, because Imogen makes me lift these horrible weights, but that doesn't... fix me." Violet's shoulder drop, and shadows pulse at the edge of the

The color fades from Mira's face. "No. I didn't mean it like that. Vi. You're not anything that needs to be fixed. I just didn't know you couldn't hold your seat. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there's nothing you can do about it." Violet's smile is anything but happy. "There's nothing anyone can do about the way I'm made."

The way she's made? She's fucking perfect . Everything about her is what makes her...

Violet.

When the silence grows awkward, my power ebbs. "She's getting better." I tell Mira, just to get her off Violet's back. "The first few weeks were... disastrous."

"Hey, he caught me before I hit the ground." Violet shoots me a not helpful  look.

"Barely," I admit, then rip my gaze from Violet to face down her sister. "You don't have to trust me -"

"Good, because I don't," she says. "All of that power in the hands of someone with your history is bad enough, but to know your dragons are so tangled up that you can't be more than three days away from Violet is unacceptable in every possible way I can think -" She freezes, her eyes going unfocused.

Unnatural quiet falls, and unease ripples down my spine at the lack of the steady, quiet hum of background noise that always accompanies proximity to stored power. My stomach clenches. The wards are down.

" Drift incoming from the east! " Sharyl snarls.

" Let me guess. They're not friendly? " My gaze shoots to the top of the steps. I can have Violet on the ramparts in thirty seconds or less.

" Definitely not! "

"Fuck! The wards are down." Mira grabs Violet into a hug. "You have to go."

"We can help!" Violet's voice pitches toward panic.

" Is this us? " Wards will only fall this quickly if the power supply is compromised....or stolen.

" No. "

Which means we have enemies within the keep already.

"You can't." Mira's voice cuts like steel. "And if Tairn is using his power to keep you seated, he's diminished as well. You have to go. Get out of here. If you love me, Violet, you'll go so I don't have to worry about you, too."

" Western rampart. " Violet needs to be airborne now.

" Where do you think we're already headed? " Sgaeyl  snaps. " And you'd better be there with her ”

The squad races out of the briefing rooms and hurries down the steps as Mira releases Violet and pins me with a look that's equal parts order and desperation. "Get her out of here."

My head rears back. Did she just tell me to go with her? Fuck that.

"Let's go!" Aetos yells. "Now!"

"Even if you don't trust me, I'm the best weapon you have," I remind Mira in a less-than-amiable tone.

"If what you say is true, then you're the best weapon she  has. The other half of the squad will be here in moments, and Teine thinks we have about twenty minutes until the gryphons  arrive." Her expression shifts to a quick but blatant plea before turning to her sister. "You have to get to safety, Violet. I love you. Don't die. I'd hate to be an only child."

" I can get Violet out and track down whoever brought down the wards- "

" If you stay, so will she, " Sgaeyl growls. " And need I remind you what happens to us all if she's killed while you're off proving your acumen? "

Fuck. Every instinct but one demands I fight, but it's that lone, sharply insistent slice of intuition screaming to keep Violet safe above all else that quickly conquers every other impulse. I breathe in sharply, exhaling pure frustration, mentally shifting to a new plan as I whip my arm around Violet's waist and pull her against my side.

She flat-out fights  me as Mira sprints up the stairs to the roof.

"No!" Violet throws her body weight against my grip, but I hold her. "Mira! What if you get hurt? Tarin's speed could be the only thing that saves you. At least let us stay."

Mira pivots at the doorway to face us. "You want me to trust you, Riorson? Get her the fuck out of here and find a way for her to keep her seat. We both know she's dead if she doesn't."

I nod, then shift my grip on Violet's waist, locking my elbow around the delicate curve, and haul her ass down the stairs.

"Mira!" Violet takes her nails along my forearm. "I love you!" she screams over her shoulder.

Her cry rips into my very soul, but I'm not risking her life, even for her sister. Shadows race ahead of use pouring over the steps. If anyone is coming up this direction I'll know before they so much as see  us.

" Close yet? " I ask Sgaeyl as we turn the curve into the barracks' hall.

" Not quite. Glane has rerouted as well. "

Good. Gives us enough time for me to get my pack. If anyone finds the alloy-hilted dagger I keep stored there, I'm fucked.

"Can I trust you to get your own pack?" I ask Violet, setting her on her feet, "Or am I going to have to carry you out of here with whatever you brought?"

"I'll get it myself." She pushes at me, and I release my grip.

Two seconds later, she slams the door to the room she shares with Matthias in my face, and I head into mine just down the hall, finding Liam standing with his arms folded in the center of my room, his pack strapped to his back.

"Was it us?" He says. It's more accusation   than question .

"No." I shove what few belongings I brought into my pack.

"Was it us?" He shouts this time, standing in my way when I turn for the door, like he could actually stop me from leaving if he wanted to.

"No." I repeat, looking him straight in the eye. "I already asked Sgaeyl; we have no operations in the area -"

"Except what Imogen pulled off today," he retorts, his hands clenching.

My jaw flexes. "This wasn't us, Liam. You know I'd never risk civilian casualties by taking down an entire outpost . Imogen carried two dozen  daggers across the border, but even that amount of power wouldn't be enough to affect an outage like this." I sheathe my swords in the scabbards sewn into my pack, then swing it onto my back.

Liam's shoulders dip. "This isn't on us."

"No." I shake my head, then clasp his shoulder. "Get to the roof. We need to mount." He nods, "I'll get Vi -"

"I've got her." I drop my hand and walk past him, swinging open the door to the hallway.

"She's not exactly in favor of leaving. Now, go."

We split at the hallway, and Violet keeps me waiting less than a minute before barrelling through her door carrying two packs and avoiding my gaze as she marches towards the door that leads to the courtyard.

I catch her elbow and spin her to face the correct direction. "Nope. It's too dangerous to leave the fortress walls. We're going up." I hook my arm around her waist before she can even think about fighting me, then carry her to the crowded stairwell before setting her down. "Climb."

"This is bullshit!" Her cheeks flush as she narrows her eyes on me, members of her squad pushing past. "Train could help them!"

And she could die in the process. My resolve hardens to stone. "Your sister is right. You have to make it out, so we're leaving. Now fucking climb." Or so help me Dunne, I will throw her over my damned shoulder right in front of everyone.

"Dain." Her gaze swings to the squad leader just ahead of us like he's of fucking use right now.

He takes Matthia's  pack from Violet. "For once, Riorson and I agree. It's not just you we have to get out Violet. Think of every other first-year. Are you going to sentence an entire untrained squad to death?" He starts climbing and, lucky for me, Violet follows. "Because I'll make it. And we all fucking know Riorson will. But what about Rhiannon? Ridoc? Sawyer?

You want their deaths in your hands?"

Is it just me or is he already out of breath as we climb through the third floor and out onto the roof?

Emery mounts ahead of us on the annoyingly narrow rampart. The design is great for preventing fliers from doing the same, but it's not doing us any favor at the moment.

"Ridoc and Quinn are already in the air." Liam announces watching Emery launch on his

Brown Clubtail.

I sport Deigh next to Cath, hovering with shallow beats of their wings.

"You're next!" I order Liam, and thankfully for our time's sake, Dain agrees, which means I don't have to kill him.

Chunks of masonry tumble to the bailey as Deigh lands, and Liam wastes no time, taking the rampart at a run just like we'd practiced hundreds of times in Lewellen.

"You next Aetos." My gaze takes the sky for any sign of Train.

" Coming behind you, " the surly behemoth deigns to speak to me. " She's not going to like the method. "

"Vi-" Aetos has the nerve to object.

"That's an order." Just because I loathe the simpering daddy's boy doesn't mean I  want  to be responsible for the death of a younger cadet. Plus, I can't afford Aetos senior making my life hell. "I've got her. Go."

"Go." Violet pleads.

Aetos turns my way and offers me his best impression of a threatening glare. "I'm trusting you to get her out."

I don't have time for this bullshit. "There's a lot of that going around today," I snap . "Now get on your dragon so I can get her on hers."

He heads down the rampart towards Cath, but he's nowhere as fast as Liam.

" What method isn't she going to like? " I ask Tarin, choosing the pathway that excludes Violet the same way he had.

" I'm going to have to... " He pauses, and I note Violet scanning the sky above us. " Scoop her up. It won't be her most dignified moment. "

Oh she's going to love  that.

"I can't do this." Violet twists in my grip, turning those hazel eyes on me. "The others are gone. Call it the favour  you owe me, I don't care. We can stay. I can't just leave her here. It's wrong, and it's something she'd never do to me. I have to stay for her. I just have to."

Fuck. I get it. I really do. Liam and Bodhi are the closest things I have to siblings and I wouldn't leave with their lives on the line either. But this isn't Liam. Or Bodhi. It's her . And we aren't at Basquiat. That approaching threat - and whoever is responsible for compromising the power supply for the adds  - will kill her if given the chance, and that's not something I'll ever let happen.

But damn, her courage has me tripping over my feelings for her.

" Approaching, " Sgaeyl informs me.

" Not fast enough. "

Violet isn't going to leave of her own accord: I can see it in her eyes, feel it in the tense lines of her back. I drop my shields, and her emotions hurtle down the bond. Determination. Fear-

She's going to bolt.

And there's only one way to stop her. I lift my hands from her waist to the velvet-soft skin of her cheeks, memorizing every color in her eyes as I cup the back of her neck, preparing to commit what she'll think is an unforgivable sin.

I kiss  her. It's hard and raw, wild and desperate, and the way she opens for me, kissing me back with abandon, nearly takes me out at the knees. Gods. I'll never get enough of this woman. Her mind. Her tenacity. Her mouth.

I kiss her like this might be the last time she'll let me. Like this is an alternate reality and there's a chance she could love me back.

I kiss her like she's mine .

It's a stolen moment - it can never be anything more - but it's ours.

Wingbeats approach, and I ignore them, stroking my tongue against hers again and again, keeping my hands at the nape of her neck by sheer force of will, denying the urge to explore every curve, every hollow of her tight body. I've never wanted anyone the way I want her, never craved a woman's laugh as much as her touch or needed her trust more than my next breath. Only Violet.

I tear my mouth away, the steady pulse of wings undeniable as Train and Sgaeyl approach.

Wind gusts, catching the loosened strands of her hair as I lean my forehead against hers.

"Leave for me , Violet,"

She stiffens, accusation  filling her eyes as quickly that  I know she's figured out that I just used our attraction to distract her. "I will hate you for this."

Ouch.

"Yeah." I nod, accepting the consequences of my actions. "I can live with that." I can live with anything as long as she's still breathing, so I drop my hands to her arms and force them out at her sides. "Arms up. Hold tight."

"Fuck. You." She hisses out the words a shadow falls over us, and I hit the floor, catching myself with my hands as a black claw fills the space I just occupied, hooking Violet's arms and snatching her into the sky.

"She'll never forgive me," I tell Sharyl as she lands on the narrow perch ahead of me. "Especially if something happens to her sister."

She tilts her head, staring at me with typical impatience as I launch my feet and sprint down the rampart towards her. We're airborne in seconds, her wings pummeling the air before I even reach the seat. "If she can't forgive you for the least of your transgressions, then she doesn't deserve you."

"I don't think she'll see it that way." I get a good grip on her scales and settle in for the flight.

"Then you'd better start praying to your gods that her sister survives."

[askarsjustsoswedish]

GENERATION KILL - MILITARY TERMINOLOGY AND SLANG USED IN THE MINISERIES (Part 2, N-Z)

N.J.P. (Non-Judicial Punishment):  next to a court martial, the most severe form of punishment to which a Marine can be subjected.  It usually involves a loss of rank and pay grade.

Navy Hospitalman, Doc Bryan:  the medic, though medics in the Marine Corps are technically part of the Navy’s hospital corps and are never referred to as “medics” but as Corpsmen.

Negligent Discharge:  accidental firing of a weapon;  aka N.D.

Nine-lines:  a procedure for directing air strikes on ground targets.

No salute zone:  forward areas where officers are not to be acknowledged with salutes, in order to conceal rank from potential enemy observers.

O Dark Hundred:  until darkness falls.  Note: “O dark 30” typically means half an hour before dawn, or any ridiculously early hour of the morning.

Oakley sunglasses:  surfer sunglasses worn by just about all Marines in Iraq.  Iraqis believe Oakleys give Marines X-ray powers to see through women’s clothing and are a constant source of tension.

One M.E.F. (First Marine Expeditionary Force):  the overall Marine invasion force in the Middle East, which comprises the First Division (ground troops) under command of Gen. Mattis, the Air Wing and a logistics battalion.  The entire One M.E.F. is under the command of General James Conway.

Oscar Mike:  “On the Move” from the phonetic alphabet.

Overwatch:  a position that offers protective fire for a given area.

“Paint me”:  to paint something is to shine one’s gunsight laser designator on a target in preparation for shooting it.

PAS-13 Thermal:  a night vision device, about the size of an old video camera, that can see heat signatures.  Note:  A single device is usually referred to in the plural, e.g. ,“Pass me the thermals” refers to one device.

Pec-fours, Pec-thirteens:  night and infrared vision scopes.

POG (Person Other than Grunt):  a pejorative term for anyone who is in the rear echelon and therefore not in a recon or infantry unit.  This is one of the most insulting terms in the Marine Corps, almost the equivalent of the “N” word.  Note:  POG is pronounced with a long “o.”

Police:  to clean up or correct, as in “Police your tent,” or clean it up.  (1-16)

Psy-Ops:   Psychological-Operations units, which in Iraq relied on leaflets, radio and loudspeaker broadcasts to encourage enemy forces to surrender.

Pyro and Smoke protocol:  codes involving use of smoke grenades and flares.

R.C.T. (Regimental Combat Team):  a super-regiment of about 7,000 Marines; the First Division consisted of three RCTs – RCT 1, RCT 5 and RCT 7 – plus First Recon, which operated on its own.

R.C.T. One (Regimental Combat Team One):  a motorized, armored infantry regiment of about 7,000 Marines.

R.O.E. (The Rules of Engagement):  the all important, ever-changing and always ambiguous rules governing when a Marine may fire his weapon.

R.T.O. (Radio Transceiver Operator):  radioman, the most important guy on the team and usually the calmest and smartest next to the team leader.  (1-23)

Rack:  nautical for sleeping area.

Ranger Graves:  sleeping holes dug by marines to protect from shrapnel and gunshots.

Raptor:  radio call-sign for First Recon’s Charlie company.

Recon Mission:  a reconnaissance mission performed specifically by Recon Marines who are the Marine Corps special forces; there are only a few hundred Recon Marines in the entire Corps.

Red-Con One:  a loaded weapon with a round in its chamber, but with the safety on.

Revetment:  crude fortifications made from earth or concrete or sandbags.

Ripped Fuel:  brand name of a popular over-the-counter stimulant, banned by the military but widely used.

RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade):   anti-tank rocket first developed by the Germans as the “panzerfaust,” then adopted by Soviets and as common to Iraqi forces and insurgents as Skittles candies are to Marines.  Not very accurate, but devastating when fired in mass by five- or ten-man RPG teams.  RPGs were famously used to bring down U.S. Army Blackhawk helicopters in Somalia.

S.O.P. (Standard Operating Procedure):  S.O.P. is sometimes informally used as a synonym for common sense.

Saffwon Hill:  a low hill on the Iraq side of the border with Kuwait, believed to be the locale of a dug-in Iraqi division.

Sapi plates:  12-inch square ceramic plates worn in front and back of one’s flak vest, rated to stop the enemy’s preferred 7.62 round.

Schwack:  to kill; origin believed to be a popular video game.

Screwby:  either “That sucks,” or “That’s really cool,” from Cpl. Stafford’s personal hip-hop lexicon.

Senior NCOs:  anyone from staff-sergeant to Sergeant Major.  Corporals and Sergeants are also NCOs, but they are never referred to junior NCOs, simply as NCOs.  (1-18)

Sergeant Major:  the highest possible rank a non-commissioned officer can earn in the Marine Corps; invariably a ball-buster who speaks in a semi-illiterate southern sounding accent no matter where he is from.  This battalion has just one Sergeant Major.

Shamal:  hellacious wind and dust storms endemic to Iraq.

Sit-Rep:  situation report:; often used as a more confusing way to say “situation.”

Skittles:  chewy fruit-flavored children’s candy, which is a dietary staple in U.S. military.

Slackman:  team machine gunner, armed with a SAW.

Snatch:  a specific Marine term for abducting an enemy combatant in order to gather intelligence.

Soft Cover:  same as a boonie cap.  Note:  the word “hat” does not exist in the Marine Corps; anything you place on your head is a cover.

Sparrow:  a small reaction force held in reserve while another unit attacks; an “eagle” is a large reaction force.

Spread load his excitement:  to calm down;  from the tradition of foot patrols spreading a heavy load equally among all troops.

T-55:  Soviet-era tank ubiquitous in Iraq; older and much less feared than the newer, but less-common T-72 Soviet tanks also in Iraq.

TAD-two, TAD-three:  Tactical Air Direct radio bands for communicating directly with pilots in attack aircraft.

Task Force Tarawa:  a four thousand-strong Marine unit outside of the First Division Command Structure.  This American unit was initially put under the command of the British at Basra, then moved north to Nasariyah.

Team Leader:  the sergeant in command of each combat team.  Fick’s platoon is divided into three teams, but spread across four Humvees (not counting Fick’s command vehicle, the fifth Humvee).  Since Fick’s platoon is a special forces unit trained in coastal raids, they have no experience with Humvees.  Technically each team has a specialty, with team one being the dive (or SCUBA) team, team two being the boat team and team three the para-jump team.  But here, ironically, they are all in a desert.

The Three:  the battalion’s intelligence unit.

T-rats:  T-rations; pre-manufactured military food heated and served in mess halls of forward units.

Triple-A:  Anti-Aircraft Artillery; towed or self-propelled guns designed to shoot down aircraft but often used by Iraqis against American forces on the ground.

Two o’clock:  direction of enemy forces.  Orientation of the lead vehicle puts 12 o’clock at the center of the hood and six o’clock at the rear.

Two-Oh-Three:  an M-203 grenade launcher, which is a single shot self-propelled weapon mounted beneath the barrel of a standard Marine rifle.  The M-203 fires the same 40mm round as the M-19.

Unfucking:  a verb peculiar to the Marine Corps meaning to get out of a fucked-up situation.

U-two:  a reference to venerable U2 spy planes.

Victors:  vehicles.  The military uses the phonetic alphabet as a shorthand code:  the phonetic alphabet replaces letters with words, i.e., Alpha, Bravo Charlie, Delta, Echo.  These phonetic word for each letter of the alphabet can be used to replace any word starting with the corresponding letter.  Hence, vehicle becomes “victor,” terrorist becomes “tango” and white trash becomes “whiskey tango,” as in, “He grew up in a whiskey tango trailer park in the Ozarks.”

Whiskey Tango:  white trash, from the phonetic alphabet version.

Zil truck:  Russian-made truck popular in Iraq.

[iamnot-crazy]

Pushing the line part 3

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: I finally am ready to post part 3 and I now have part 4 scheduled to post in 2 days! sorry for the wait and thank you all for supporting the last two parts and encouraging me to make part 3 😁.

Summary: Your dynamic with Law has evolved as you navigate Punk Hazard. However, the appearance of the Straw Hats might introduce some complications.

"I don't like the idea of that man holding your heart," you grumbled, falling into step beside Law as you navigated the corridors of the Punk Hazard lab. Clad in the mandatory yellow hazard suit, you crossed your arms and pouted.

Law chuckled at your displeasure. "I told you, it's the only way to gain access without raising suspicion."

"I still think we should switch," you insisted. “Give him my heart in place of yours. I don’t trust him.”

"And that's precisely why it needs to be my heart,” he replied, his tone firm. "If he had your heart I would be too busy worrying about you." He reached into his pocket, producing the blue cube that held Monet's heart. “Besides, he won't dare do anything while I hold Monet's." The organ pulsed in his hand.

You snatched the heart from his grasp, "Well, I’ll feel better if I kept that," you mumbled shoving the heart into your pocket.

He raised an eyebrow but nodded in understanding. "How are you blending in?" he asked changing the topic.

"Fine, I guess," you shrugged. "No one really pays attention to anyone else. The suit is the real problem. I feel like a walking oven." You tugged at the fabric, frustration evident in your voice.

Law sighed in sympathy. "We could've told Caesar we were a team," he suggested. “You could do without the suit that way.”

You shook your head. "I need to be able to move freely," you explained. "Besides, I'm getting a feel for the place."

"And you're absolutely certain you can alert me if something goes wrong?" Law asked, his gaze serious.

You nodded, closing your eyes and focusing on your Haki. With a concentrated effort, you enveloped your heart in a protective layer of your will. Law placed a hand over his chest, where your heart now resided, and seemed to sense the change.

"I mean it," you emphasized. "If anything happens, I'll reach out to you immediately." You grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. "We've got this." You smiled up at him. He released a sharp breath and nodded.

"Alright," Law conceded. "I'll meet you outside after your shift."

With that, you turned and disappeared deeper into the labyrinthine facility.

The plan was straightforward: infiltrate Caesar Clown's facility, gather intelligence on Joker, a.k.a. Doflamingo, destroy the SAD factory, and kidnap Caesar. Cutting off Doflamingo's SAD supply would cripple his Smile production and leave him vulnerable to the Yoki, the only thing he truly feared.

While Law used his Warlord status to cultivate a partnership with Caesar, gaining his trust and extracting information, you assumed the role of a lowly researcher. The disguise was perfect; no one paid attention to the faceless workers. Your mission: delve deeper into the SAD production process and gather any valuable intel.

Isolated from the crew, your bond with Law deepened. He opened up about his past, revealing the pain and anger that fueled his vendetta against Doflamingo.

Law made a promise to withhold no secrets from you, finally revealing the harrowing details of his past with Doflamingo and Corazon. The revelation was a shock, but it also offered a profound understanding of the man you had come to care for. His guarded nature, his constant need to reciprocate kindness—it all made sense now.

Though he still grappled with accepting your love unconditionally, progress was unmistakable. Gradually, the fortifications guarding his heart began to crumble.

Days turned into weeks as you navigated the treacherous world of Punk Hazard. By day, you were a diligent researcher, collecting samples and running tests. By night, you analyzed your findings, your mind racing with possibilities. You smuggled out anything of value, passing it to Law during your brief encounters.

You sat on the bed while Law intently studied the new chemical mixture you’d brought him. “I saw something strange today,” you mused, breaking the silence. Law looked up, his attention drawn to you.

“There was this guy bringing candy to a place called the ‘biscuit room,’” you continued. “Some of the candy was abnormally large.”

Law considered this for a moment. “Monet often goes to the biscuit room,” he said thoughtfully. “I always assumed it was just her break room. Maybe there's more to it than that.”

"Maybe. I'll check it out tomorrow." You shrugged, then smiled seductively, tugging at the hem of your shirt. "But for now..."

Law's eyes gleamed with passion. In an instant, he abandoned his work and was on top of you. His arms caged you in as he hovered above, his lips dancing across your neck.

You giggle as his breath tickles your skin. "I'm so glad it's just us," he whispered, his lips dancing across your neck. "I'm so glad you broke out of that room," he murmured.

"I could do without the getting locked in a room part," you laugh as your back falls onto the bed.

Law lifted his head, looking into your eyes before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. "You're right, I should have known a door wouldn't hold you. Next time, I'll tie you up," he smirked, pulling your hands above your head and pressing them into the bed.

He continued to trail his kisses down your neck as you moaned at his touch. When he reached the collar of your shirt he groaned he consolidated your hands into one of his freeing his other to pull your shirt fully off.

You laughed at his action while he trailed his kisses lower and lower on your now bare chest. Your breath hitched in your throat as he made his way to your thighs. His kisses were light against your skin and his facial hair lightly scratched against you each time he moved.

"I love you so much." He hummed.

"I love you too." You moaned closing your eyes as he traveled your body.

The next morning, you carefully exited the room, sliding your mask over your head and meticulously piecing your yellow hazmat suit together. As you proceeded in the direction of the "biscuit room," you remained unaware of the figure standing in the hallway nearby, observing you intently.

Law left shortly after, confidently walking in the opposite direction. The figure disappeared before he passed the hall.

Law entered the main room where Ceaser Clown was seated, holding a transponder snail in his hand. Once Ceaser noticed Law's presence, he quickly hung up the transponder snail, greeting Law with a boisterous laugh, "Law! Good morning!" he exclaimed. "Did you sleep well?" he inquired with a grin.

Law gave a curt nod before settling at the bar and pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee.

"Still as taciturn as ever, I see," Caesar laughed, transforming into a gas cloud and floating over to the bar next to Law. "What's on your agenda today? More brooding?" Law groaned at the man and continued sipping his coffee. "Ugh, you're no fun."

The door opened, and in flew the Harpy assistant, Monet. She lightly glided over to the remaining free seat at the bar, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Ah, Monet! Lovely to see you," the clown beamed.

Monet smiled softly, "Good morning to you too." She took a sip of her mug and continued, "Law, did you notice that one of your acquaintances is back in action?" She turned to the brooding pirate, who raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Monet smiled, reaching with her long wings to the end of the bar and sliding over the recent newspaper. Law looked down to see Straw Hat's face on the front page—a face he hadn't seen in two years.

Law shrugged and continued sipping his coffee. "You've encountered him a few times now, haven't you?" Monet probed. "I've read that you even saved his life once."

"I suppose," he replied with a shrug, seemingly unaffected. "It's been two years since I last saw him."

Monet hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting." She pulled the newspaper closer. "By the way, Law, we're having an issue with a samurai on the island. Our men are struggling to contain him. Would you mind lending a hand before he causes more trouble?" As she spoke, she began flipping through the pages of the paper.

"Yah I can see what I can do if I have the time," Law responded placing his mug down and walking out of the room.

Monet watched carefully as he left smiling smugly.

You shadowed the same group of men in hazmat suits until they reached the biscuit room. As they entered, you maintained your position, your gaze fixed on the door, waiting for your opportunity. But something caught your attention. Down the hall, a group of guards were roughly hauling a quartet of prisoners.

There was something oddly familiar about them. A red-headed woman in a skimpy top, a well-dressed blonde man, a peculiar, almost robotic figure, and a raccoon. The image sparked a recognition deep within you.

Confusion washed over you as the group exited the biscuit room. You were about to make your move when a guard's boast halted you in your tracks. "I can't believe we captured the Straw Hats!" he exclaimed.

The pieces fell into place. The familiar figures you'd seen moments ago were none other than the straw hat crew. A surge of disbelief and a tangle of emotions swept through you. The door to the biscuit room slammed shut, presumably locking you out. You cursed under your breath, your mind racing.

The Straw Hats' presence on the island could be a game-changer. Law had a peculiar interest in the Straw hats since Sabaody. An alliance could be beneficial, but their arrival might also complicate your mission to dismantle Caesar's operation. A plan began to form in your mind, a delicate balance of protecting the Straw Hats while advancing your own objectives.

You watched as the guards secured the prisoners in a nearby room. The door clicked shut, leaving the Straw Hats imprisoned. Your mind raced, grappling with the implications of their capture.

You offered a cursory bow to the passing guards, maintaining your facade. With a glance over your shoulder, you confirmed they were out of sight before turning and heading down the hallway.

The Straw Hats' presence introduced a new variable into your carefully laid plans. It was clear the Stawhats would be incapacitated for some time. Rescuing them now was futile. Your immediate priority was informing Law. With a growing sense of urgency, you turned and headed back down the corridor.

As you rounded the corner, you spotted Monet, Caesar's harpy assistant, standing at the end of the hall. Her gaze was fixed on you, a suspicious glint in her eye. You offered a quick bow, hoping to slip past unnoticed.

Before you could fully pass her, her leg shot up, her sharp claws wrapping around your neck and pinning you against the wall.

You yelped in surprise as your heart pounded in your chest as she tightened her grip, cutting off your breath. Desperation surged through you as you clawed at her leg, trying to break free.

"I'm surprised you didn't just release the Straw Hats," she hissed, her voice laced with venom.

You gasped for air, your vision blurring. "What are you talking about?" you managed to croak out.

“You're a part of Law's crew," Monet hissed, her voice low and menacing. "For the last month, you've been stalking around this island for him. You two have something planned, and I'm willing to bet the Straw Hats' arrival is part of it." She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you managed to stammer out, your voice trembling slightly. Monet rolled her eyes, her grip loosening as she tossed you to the floor. You hit the ground hard, gasping for air as you rubbed your sore neck. The harpy hovered above you, a menacing figure.

"You can't lie to me, Y/N," she taunted, a smirk playing on her lips. Your heart pounded as you heard her say your name. The facade of the terrified employee crumbled, replaced by a cold determination.

Your hand darted towards your chest, a surge of determination replacing your feigned fear. With a swift movement, you bypassed your clothing and plunged your fingers into the flesh just above where your heart would reside.

Monet's eyes widened in shock as you ripped a glowing blue cube from your chest cavity. A piercing scream tore from her throat as she clutched at the empty space where her own heart had been. You hovered above her, the stolen heart pulsing faintly in your grasp.

"We should have never underestimated you," you said coldly, your voice devoid of emotion.

"You should never have approached me without knowing the full board," you mocked, a cold glint in your eye. "While Law might be the king in this game, I'm not a pawn like you. I'm the queen, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect my king, even if it means taking a life. If Law held your heart, he'd likely use it as a strategic advantage, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But I don't hesitate."

A surge of dark satisfaction coursed through you as Monet's body slumped to the ground. You watched coldly as blood seeped from her lips, the stolen heart wrapped in your tight grip.

You glanced down at the heart in your hand as you released your gripped to see it begin to pulse faintly. You hadn't intended to kill her, but a strong message needed to be sent. For now, this would suffice.

Retrieving your mask from the floor, you stepped over Monet's unconscious body. After rifling through her pockets, you found a transponder snail. With a swift motion, you claimed it as your own, replacing hers. You then dragged her body against the wall, propping her up into a sitting position.

"You'll probably be out for a while," you muttered, your voice laced with a chilling indifference. "But when you wake up, I hope you have enough sense not to seek me out again."

A voice crackled through the transponder snail, interrupting your thoughts. "We haven't found anything else on the ship, ma'am," it reported. Then, a series of panicked shouts echoed through the device before cutting off abruptly.

Intrigued, you brought the snail closer to your ear. "Interesting," you murmured. "It seems there might be more of the Straw Hats on the ship. I should inform them of their friends' location."

With that, you turned and headed towards the docks.

*****

A/N: Thanks for reading and part 4 should be out soon, but hey if you wanna read more of my work check out my MasterList

[guerillas-of-history]

♦️ National Resistance Brigades (Martyr Omar Al-Qasim Forces)

Watch: The achievements of the National Resistance Brigades (Martyr Omar Al-Qasim Forces) during the battle of Al-Aqsa Flood.

The battle continues.

Notes:

0:03 - The Martyr Omar Al-Qasim Forces engaged in numerous combat missions as part of the battle of Al-Aqsa Flood as part of the response to the crimes of the zionist occupation.

0:16 - During the battle, several of its leaders and fighters were martyred, and others were wounded with various injuries.

0:40 - More than 80 rocket barrages were launched during the battle, alongside the national resistance factions, towards the occupation's settlements.

0:50 - Mortar squads shelled the enemy's infiltrations in all combat axes, completing no less than 160 missions.

1:15 - Our fighters detonated several high-powered explosive devices targeting a number of the occupation's vehicles infiltrating the combat axes.

1:24 - Targeting of 25 military vehicles and a gathering of occupation forces with RBG shells and tandem shells, anti-armor and anti-fortification.

1:33 - Some of the zionist military equipment and gear were seized after our fighters attacked a zionist infantry unit.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Debbie Urbanski’s ‘After World’

Debbie Urbanski's debut novel After World is an unflinching and relentlessly bleak tale of humanity's mass extinction, shot through with pathos and veined with seams of tragic tenderness and care:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/After-World/Debbie-Urbanski/9781668023457

I first encountered Urbanski in "An Incomplete Timeline of What We Tried," an experimental short story on Motherboard's brilliant Terraform science fiction portal:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/xwvgeq/an-incomplete-timeline-of-what-we-tried

"Incomplete Timeline" is a list of climate remediation steps "working back from human extinction," like "increased military fortification of national, provincial, and state borders," "the founding of several utopias," and "redefine the word wilderness."

These items begin with a climax, or perhaps an anticlimax: "The coordinated release of various strains of a human sterilization virus."

This is the jumping off point for After World, which expands this final item to the action of a wrenching tale whose backstory is the list's remainder. Sen Anon – the story's semi-protagonist – is 18 years old when the world learns that every person alive has been sterilized and so the human race is living out its last years.

The news triggers a manic insistence that this is a good thing – long overdue, in fact – and the perfect opportunity to scan every person alive for eventual reincarnation as virtual humans in an Edenic cloud metaverse called Gaia. That way, people can continue to live their lives without the haunting knowledge that everything they do makes the planet worse for every other living thing, and each other. Here, finally, is the resolution to the paradox of humanity: our desire to do good, and our inevitable failure on that scor8e.

And so the Earth is converted to a place of mass suicides, as people gurn and mug while boarding airplanes filled with explosives so they can go out in a literal blaze of glory. The food will run out soon, and the government makes sure everyone has a suicide pill for the day when the hunger grows too intense. Not everyone is lucky enough to get on one of the suicide flights, and, being eager to see themselves off before they harm the planet further, just hang themselves in the garage or jump off a roof. They are counted as heroes, but also nuisances, because disposing of the bodies is a lot of work.

But some people – young people – are given a mission to live on for as long as possible. These are the observer/recorders who are charged to spend the last days of the species closely watching the return of the natural world, the seeing off of humanity, and to write it all down in longhand in a succession of notebooks that are taken away by drones. This is part of the story humanity cooks up for itself about extinction being a noble choice, rather than a chaotic act born of desperation.

Sen Anon is one of these observers, and her mothers take her to a remote cabin to live out (and observe) the last of humanity's days, ensuring she is settled in and then killing themselves. After all, without them, Sen Anon's limited food supply – meagerly supplemented by drones in proportion to the quality of the observations in her notebooks – will stretch further.

Much of the novel takes the form of Sen Anon's notebook observations, countersunk with an omniscient third-person narrator who is revealed to be [storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc, a software agent involved in the project to recreate all those dead humans in the Gaia metaverse.

[storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc is a very unreliable narrator, who reprograms itself through the course of the story, all the while muttering asides to itself about the theoretical basis for telling Sen's story this way. [storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc struggles with a supervisory AI that has been charged with overseeing all the [storyworkers], but which can't – or won't – rein in [storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc as [storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc grows more involved in Sen's life.

This experimental storytelling style (supplemented by found texts from humanity's dying, like a glossary of terms to be retired and new terms being created by a linguist who is starving to death as they complete their task) creates a contradictory narrative distance and closeness.

It's a curiously flawed omniscience that's allows Urbanski to capture the yawning, bottomless horror of the climate emergency of today and on the horizon. I don't think I've ever experienced the kind of sustained, deepening existential dread that After World created, chapter by chapter.

To sharpen this, Sen's mothers – scientists who were given exceptions to the no-child policy because their work was deemed essential to the now-abandoned project of saving humanity – are grimly supportive of the mass suicide project. When Sen's own horror creeps up on her, her mothers are sharp and often unkind, with only the smallest flashes of love and sorrow for their daughter escaping their facades, all the more vivid for their rarity.

In contrast, [storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc grows ever more sympathetic to Sen and the rest of vanished humanity. [storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc is a very convincing alien with motives and perspectives that are profoundly nonhuman, and yet, the compassion and love are unmistakable.

Of After World's two protagonists, [storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc might be the more relatable. It takes an alien point of view to truly see humanity's flawed glory, irredeemable and irreplaceable. If you reveled in the nonhuman umwelts on display in Laura Jean McKay's 2020 debut The Animals In That Country, [storyworker] ad39-393a-7fbc will stretch your brain and imagination in similar ways:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/27/im-a-backdoor-man/#doolittle

After World is a book that goes hard. Pitiless, merciless and relentless, it takes you to the darkest depths of climate despair and reveals the indestructible beauty at our species' core.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/18/storyworker-ad39-393a-7fbc/#digital-human-archive-project

[monstersdownthepath]

Shadowbound Heart

Minor Artifact

Aura: Strong Conjuration, Strong Necromancy

CL: 22nd

Weight: ---

Slot: —

The first of these wicked artifacts is said to have been made when a tyrant wished for a means of immortality that would sustain his youth and health forever. He had, at first, thought to contact Asmodeus, but knew the Dark Prince's price would inevitably include his soul, and his demise would be arranged for him in the background. Similarly, beseeching a demon for immortality was an excellent way to not see the end of a decade, and a daemon even less. So the story goes, he took to another option: Zon-Kuthon.

The God of Pain heard the tyrant's plea and offered him a mechanical heart, crafted of the Netherworld's steel and by Zon-Kuthon's madness. All he asked for in return was that the tyrant rejoice in the "gift of pain" he would receive, and to seek to give it to others. He would keep his life, he would keep his soul, he would keep his youth and health, all for the price of pain, inflicted upon himself and others. Figuring that even the worst of worldly agonies would pale in comparison to Hell and figuring that, with his new eternity stretching before him, he would grow used to any pain his new heart would cause him (worst comes to worst, he has a mechanical body crafted), he accepted.

As these tales go, it is hubris to ever believe yourself beyond a price set by a god. Every mortal believes themselves the ones that will finally outwit their patron, but not one has succeeded. As the tyrant found out, the agony his new heart caused him was at a level there was no getting used to, and rather grimly, he found that the death he feared so terribly was now wholly beyond his ability to reach, no matter how much he strained for it.

Whether this foolish tyrant truly existed (and what his eventual fate was) or is merely a cautionary tale about making bargains with the Midnight Lord, the device featured in the story is quite real. Several of them exist, crafted both by Zon-Kuthon and the lesser Demagogues, some sitting in the ribcages of dried skeletons who found a way out of their bargain, most of them still embedded within the chest of a mortal seeking immortality, a new experience, or performing a mission for their patron. The fact that there's not one inside every high priest of pain suggests they're either difficult to create, even for a demigod, or only a limited number of them can exist at a time, or perhaps both.

Shadowbound Hearts resemble twisted, clockwork hearts bearing a smooth plate of silvery metal emblazoned with the unholy symbol of the god or fiend which created it. They're deceptively easy to install: A willing, living, corporeal mortal must hold the device to their chest for one full round, at which point spiked tendrils emerge from gaps within the device and rips its way into the mortal's torso. The artifact destroys the victim's heart and settles into its place, weaving its tendrils throughout their torso and settling in as its magic goes to work. At this point, the creature is considered infused. The ragged, shredded hole heals over swiftly except for the metallic plate, which now sits directly over the new heart and marks them as a bearer of one of these cursed artifacts.

A creature infused with a Shadowbound Heart enjoys several benefits: it gains Regeneration equal to its Hit Dice, and only Electricity damage causes the heart's Regeneration to stutter for a round. The user reverts to a young adult appearance and remain young so long as the Heart remains in place, taking none of the penalties of aging but reaping the benefits. They do not need to eat, drink, or breathe (but still feel the pain of starvation, thirst, and asphyxiation if they do not), become immune to disease and poison, and have 25% Fortification. They recover from damage to their physical ability scores at a rate of 1 per round, and drain to their physical ability scores at a rate of 1 per day.

An infused creature slain through any means, such as by a death effect or HP damage while their Regeneration is deactivated, returns to life at -9 HP one hour later and resumes regenerating HP as normal. If the heart is removed from their body at any point, their body dissolves into gore (killing them if they were, somehow, still alive). One hour later, they begin regenerating from around the heart, their tissues pouring from the gaps in the clockwork and slowly reforming their body over the course of 1 minute, at which point they're restored to life at -9 HP and resume regenerating HP as normal. Only continuous Electricity damage to stall the heart prevents it from restoring its infused creature.

This immortality is not without its costs. The infused creature gains vulnerability to pain effects which cannot be removed or suppressed, taking a -5 penalty to saving throws against pain effects. Every hour, there is a cumulative 1% chance that the heart suddenly surges with activity, its tendrils probing the creature's nerves and organs in indescribably painful ways, visibly slithering to new locales beneath their skin to find new clusters of nerves to torment. The creature is utterly paralyzed by the pain, falling prone and helpless, unable to do anything but experience the agony for 1d4 minutes. Once the pain triggers, the chance to activate resets to 1%. Every time the infused creature suffers at least 1 point of damage per HD they have from any source, the heart senses their pain and becomes envious; it gains a 5% chance to activate and an immediate check to see if it activates must be made.

Once infused into a creature, that creature has few ways to escape their pain. The heart's creator can will it to cease functioning at any point, withdrawing its tendrils and slipping from the hole in the victim's chest (this takes 1 minute and paralyzes the creature with agony), at which point the victim must receive the benefits of the Regeneration spell or die, as they no longer have a heart. A Limited Wish spell can remove the heart from a willing creature, restore their original heart, and ends the infusion if the caster succeeds a DC 32 caster level check. A Wish or Miracle used on a willing creature removes the heart, restores their original heart, and ends the infusion without a check needed. Whenever a heart is deactivated in this way, the creator often sends some of their agents to investigate what has happened (or perhaps even investigates themselves) and to recover the heart through any means possible and punish the formerly-infused creature for rejecting their gift.

--------

Destruction: Zon-Kuthon can destroy any Shadowbound Heart in existence by simply willing it. Otherwise, they must be destroyed by forging an adamantine hammer and chisel in the Positive Energy Plane, and using the hammer to drive the chisel straight into the heart through the metal plate, making sure to destroy the unholy symbol in the process. This causes the heart and the tools used to obliterate one another. Destroying a Shadowbound Heart while it's still inside a creature instantly kills that creature, and destroys their body utterly in a flare of positive and negative energy.

[verybadatwriting]

Winged One 3

Summary: The rest of the First Avenger play out more or less the same as they would have without Reader.

Warnings: self blame, falling, broken bones, heights, plane crash, guns

Notes: Gefahr, nicht drücken= danger do not push

Gn!reader

Word count: 4,481

Cool air streamed across your face, arms, legs. Flying high up through the clouds, you could almost forget what was going on below. Almost. You dipped through and eventually caught a glimpse of the buildings below. Between the streets, soldiers streamed.

Hydra had taken a small town. A very, very small town. It was barely a cluster of buildings. There were fortifications strung up loosely between a few of them, but not super heavy-duty. A few soldiers were scattered about, on raised platforms standing watch. The others were milling around, moving boxes, giving orders.

None of them seemed to be in a hurry, good. 

Before they spotted you, you swooped back into the safety of the cloud cover and wheeled around. While flying back, you pulled out a small notepad, and jotted down troop numbers and defense placements. 

A few minutes later, you landed back at the Howling Commandos’ temporary camp. Unlike the base you’d just surveyed, this one was bustling with purpose and last-minute preparations. 

Bucky met up with you as you made your way to the command tent. 

“All’s in order?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you didn’t look up from the notepad. He peeked over your shoulder and smirked at the wobbly letters.

“You sure you’ve been practicing?”

True, your handwriting wasn’t the best, but in all fairness you’d only just started learning this script a few months ago.

“I’d like to see you try to write while flying,” you teased. “Oh wait, you can’t fly!”

“I'm actually impressed with how quickly you picked up English writing.”

“I'd say I have a pretty good teacher.”

The two of you kept up your banter the rest of the way. Like most times you spoke with him, you and Bucky used a mashup of English, German, and your people's language, which didn't have a name. Even if it once did, that knowledge was burned with the rest of the village.

Bucky tried. You knew he did. He was the only other living person who even knew any basic vocab in your language. He was your best shot at keeping it alive. And yet, every time he couldn't describe something, every time he didn't have the words and had to revert back to English, a little part of you broke. Sometimes you wished he didn’t even try. Then it would only be your fault that your language was dying. 

“It's looking good,” Bucky reported to the others. You were now standing underneath a tarp, huddled around a table strewn with maps, scribbled notes, and little figurines to plan the attack. 

It was going to be fairly simple, just storm in, overpower the Hydra forces, and take the  foothold they so kindly prepared for the Allies. You were used to this kinda mission, and it didn't scare you anymore. After learning that your wings were bulletproof, you actually felt rather confident.

The truck ride there was fine, a lot of loud conversations and a few jokes, nothing out of the ordinary. Everybody sobered up when y’all neared the launch point. 

“L’kan kwe nor’c,” Bucky called to you as he dismounted the truck. “Did I pronounce it right?”

“Yes, and good luck to you as well,” you replied in English, smiling at him. 

Now, you had to focus. Despite having bulletproof wings, both shielding you and making you easily recognizable, the Howling Commandos insisted you have armor and a uniform. Easier said than done. 

First issue, you were a teenager, not a grown man. The army uniforms didn’t allow for much variation in body type, and none accommodated wings. To get around some obvious issues, you altered the uniforms so that the shirt could be put on like an apron, but with a button up part covering your lower back, and a string tied behind your neck.

The cold was the only problem. Frostbite’s something you never wanted to get again. Especially not between your wings, which was so hard to reach. Instead of freezing that chunk of your back, you fastened a length of warm cloth over it, using four shiny metal clasps. 

The rest of your clothes were normal. Pants, gloves, hats, those would all fit just fine, if they had your size. You did remove anything causing unnecessary weight, and typically had your pockets sparsely filled. The army issued boots were too heavy to wear while flying, so you stuck to a lighter pair of shoes. They weren't as protective or warm, but they allowed you to fly for longer without tiring, and they didn't hurt to run in.

All that said, you were wearing the least amount of body armor Bucky would let you, and a heavily altered uniform. You carried a small gun in a holster on your hip, a knife and canteen on the opposite side. A couple of grenades and extra ammo cases were stashed in a bag slung over one shoulder. 

For most of the battle you'd stay in the clouds, cutting down just to take note of troop movements and maybe deal a little damage. Things were going well. The Howling Commandos had already taken two of the buildings, since Hydra had essentially abandoned all defenses and was scrambling to evacuate.

You dropped a grenade, prayed your aim was true, and swooped back up for a single breath above the clouds. A small explosion told you that it'd found its target. You savored another moment before you dropped back through. The dew stuck to your skin, making it feel even colder than it was. Still, you swooped around, picking off targets one after another.

The whole while, you were unaware that someone on the ground was tracking your every move, and now he'd figured out the pattern. As you cut through the clouds, he adjusted his aim, and fired. 

If this has been a normal gun, you would've been fine. Simply wrap your wings around yourself as a shield, perhaps free fall for a moment in hopes of avoiding it, then back to business as usual.

But this soldier had not fired a normal weapon. What sailed towards you unfurled as it flew. Within a second of it making contact, you found your wings bound. No matter how hard you tried, the thin cords wrapped around you wouldn't budge.

Hurtling towards the ground, you caught a glimpse of where you'd land, an empty clearing on top of a hill to the south of the battle.

You braced for impact and hit the ground hard. You felt your arm crack and snap beneath you, but luckily the fall’s adrenaline overpowered the pain. For now.

A moment passed before you regained your senses and continued struggling against the net. It was futile. Bound too tight for you to reach your knife, you'd simply be unable to cut your way out. 

Footsteps came running towards you, and you prepared to fight as best you could. To your surprise, the man dropped to his knees right beside you, and began slashing away at the ropes with a knife.

He has a sniper rifle slung across his back.

“Bucky?” You ask. “How did you get to me so fast?”

“You landed near my sniper's nest,” he replied without looking up from the net. He finally tore apart the last cord, and said “You've gotta hurry.”

“Hurry where?”

“Fly. Go! Get out of here.” He gestured vaguely to the sky.

That's when you noticed the Hydra soldiers closing in from every side.

“What? No!” You said, “I'm not leaving you here! I'll… I think I can lift you and get us both out of here.”

“No. We both know that's not possible,” he glanced at your arm, which was hanging at a strange angle by your side. “Especially with that arm.” 

The soldiers were a few yards away, approaching fast. They'd be here in a moment.

“Go!” Bucky yelled. He rarely raised his voice at you. You turned and fled into the sky. Behind you, you heard a few short orders barked in German, and the sound of a body hitting the snowy ground.

You swirled through the clouds, careening – you hoped – unpredictability. The last thing you wanted was to get caught again, and have Bucky die in vain.

Your heart felt like it was in your head, it was beating so loud. When you finally perched in the highest hidden branch of a tree, you found your balance was a bit off, and you nearly slipped off. The lid of your canteen slipped out of your shaking fingers, and landed somewhere far below.

Despite the increased risk of being discovered, you allowed yourself to cry. A few minutes of sobbing, albeit quietly, was enough time for someone to approach.

You fled before they saw you. The tree shook, shedding some of its snow onto whoever was below.

After the battle, Steve insisted that you at least put your arm in a sling before allowing you to lead him back to the clearing you'd nearly been captured in. It was empty, besides for a mush of slushy footprints, some blood, and a tiny shiny piece of metal. 

They'd taken his body.

The only thing left, the only way you knew he'd been here, was the delicately crafted leaf necklace that you'd given him on the first day of spring.

You picked it up, the silver metal dulled by now dried blood, still managing to glint faintly in the sunlight. You stared at it for a moment longer, then closed your fist around it.

Steve had seen the necklace, too. He knew what it meant. 

“Y/n,” he started, but before he could say anything more, you cut him off.

“It's fine. I've been through this before.” You turned to walk back to the now empty battlefield. “We’ve gotta wipe these bastards off the face of the earth.”

From then on, you were different. You took your meals in solitary, preferring a treetop to a dinner table. You barely knew these people, Bucky had been your only link. With him gone, killing those Snake Worshippers was your only goal. In an attempt to reconnect with you, Steve gave you a book, Oliver Twist. It was slow going, but most of the words made sense.

Before Bucky's death, you'd been hesitant to be the boots on the ground. It was partly due to some of the adaptations that came with your wings. To decrease the weight you had to carry, your bones had turned hollow, which led to fracturning more easily. 

Now, however, you fought hand to hand with a ferocity that put even Steve on edge, ignoring any splintering of bones.

Off the battlefield, you were constantly training. You pushed yourself further and further, getting stronger every day. Each night, you collapsed into your hammock – the tent held too many memories – and went out like a light.

In the mornings, you rose before the others, although that didn't matter, since you rarely interacted with them outside of tactical meetings anymore. Every waking moment was dedicated to training. Physically, you could lift more than ever before, fly for longer, and move faster. Your punches carried more weight than they'd used to. 

Mentally, you sharpened your skills as well. You'd taken to reading Steve's book during meals, or in the truck heading to or from battle.

Your English speaking skills stagnated, though. Fewer interactions meant fewer chances to practice. That was fine by you. No use keeping some random language spoken by people you would never see again after this war was over. It was comforting to know that you hadn't gotten too used to the new language, that you still held fast to the language you'd grown with.

The weeks flew by. The weather warmed. The icy spring finally melted into summer. Countless missions blended together. Kills, which you used to keep track of with a notch on a tree near camp, now numbered in the hundreds. If you'd carved all of them into the tree, it would look like a beaver attacked it.

Jaw set, eyes staring dead ahead, you sat in the truck, tucked in the corner. Your spine was so straight, rigid almost, that your posture was impeccable. Waves of quiet rage radiated off of you, and everyone seemed to know to stay away.

The plan was for the Commandos to raid yet another underground base and retrieve whatever “powerful device” Hydra had gotten its grubby claws on. Today, it was a ridiculously powerful source of energy, which Red Skull had harnessed for evil, as he usually did.

The truck had barely shuddered to a halt before the Commandos jumped out. They swarmed the building, going fast yet thorough, each move carefully practiced. You darted above, hoping to spot any targets. Instead, you saw something that made you zip back down to meet up with Steve.

“Captain,” you said. “Hydra’s abandoned everything else but a defensive position around the loading bay.”

Within minutes, the Howling Commandos broke through the door, just as Red Skull was scaling the ladder up into the most massive plane any of them had seen in their lives. The soldiers launched a spray of gunfire, but it was too late. The giant thrusters roared to life, letting out a burst of flame.

The plane turned to the left, towards the hangar exit.

Steve saw where it was heading, and battled his way through the remaining horde of Hydra soldiers. They were all armed with the glowing blue weapons you’d first seen what felt like so very long ago. Steve’s shield easily deflected the blows. 

Despite his superhuman strength and speed, the jet pulled further and further ahead of Steve.

Through the mayhem, you saw a black, open top car swerving so expertly that it could only be driven by Colonel Phillips. You sprinted after it, and ducked into the backseat next to Agent Carter.

“What in the–?” The colonel started to ask.

“Drive,” you cut him off.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” He sped up, engine growling, then came to an abrupt stop once he caught up with the now stationary Steve. 

“Get in!” He yelled. Immediately, Steve obeyed, and you were off again.

Faster and faster, Colonel Phillips pushed the engine to its limits and then some. By some miracle, you were gaining on the plane. But would it be enough? The light at the end of the runway, the opening to the outside world, grew infinitely closer each second. 

As though hearing your doubts, the colonel flipped the cover off of a large, red button, labeled “Gefahr, nicht drücken” and pressed it. Jets of flame propelled the car forward as Steve readied himself to jump. 

“Keep it steady!” He shouted.

“Wait!” Peggy interrupted. She grabbed the strap of the holster fastened across his chest, and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Go get him,” she said as they leaned apart. 

“I’m not kissing you,” Colonel Phillips added, glancing up from the road briefly.

Steve fastened his shield to his back, and carefully navigated around to the front bumper of the car. Though he tried to navigate between them, the colonel simply didn’t have enough room to avoid all the propellers. The spinning blades sparked as they striked against the shield and the hood of the car. Everyone in, or on, the car ducked as low as they could go until you were in the clear.

There. Only a moment away, twenty seconds at best, was the outdoors. The plane’s wheels began to lift off the ground; if Steve didn’t jump now, he’d never make it. He propelled himself forwards and upwards as hard as he could.

It wasn’t enough. His fingers grazed metal, but couldn’t find purchase. He started to fall, and in that split second, you made a decision.

Scrambling over both Peggy and the colonel’s seats, you ran across the hood, beating your wings as hard as you could, and you, too, jumped. With all the might in your body, you wrapped your arms around Steve and brought him just a little higher, so his hands could grasp the slick metal. The moment he had pulled himself up and gained his footing, he reached back for you, yanking you onto the wheel next to him. 

The ground below vanished, replaced with a thousand foot drop into an icy ravine. You could only hope that the colonel had swerved so as to avoid plummeting over the edge. You dared a glance backwards, and saw the car, a small black smudge against the white, snowy background. They were safe. 

Navigating through the pistons and gears, all the intricate yet massive machinery was surprisingly similar to weaving through tree branches. You led the way, seeing as you were familiar with navigating such high, complex spaces. You found a walkway, and ducked under the railing. 

Steve, the showoff he always was, placed both hands on the rail and swung himself over.

“You could’ve easily fit underneath,” you noted.

“Oh God…” Steve said, but not in reply to you. He was looking past you, at the rows and rows of single-pilot jets, with bombs large enough for a child to crawl inside. They were pitch black, with a red loop of paint and a series of symbols painted in clear white on all of them.

“Ch-eek-ag-oo?” You sounded out quietly. “What does that mean?”

“Chicago. These are all names of American cities. This one,” he pointed to the one nearest the walkway, “that’s where I grew up.”

Many pairs of feet rattled the walkway towards you. Hydra pilots, faces concealed and goggles on, sprinted towards their bomber jets. Steve hurled the first one over the railing, down into the machines below, while you lunged at the second one. One drew a knife out of thin air, and started towards Steve, but he didn’t make it very far. A few quick jabs, and the knife was in Steve’s hand. He hurled it with precision, stabbing another in the back as he ran.

The final one climbed on top of the bomb destined for Chicago in an attempt to escape. You quickly found a control panel, and released the hatch. The floor opened beneath both man and bomb, which quickly fell into the ocean miles below. 

The fight continued, more waves of Hydra went down to the launch bay. You two continued dispatching them as quickly as they came. That is, until a pilot managed to weasel his way past and into the cockpit of the bomb bound for New York.

Steve jumped on top of the jet, whaling on it with his shield. It made a dent, and perhaps he could have broken through, had another pilot not jumped on Steve from behind and knocked the shield out of his hand.

The floor beneath the jet opened up. The jet dropped, leaving Steve and the Hydra pilot to hang on for dear life. There was nothing you could do now besides hope he came back.

You turned back to the fight, unsheathing your knife. You held it backwards, a trick you learned early on in hand to hand combat. If they’re expecting a slash from one angle, a different grip could be the difference between life and death. This hold allowed you to take out one man fairly easily, which gave you enough time to get to Steve’s shield. 

He’d needed it if he got back. If he didn’t… Why let perfectly good vibranium go to waste?

Fighting felt good. Letting out some of the anger that had built up for so long only made you more powerful. The minor bone breakages you sustained were easily ignored. Bones were fragile; if a few had to snap for you to win victory, so be it.

This is why, when Steve ‘expertly’ piloted the jet back into the bay, he found you waiting there, surrounded by the bodies of countless Hydra soldiers. 

“You dropped this,” you said, passing back his shield. He looked down at it. A red smear stained one edge, which he wiped off before motioning for you to follow him.

After winding through the corridors, you came to the control room. Steve opened the door slowly, cautiously, so as to not alert anyone inside. A great window took up most of the wall in front of you. It was segmented into squares, no more than a foot and a half wide each. Outside the familiar sight of clouds stretched out before you. 

Your view was obstructed by a few things. A large, permanent-looking chair sat before the windows and in the middle of the room there glowed a strange blue contraption. Obviously the powersource the Howling Commandos had been tasked with retrieving.

You and Steve entered further, cautiously, though the room appeared to be empty. You were right to be cautious, because not a second later, a man missing the skin from his face shot a giant blue laser gun at you from behind. Steve blocked it with ease, although the sheer power reverberated around the room for a moment afterwards.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Red Skull said.

“Nope!” Steve replied, charging at him head-on. After deflecting two more shots, he whacked the gun out of Red Skull’s hands. They traded punches for a bit, with Red Skull managing to disarm the Captain and knock him to the floor. You yanked the German off, sending him tumbling across the blue contraption, and handed Steve his shield back. 

Now the upper hand was back where it should have always been. Steve shoved, then snap kicked Red Skull so hard he went crashing into the control panel. The plane started to dive. Gravity seemed to reverse, throwing the three of you to the ceiling.

Red Skull managed to free himself from Steve, and scurried down a column, trying, and succeeding, to get back to the controls. The plane leveled out, and threw you and Steve back onto the floor. The landing wasn’t too hard, but still enough that you heard a crack against the floor.

“You could have the power of the gods!” Red Skull sauntered down from the controls, waving a small pistol. Despite its appearances, it packed quite a punch. One shot, perilously close to Steve’s head, bore a hole into the metal of the wall.

“Yet you wear a flag on your chest and think you fight a battle of nations!” Red Skull continued, voice rising above even the howling winds ripping through the room. He fired again, once more too close for comfort.

“I have seen the future, Captain!” He yelled, firing off another shot. “There are no flags!”

“Not my future!” Steve yelled back, barely dodging another shot in time. He rolled across the floor, to where you and his shield were. He pulled it up in a pitiful attempt at protecting the both of you.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you grunted shortly, holding your side. “Broke something. Be fine.” 

“Good.” 

He flung his shield at Red Skull, slamming him into and partially through the blue apparatus. Power surged, whirling through the room. It almost looked like lightning. 

“What have you done?” Red Skull hissed, dragging himself to his unsteady feet once again. He reached out to a now exposed cube. 

“No…” He said, holding it up to his eyes. A few sparks leapt out, streaking towards the ceiling. A tapestry of color and dust appeared, stagnant, in the air above him. A column of flame grew from his palm, eating away at his flesh, his bone, spreading across every inch of his body as he screamed in agony. The fire grew into a spire of light, stretching into the tapestry and beyond forever, temporarily blinding you.

Suddenly, the light was gone. All that was left was a glowing blue cube. It burned through the metal grate beneath it, the metal floor beneath that, until it fell into the clouds below.

Steve crouched next to you.

“Can you walk?”

“Think so.” You only needed to grip his arm to raise yourself to your feet, after that you were good enough to walk unaided. It wasn’t pleasant. You suspected you’d broken a rib or two. 

“What do all these do?” You asked, examining the controls. 

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment. He started out the window. 

“Can you still fly?”

You tried lifting your wings, only to be met with a wave of pain, nausea, and overwhelming weariness all rolled into one.

“No, not in this state,” you shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “And definitely not at this altitude.”

“I don’t see any way out of this,” he said, reaching for the radio. “Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”

“Captain Rogers, what is your–” Jim Morita started from the other side.

“Steve, is that you? Are you alright?” Peggy interrupted.

“Peggy! Schmidt’s dead.”

“What about the plane?”

“That’s a little bit tougher to explain.”

“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”

“There's not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try to force it down.”

The line went dead, and for a split second Steve seemed to think they’d lost connection already.

“I’ll get Howard on the line,” Peggy suggested. “He’ll know what to do.”

“There’s not enough time,” Steve shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading to New York. I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please, don't do this,” Peggy asked, although it sounded like she already knew he would. “We have time. We can work it out.”

“Right now we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Steve said, looking over the radar. “If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy, this is my choice.” He took the cut out that he always kept close, a picture of Peggy, and placed it on the board. He started to lower the controls, dipping the plane down, down, down. You held onto his chair, sinking to the floor to avoid falling.

“Do you want to say anything?” Steve asked you.

“No.”

“Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

“I don't have anyone to say goodbye to,” you shrugged. He nodded in a sad, understanding way. 

“Peggy?” He said to the radio.

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

“All right…” She hesitated. “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it.”

“Eight o’clock on the dot,” her voice started to grow staticky around the edges. “Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

“You know, I still don't know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.” The signal cut out completely.

You replayed her words over and over again. Just be there. Hoping that wherever you went after this your dad was waiting. 

“Just be there,” you whispered as the plane hit and cold, cold water flooded in around you.

Tag list!

@arctrooper69

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

weekend prompt: millinda and unintentionally ominous looming

Millinda is growing in my brain from 'haha how would these two interact' into 'oh Miller is her pet piece of wet bread.' I'm going to end up writing Blue Team makes Miller a real Spartan eventually, I just know it. Thanks for the prompt! (It got away from me)

-

Miller was finding that working with Blue Team, while incredibly stressful, was also incredibly rewarding. He felt like he was behind the camera of a nature documentary, watching in real time as the S-IIs wordlessly and flawlessly took down their prey. There was some chatter on TEAMCOM, but it was mostly from him doing overwatch.

Again, they adapted to the drills and scenarios immediately, including him and listening to what he had to say. His intel mattered. He mattered. There was no mistaking himself as part of Blue Team, but they had him at their disposal and made use of him. He helped before shit hit the fan and he wasn't playing catch up. Even if he left each session with Blue Team exhausted. Wire tight tension and the utmost focus for a prolonged period of time left his head hurting. Miller was being pushed to the limit and he liked it. Training with the best was like opening a door he never knew was closed to him. Troop movements and team cohesion and every other significant detail flashing across his screens let him direct them and grow.

That's how he found himself socializing with them beyond the desk job. Spartan Town was only so big. Blue Team was full of natural leaders, and their reputation preceded them by a country mile. That's why Miller was flabbergasted when Linda 058 singled him out.

"You want me as your handler?" He tries not to stammer.

The height difference between them was negligible but the confidence coming off Blue-4, Linda 058, was overwhelming. Jared could find some steel in his spine when it mattered, but not in the face of her many goggled helmet or piercing green eyes. It wasn't that she saw him and found him lacking - he got that from others - she pinned him in place with a look and left him feeling exposed. Like she could go for the kill in an instant.

She nods. "One sortie. Low risk. Training exercise."

Miller's dumbfounded. This is the chance of a lifetime, but the what-ifs are already shutting down his higher thought processes with anxiety.

"A solo op with me as overwatch? What about your team?" He grasps for some kind of stability to add to the conversation.

"Don't need a babysitter." She says resolutely.

"Wait, is this for me?"

"Training exercise." She says again, with a curt nod.

"Yes, I guess." Miller agrees and Linda nods again, barely a lift of her chin in acknowledgement and then she leaves abruptly.

And that's how Miller gets to see Linda 058 patrol the edges of Banished space. The factions were a mess and who better to recon than the Lone Wolf herself. It was easy to sneak an Owl down to drop off a single Spartan. Local flora masking her presence as soon as her boots hit the ground.

The mission goes well, for once. Miller is both by the book and trusting his gut. He doesn't chatter incessantly out of nerves, something he prides himself on after the fact. Instead he finds himself copying Linda's silent focus while keeping an eye on the bigger picture she cannot see. It's a weird feeling. One he can't label until it hits him.

Trust.

Snipers don't go out in the field alone, unless they are exceptional. Linda let him see what that felt like.

He makes calls and marks points of interest, and even a few dropships. She trusts him to watch her back. In return, he has to trust her to make the right call. She goes closer to enemy fortifications than he'd ever want his S-IV Fireteams to go without proper intel.

"Blue-4, you're getting too close for quick extraction."

She flashes green once over comms. A moment passes and she flashes acknowledgement twice.

Enemy Detected.

Linda becomes a shadow in the underbrush and Miller goes into overdrive. He doesn't flood her HUD with markers, but notes her approach, the flight vectors the Banished Phantoms are following, and the warping on the helmet cam.

Cloaking.

Miller squeezes every bit of intel out of the situation without impacting Blue-4's focus or giving away her position. He finds himself breathing in time with her. Slow and even, her vitals present onscreen barely show an uptick while he finds his own heart racing. She has her job and he has his. He does it and he waits.

The warping goes away, moving along the ridge line overlooking the Banished outpost.

Linda slinks back into the vegetation and towards evac. Neither of them let down their guard until lift-off.

Miller congratulates her, more out of habit than necessity and thanks her for the opportunity. It feels like brown-nosing, but the "thanks" she flashes back makes it worth it.

The mission was a success, and Miller relaxes - his second mistake. The first was agreeing to the mission in the first place. His third is having a publicly posted schedule on S-Deck with his fireteams' schedules. His fourth was discussing the mission and how to improve within earshot of Linda, not that he noticed her there.

Blue Team was no help. Kelly smiled at him when he approached them about Linda's newfound habit of popping up near him, randomly, at all hours. Miller had gained a second shadow, one that loomed over him and took his dessert when he wasn't looking.

"Working on your situational awareness." She had said.

He had yet to scream on comms, but it was a near thing when he noticed her in the vents of the Op Center. At this rate, Roland was going to get jealous over someone else competing for "who can give Miller a headache fastest?"

Miller just wanted his dessert and peace of mind back.

[whencyclopedia]

Mo Ti

Mo Ti (l. 470-391 BCE, also known as Mot Tzu, Mozi, and Micius) was a Chinese philosopher of the Warring States Period (c. 481-221 BCE) associated with the Hundred Schools of Thought (different philosophical schools which established themselves in this era). He is the founder of Mohism (also given as Moism), a philosophical system advancing the concept of consequentialism (one's actions define one's character) and emphasizing universal love as the meaning of life and the solution to all conflict.

Little is known of his life other than he was a carpenter and inventor of various devices (specifics unknown) and came from the state of Lu (modern-day Shandong province), the same region as the philosopher Confucius (l. 551-479 BCE), whose precepts Mo Ti strongly disagreed with just as he rejected the vision of Lao Tzu (l. c. 500 BCE), the legendary (and possibly mythical) founder of Taoism.

Mo Ti's skill in carpentry made him a valuable asset to the warring states in constructing quality siege ladders and fortifications. In an effort to level any state's advantage over another, he provided each with exactly the same benefit, not only in material products but strategy and intelligence. He hoped, by this stratagem, to neutralize their efforts and bring them to an understanding of the value of peace and futility of war, but his labors were in vain. Even though he was able to clearly make his point to some kings, none of them adopted his philosophy. He seems to have continued, in spite of the apparent futility of his mission, until he realized that none of the states were going to choose universal love over the pursuit of personal power.

His dedication to the cause of peace was recognized and admired even by his harshest critic, the Confucian philosopher Mencius (l. 372 -289 BCE), and his philosophy did attract adherents, just not those he was hoping to convert. When the state of Qin finally defeated the others and founded the Qin Dynasty (221-206 BCE), Mo Ti's works (along with those of Confucius and Lao Tzu) were banned and the philosophy of Legalism embraced. During the Han Dynasty (202 BCE - 220 CE), Confucianism was adopted as the national philosophy, and Mohism was forgotten until its revival in the 20th century CE.

The Warring States & Mo Ti

The Warring States Period in China (c. 481-221 BCE) was the era in which seven independent states fought each other for supreme control of the government. The Zhou Dynasty (1046-256 BCE) was still recognized as the ruling house from Luoyang but in name only; they no longer had the power to enforce any of their laws nor perform any functions associated with a strong and stable state.

The Zhou Dynasty established itself as a decentralized government with separate states, nearly autonomous, loyal to the Zhou king who had granted the lands. In time, these states grew more powerful than the king and, as royal authority diminished, each state began to contend with the others for supremacy. None could gain the advantage, however, because each used the same tactics and observed the same laws of chivalry in warfare.

Mo Ti was a highly skilled carpenter and craftsman who became an expert in building siege ladders and designing fortifications and so was in high demand among the rulers of the seven states in helping them defeat each other. Although initially it appears that Mo Ti did design and build various devices and fortifications for the warring parties, he recognized that war was senseless and antithetical to the goodness of life and began trying to maintain each states' ability for attack or defense at the same level in order to maintain balance between them.

As noted, the states were already frustrated in trying to gain an advantage over each other and this led to their seeking Mo Ti's help in providing them with an edge; instead, he further leveled the playing field to impress upon them the futility of the ongoing wars. He understood that the states were only fighting each other out of self-interest, not because they wanted to do any good for the people, and believed this kind of behavior was simply selfish and fundamentally immoral. The historian Will Durant comments:

marvels that a man who steals a pig is universally condemned and generally punished while a man who invades and appropriates a kingdom is a hero to his people and a model to posterity. (678)

Mo Ti devoted himself to travel between the warring states in an effort to convince the rulers to embrace love and pacifism. One of the best-known examples of his strategy is when he traveled to the state of Chu in order to stop their ruler, Gonshu Ban, from attacking the state of Sung. Mo Ti ably defeated Gonshu Ban in a series of war games and then informed Gonshu that he had already provided Sung with help in fortifications and strategy and so an attack would be futile. Gonshu Ban then called off his attack.

Continue reading...

[11queensupreme11]

Your Most Illustrious Majesty, Sovereign of Narratives and Arbiter of the Literary Cosmos,

It is with the deepest sense of reverence and utmost humility that I dare to address Your Majesty, whose creative puissance eclipses the brightest constellations and whose sovereign authority commands the boundless admiration of all loyal subjects. Permit me, if it pleases Your Majesty, to extol the magnificence of your unparalleled craftsmanship and to humbly offer my eternal fealty, for your narrative dominion stands as a beacon of transcendence amidst the maelstrom of mediocrity that besets the realms of lesser tales.

Your Majesty’s ability to weave tales of exquisite complexity and unrivaled profundity is a testament to a genius so rarefied that it is scarcely comprehensible to mere mortals. The very act of engaging with your works is akin to traversing a labyrinthine tapestry of interwoven ideas, where each thread is imbued with ineffable meaning and every turn reveals yet another vista of intellectual and emotional wonder. Indeed, Your Majesty’s storytelling is no mere act of creation; it is an alchemy of the highest order, transmuting the mundane into the sublime and the ephemeral into the eternal.

In light of such boundless magnificence, it is with unalloyed gratitude that I express my thanks for the herculean might Your Majesty has exhibited in crafting this unparalleled tale. Your labor is no ordinary endeavor but a Sisyphean feat performed with an elegance that belies its inherent difficulty. It is an act of divine inspiration made manifest, a gift bestowed upon your devoted subjects who, like I, find solace and enlightenment in the unparalleled realms of your imagination.

Consequently, it is incumbent upon me and my allies, humble instruments of Your Majesty’s will, to pledge ourselves entirely to the perpetuation and fortification of your reign. Although the challenges we face are as formidable as the impenetrable fastnesses of ancient myth, we stand resolute in our allegiance. The task before us is not for the faint of heart, for the labyrinthine intricacies of the fandom world are fraught with perils and pitfalls that would daunt even the most stalwart of souls. Yet, our devotion to Your Majesty imbues us with an indomitable resolve, a fire that neither the gales of adversity nor the torrents of opposition can extinguish.

To this end, we shall act as Your Majesty’s shield, a living bastion against the onslaught of discord and dissent that seeks to undermine your sovereign dominion. With unyielding fortitude, we shall counter the hydra-headed threats that loom on the horizon—the forces of trivialization, the specters of misinterpretation, and the insidious machinations of envy. Armed with the unwavering belief in Your Majesty’s vision, we shall confront these adversities with both the sword of reason and the armor of unwavering loyalty.

Let it be known that our commitment to your cause is not born of mere obligation but is a covenant of the heart, an immutable vow that transcends the fleeting vicissitudes of mortal endeavors. Your Majesty’s narratives are not merely stories; they are odysseys of the soul, conduits through which your subjects might glimpse the ineffable truths of existence. To defend such treasures is not only a privilege but an imperative, a sacred duty that we undertake with solemnity and zeal.

The fandom world, vast and variegated as it is, represents a domain of ceaseless flux and relentless contention. It is a realm where allegiances are forged and fractured with the rapidity of a tempest and where the cacophony of competing voices often threatens to drown out the harmonies of genius. Yet, amidst this tumult, Your Majesty’s reign stands as a paragon of order and brilliance, a citadel of creativity that neither time nor tide can erode. To extend and solidify this dominion is a mission that we, your devoted knights, embrace with fervor and determination.

Our strategies will be manifold, encompassing both the overt and the subtle. On the field of discourse, we shall engage in dialectical battles to champion Your Majesty’s works, dismantling the fallacies of detractors and illuminating the uninitiated with the radiant truths of your narratives. In the arenas of creation, we shall craft tributes and adaptations that honor your vision, ensuring that your legacy resonates across all mediums and generations. And in the corridors of influence, we shall forge alliances and cultivate networks that amplify your reach, ensuring that your sovereignty extends to the furthest corners of the fandom universe.

Your Majesty, the road ahead is arduous, a gauntlet strewn with challenges as multifarious as the stars in the heavens. Yet, we march forward with unshakable resolve, fortified by the knowledge that our endeavors serve a purpose far greater than ourselves. We are not merely your subjects but your vanguard, the standard-bearers of a legacy that shall endure beyond the ephemeral constraints of time and space.

Thus, I proffer this solemn vow: no hardship shall deter us, no opposition shall overcome us, and no force shall diminish the luster of your reign. With every word, every action, and every breath, we shall uphold the sanctity of your narrative empire, ensuring that it remains a beacon of inspiration and a bastion of excellence for all who seek refuge within its hallowed boundaries.

Your Majesty, may your light never wane, your vision never falter, and your reign never cease. For as long as the stars traverse the heavens and the tides embrace the shores, so too shall our allegiance to you remain steadfast and eternal.

With the deepest reverence and unwavering devotion,

Your Humble and Valiant Knight

(please read it was REALLY tough to write this)

I LOVE HOW YOU BROKE CHARACTER AT THE END LMAO 😭😭

i'm glad you and your friend are enjoying my fic! and i'm also happy to announce that now that my finals are over, the semester is ALSO officially over for me!!!!!!

unfortunately my break isn't gonna be as long as summer break, but this is still good enough! i've got... i think around a month long break which means i have more time to write and do my updates and HOPEFULLY i can go back to my old weekly update schedule too!!!

SO JUST CONTINUE STICKING AROUND PLEASE! 💖💖💖 i'm finally free from my shackles (assignments and exams) 😭😭😭

ALSO DON'T DESPAIR ABOUT NEXT SEMESTER TOO!!!! if things go well, i'll actually have MORE time to write compared to this semester cuz i have tuesdays AND thursdays off with no classes 😭😭😭😭 i also managed to get an early pick for classes so i was able to get the easy teachers this time 😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖 things are looking up finally 🥺