#artillery drills

[trendynewsnow]

NATO Conducts Large-Scale Artillery Drills in Finland Following Membership

NATO Troops Conduct Large-Scale Artillery Drills in Finland In a significant development following Finland’s recent accession to NATO, several thousand troops participated in extensive artillery exercises in the Finnish Arctic. This marked the first time such a large-scale military operation occurred since the country became a member of the military alliance. More than 3,600 soldiers and…

[panstarry]

2023's hourlies ⏰ last year's

[perlelune]

Boadicea | Feyd-Rautha

You took the lives of his men. It's only fair to the na-Baron to have yours in return.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fedaykin! Reader, Fremen Reader, Forced Submission, Dacryphilia, Collars, Mouth Gag, Cannibalism, Knives, Death Fetish, Exhibitionism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Elation bursts through your chest as the dying gurgle of yet another Harkonnen soldier fills your ears. You grow even more satisfied when his body hits the ground. Another screaming bald-headed demon lunges at you. Fierce blows are exchanged. You wince as he nicks you in the flank.

The desperation to win explodes through your veins. You slam your head into his, disorienting him long enough to drive your crysknife right through his gut. Even as he falls across the sand, blood spilling from his gaping mouth, you don’t stop. Unrelenting, you keep stabbing him, fury and vengeance driving your blade. With each strike, more of his dark blood splatters over your face, adding to his slain comrades’.

A war cry rips from your throat when he stops moving. 

You rise on quaking feet, the exhaustion of hours of fending off the never-ending swarm of Harkonnen warriors crashing over you at once.

Your gaze swings across the battlefield. Horror surges within you.

It’s a slaughter. Fellow Fedaykin are burning right before your eyes. The Harkonnen artilleries rained death upon the Fremen troops the likes of which you’ve never seen before. The shock of sheer helplessness drills a gaping hole inside your chest. 

Cowards, you muse bitterly. Of course they will not face you on the ground. It is well-known one Fedaykin is worth a dozen Harkonnen soldiers. None in the known universe fight more ferociously than the Fremen. 

So they resorted to unleash heavy weapons from the sky. The sweltering Arrakis weather did the rest. 

You whirl to your little brother. Just like you, he’s covered in grime, dirt and the putrid ichor that serves as blood to the Harkonnens.

“Run, Kaleb, hide!” you yell in Chakobsa, urgency bleeding in your tone. 

You are lost. So is the rest of the Fedaykin army. But if your brother leaves now, he can use his hooks to call a maker and hitch a ride to safety.

A frown carves your little brother’s brow. “I can’t leave you,” he says.

You grip his shoulders.

“You have to. Get supplies at the village and go south with the others. Do you hear me?”

When he doesn’t reply, staring at you mouth agape, you jostle his slender frame.

“Do you hear me?” you repeat, louder this time.

He gives a shaky nod. “Yes!” 

You remove the cord around your neck to place it around your brother’s instead.

A look of terror distorts his features.

“No, I can’t take your water rings,” he says, his voice trembling.

Your forehead presses against his.

“You must.”

A single errant tear spills down his cheek and you swipe it with your thumb, pressing it between his lips so it reenters his body.

“Do not waste your moisture. Now go.”

Reluctantly, you brother scampers away. A surge of relief fills you as you watch him stand before a dune slope in the distance and plant his thumper into the sand. The drumming begins. The ground starts rumbling some minutes later to signal the arrival of a worm. You dive inside a cave, taking cover as a wave of rising sand crests above the horizon. The deafening familiar hissing of Shai-Hulud surrounds you.

You close your eyes and suck in a wide breath, soothing yourself with a common Fremen saying. 

The Uncleansed who have seen a crysknife may not leave Dune alive.

The screams of Harkonnen soldiers, unprepared for the sudden arrival of a sandworm, swell inside your ears as you settle in your hiding spot.

When the uproar dies, you ponder returning to the battlefield. However, whispers in the cave have you freeze in the rocky dint concealing your presence. 

You lean forward to steal a peek. Your heart bounces. 

Men in full Harkonnen livery stand beneath the vaulted ceiling of the cave.

Your eyes widen as you hear them idly discuss their plans to purge the remainder of the Fremen forces in the south. 

Your focus sharpens. You slow your breaths and dull your quickening heartbeats.

A wild, insane idea takes shape in your head.

If you could stay hidden long enough. Perhaps you could return to Sietch Tabr. Report back to Muad’ Dib. Warn them of the Harkonnens’ plan.

A word keeps pouring from the men’s lips, one whose meaning evades you.

Na-Baron.

Confusion knits your brow. 

As you continue trying to commit the conversation to memory, the chatter abruptly dies.

You go still, your mind buzzing.

The quiet deepens. Only the muffled sounds of the desert remain.

The blunt features of an Harkonnen warrior crowd your sight.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

Before you can hatch an escape plan, you’re roughly dislodged from your hiding spot. 

You struggle against the arms that hold you, whirling to shove your crysknife into the man’s throat. He grabs his throat, choking on his own blood before his body finds the ground with a loud thud. 

More men lunge themselves at you.

You cut down five more Harkonnen soldiers before a swarm of them surrounds you, punching and kicking you until you tumble to the ground. You cough out a trickle of blood onto the ground.

After every hit, the men attempt to interrogate you. 

“Are there any more hiding like you?”

“Where are the others?”

Every inquiry thrown at you encounters a stubborn wall of silence. You will never betray the other Fremen. Though the prospect doesn’t thrill you, you’d much rather die. In fact, you’ve already embraced your inevitable fate. This is where your story ends.

You console yourself with one fact. 

That at least you won’t leave this world a traitor.

It takes three men to restrain you long enough to tie you up. You only let go of your crysknife when one of the bald-headed warriors stomps over your hand with his boot, snapping your wrist bone and forcing your palm open. An ear-splitting scream rips from your throat. Still, you do not cry, refusing to waste your body moisture for these monsters.

You’re forced on your knees, hogtied while your broken wrist throbs against your back. The corpses of the men you slaughtered are dragged away.

Voices from outside grow louder as you hear the echo of steps fastly approaching. 

“There is only one spy left behind. We couldn’t find the others,” one of the men says. 

A gravelly voice, like the scraping of a rock against a hard surface, lands in your ears. 

“They have gone south to hide in the storms,” it says.

Your pulse escalates, your gaze lifting slowly. There is something different about the newcomer. He’s tall, athletic, with delicate, aristocratic features that are unusual amongst the Harkonnen. An aura of authority hangs around him, every soldier’s stance stiffening as he enters the cave.

He must be the one in charge, you realize.

Someone hands him your crysknife. A tide of anger mounts within you at the sight. If you were free, you’d plunge it in his neck. 

He gauges the blade attentively, his fingertips caressing the bloodied edge.

“Send this message to my uncle,” the newcomer says. “The North is tamed and secured. Harvest spice at will.”

“Yes, na-Baron,” a man near him replies before taking his leave.

Na-Baron. You frown. So it is him. 

He takes sluggish, lithe steps towards you, the corner of his lips twisting upwards.

Your muscles coil, cold tendrils of dread clutching your insides. 

Even on the battlefield, as your life hung in the balance, you didn’t feel this creeping sense of imminent danger. 

The primal, gut-deep inkling that you should run…and never look back. 

“You killed six of my men with a single blade,” he says, a mix of surprise and admiration laced in his raspy baritone. 

“She won’t talk,” the man behind him says. “We even broke her hand but she still won’t say a word.”

He cocks his head, his tone bone-chilling as he casually states, “Tell her that’s fine. I already know everything I need to know.” A man near him hands him a flame thrower. You take a deep breath. You’ve witnessed Harkonnen soldiers use them to set ablaze corpses and catch runaway Fremen, burning them alive. There isn’t a hint of emotion  in the na-Baron’s voice as he points the flame thrower at you. “Only pleasure remains.”

You lift your chin. If death you must meet, you will do it with dignity.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” you reply calmly, a wide smile spreading onto your lips. 

The na-Baron’s eyes bulge and narrow, his hands dropping.

He strides forward.

“What did you just say?”

“Just get on with it, will you?” You unleash a frustrated sigh. Shouldn’t you be a charred heap of smoking flesh and bones already? What is this na-Baron wasting time for? You are resigned to it now, having used the time before to accept your fate. “I’m eager to meet my ancestors and be freed of your foul Harkonnen stench,” you taunt, hoping your insolent tongue will hasten things along. 

You wait and wait, your defiant gaze never wavering. 

But the deathly flames that should lick the flesh clean off your bones never come.

Instead, the na-Baron tosses the flame thrower on the ground and barks an order to one of his subordinates.

“Take her back to my chambers in our base.”

The man casts you a disdainful glare.

“But na-Baron. That woman is danger-” A swift slash across the man’s throat from the na-Baron’s blade has the man choking on his words. Blood fills his mouth, his body twitching as it sprawls across the ground. 

He doesn’t spare the dying man another glance, his head slanting.

He leers at you, exerting no effort to disguise the lewd intent etched in his dark gaze. 

“And make sure to tell my darlings she’s not for them to have…but for me to feast upon later.”

Fear floods your veins. You readied yourself for death, not for…whatever the Harkonnen warrior has in store for you. 

“Yes, na-Baron.”

You’re hauled off the floor. When you refuse to move, one of the Harkonnen soldiers twists your broken limb to get you to lurch forward. You clench your teeth and blink back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You will not cry. You will not give them the satisfaction.

Tears are sacred. They are to honor the dead and nothing else.

Before you’re carried away, the na-Baron approaches you and frames your jaw.

“I hear Fremen do not cry, never squander their water under any circumstance. I wonder…” A sadistic smile unfurls on his pale lips, baring a glimpse of inky black teeth beneath. His thumb sweeps across your tightly pressed lips. “What will it take for you to shed a tear for me, pet?”

You shiver in the ropes as you watch the three Harkonnen women tear bloody ribbons in the male Fedaykin’s flesh with their claw-sharp black nails. The delighted purrs they emit while feasting on human flesh bounce off the black, sterile walls of the palatial chambers.

Your gaze is wide, horrified.

You’ve seen death. You’ve seen violence. But you’ve never laid eyes on such a ghoulish spectacle before. The na-Baron’s cannibalistic mates picking the meat off the man’s bones and digging their hands inside his gut. As if he were nothing but a heap of fresh meat to sate their hunger. 

You want to peel your gaze away… but you can’t. 

You’re paralyzed.

His lifeless blue eyes, a sinister mirror of your own due to the spice melange, send prickles through your spine. 

This could have easily been you. And it would have been…weren’t it for the na-Baron’s whim changing course as swiftly as a weather vane. Just like the apparel must yield to the fickle will of the winds, you must surrender to his.

When the women are done, one of them flashes you a broad smile. Shredded pieces of organs stick to her teeth and blood covers the bottom of her face, dripping down her chin.

A shudder ripples through your spine.

Their inky, whiteless stares settle on you. They discard the mangled corpse and inch closer to you. You retreat against the wall, fear gripping your throat. Ravenous expressions light up their pretty faces. 

You swallow through your aching, parched throat. Are you next? Will they do to you what they did to that poor man? 

They whisper in Harkonnen. The confusion about the words pouring from their tongues stokes the terror consuming you. 

Then they laugh. Strident, bloodcurdling, wicked laughs. You remain still, willing your heart not to beat so loudly. 

Dying on the battlefield is one thing. Being eaten alive is another, wildly different thing. The kind of needlessly cruel death you never envisioned for yourself. 

Despite the distress tossing your senses into chaos, you force yourself not to cry. No tears, you remind yourself. Not for them. Never for them.

One of them snaps her teeth in your face. Your lip quivers as blood drains from your head. Your reaction draws another round of laughter from them.

They tease you for a while, their threats disturbingly clear despite not understanding a lick of their coarse native tongue.

It’s in their hunched, predatory stance, the hunger twisting their pretty features. They could pounce on you at any time, rip you to shreds and you’d be powerless to stop them.

Their vicious taunting is still in progress when the na-Baron storms into his chambers. His arrival does nothing to alleviate your worries. 

A fond smile ghosts over his lips as he soaks the scene before him.

“I see you’ve met my darlings.” The women coo as he approaches them. He lovingly cradles each of their faces, planting deep, passionate kisses on their lips. The sickening display by your fellow Fedaykin’s slain form a few feet away makes your stomach wrench. “Darlings, meet my new pet.”

“I’m not a pet,” you snarl.

The women hiss at you in concert, sounding like snakes ready to strike. You flinch backwards. 

He cocks his head. 

“You are whatever I say you are.” He glides towards you slowly. Once he’s in front of you, he taps the booted tip of his foot into your bruised knee. His gravelly baritone scratches along your eardrums. “Kiss my feet. I’m your master now.”

You squint at him. 

“Fuck you.”

His plump mouth quirks lopsidedly. He then kicks you in the gut without ceremony. The searing pain knocks the breath from your lungs. You keel over, groaning against the tiles. 

He hunkers down and grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging your head backwards. The sting in your scalp has you blink back tears before they can spill. 

“In time, pretty little pet.”

Steps echo from afar. A man enters the room. The na-Baron’s authoritative timbre whips across the stiff, sweltering air of the room.  

“Did you bring what I asked?”

“Yes, na-Baron,” the man replies swiftly. From the corner of your sight, you get a glimpse of metal. Panic sings inside your veins.

As your pulse soars, you’re shocked when the ropes around your frame come loose through a few nimble slashes of a knife. 

You jump to your feet.

Your shocked gaze locks with his. Amusement decorates his features. 

Layer after layer, he removes pieces of his armor. Until his carved alabaster, muscles are exposed to you, leaving him in little more than a thin strip of fabric hanging precariously over his tapered waist. 

A second long, curved blade is tossed at your feet.

Your eyes bounce from the weapon to him. Utter confusion wars with fright within you. 

When the guards begin to draw their weapons, he barks at them, “Don’t.” They place their weapons back in their sheaths. He opens his arms, the blade in his hand glinting in the dull light of the room. “Go on. This is your chance.”

You gawk at him. Is he truly baiting you to attack him? Does his life mean nothing to him? Is he a madman?

Your brows crumple. With every second, your confusion grows. 

He approaches you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins. You rush to pick up the knife with your unbroken hand and point it at him. 

There isn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes as he inches closer, the blade grazing his bulging pec.

“Do it,” he challenges, a clear taunt in his haughty inflection.

Your mouth trembles. What do you stand to lose? You will never see Sietch Tabr or your brother again. You’re a war prisoner. You might as well be dead. You should be dead. In another life, you would already be.

You suck in a sharp breath. You move as quickly as your feet and dwindling strength allow. He matches each of your brutal, clumsy blows. You go for his head and he dodges with ease, grabbing your broken wrist, causing you to stumble. Your breath falters, throbbing pain exploding in your limb. Grinding your teeth, you whirl and deal another series of strikes. He parries each of them, a delighted expression etched on his slender features. Anger glows within you. He’s enjoying this. While you’re in agony, he finds pleasure in every brush with death.

You graze his cheek, leaving a long cut across his flesh. A demented, black grin breaks out on his face. The fight continues for a few more minutes, the clash of metal and his feral roars swelling in the room. 

It ends with him tackling you to the ground as he slams your wrists besides your head. The knife slips out of your grasp. You hold your breath, helplessness filling you as his muscular frame drapes over yours.

His lips skim against your temple. 

“You fought well, sweet pet. Better than most,” he whispers. You shudder when his cool tongue drags over your cheek. “But it’s time I claim my prize.”

Ice ripples through your blood. You struggle beneath him as he rips your stillsuit from your body. Every effort to fight against him is for naught. Soon, your bruised and battered form is completely bare to him. 

He drinks you in as your chest lifts and sags, lust sparkling in his dark gaze. He wrestles a collar around your neck and a ring-shaped gag on your mouth. The contraption forcing your lips apart makes you feel even more trapped than before. He tugs off the cloth covering him, revealing his massive erection, the pale tip already glistening with his arousal.

He hoists you up until you’re on your knees. His fist tangles in your hair, wrenching your neck backwards. Muffled moans of protest fly from your throat.

“I never wondered what a desert rat’s mouth felt like before. But now…” He pumps himself, his tongue darting out to sweep over his bottom lip. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He slips his tip between your lips, nudging you closer when you try to turn your head. That mere contact has him purring in delight. You push against his thighs, desperation swelling as your palms meet unflinching bands of thick, corded muscles. Even the tip of him feels like too much, the corners of your mouth bursting at the pressure. You groan, completely helpless as he pushes more of himself in your mouth. 

He cradles your face, his grip firmer than before, and plants his feet in the ground. You gag on his length as he finds the back of your throat, the salty taste of his skin filling your mouth. Shame wells up inside you. Tears burn the back of your eyes as you choke on his size. 

Nearby, the cannibalistic women laugh at your torment, sharing words in Harkonnen you don’t understand. 

The na-Baron snickers, making you jolt as he shoves inside you to the hilt. The corners of your mouth ache, both from the device and his thick girth. 

“Yes. She does take me gloriously, doesn’t she?" He smirks. "Like a true warrior.”

Hatred burns in your eyes as you glare up at him. He seems to bask in the sight, moaning in pleasure as he starts thrusting inside your mouth. 

You’re left with no choice but to take his merciless assault. His eyes roll back as he bruises your throat and steals your breath. Stilted whimpers roll off your tongue.

Your eyes sting. You try your hardest to swallow every tear and sob, but as time goes on…your pride crumbles. In its stead, only despair remains. 

Tears swell in your eyes and make a slow descent down your cheeks. 

“Ah, there it is,” he rasps, collecting the droplets with his thumbs. 

As he brings one to his tongue, humming at the taste, you feel him grow harder on your tongue. 

The pit of your stomach sizzles. With humiliation. With defeat. 

Throaty moans pour from his chest, his head tossing back as he pounds harder into your mouth. 

Your body goes limp, his hands the only thing keeping you on your knees. Your vision blurs as you become nothing but a toy for the na-Baron, a vessel for his brutality. A tool to satisfy his basest needs.

“Perhaps, we shall keep that one. What do you think, darlings?” The women’s excited squeals land in your ears. He caresses your damp cheeks. “And if she ever bores us, well…” He licks his lips, a wide grin unfanning on his face. “We’ll make sure no part of her goes to waste.”

[error-notifs]

LIST OF TERRIBLE EUPHEMISMS I HAVE BEEN BLASTED WITH

Penis

dingaling

peepee

dingus

dongus

shaft

weewee

a 'third leg'

meat stick

squirming meat

'his leaping salmon'

'the crown to his jewels'

Fleshy cigar

Pork Whistle

an utterly destroyed tube of flesh

purple pneumatic drill

an interesting specimen

beige sledgehammer

meaty windmill

shrinky dink

HIS MISTER CUDDLES.

Anal Artillery

Vagina miner.

shlong

cum sword

taco warmer.

vomit rod.

mutton dagger

a squirming shaft

womb broom

taco tickling toy

fully erect rod

clam hammer

Gash. Mallet.

Did you know that world-renowned writer Stephen King once got hit by a car? Just something to consider

deformed tube that was left of his manhood

His big, thick sludge pump

Ravine wrecker

Thrill drill

all that was left was a bit of raw soaked meat

His Old Man Drizzle

Ooze injector

Her slime filled lollipop

Musky man candy

His piss pump

his cure for her pestulince

"Their joy knob"

His slit slamming freight train

Blood sausage.

Gut stick.

Bone horn.

the pulsating slug salter

his jumping jingler

his shiny gold coin

Her squinty blow-pop.

his nope rope

magical girl wand

Vagina

throbbing jazz café

gaping cavern

her wishing well

her animal trap

Unsure

Crotch cannon

Look at my fucking art or so help me god @magical-art-blog

[lets-try-some-writing]

Has anyone really thought about the fact that Bumblebee and Smokescreen pretty much grew up during war? I am sure people have, but have yall really THOUGHT about how that must have fragged them up in the head? It hit me earlier today, but I can imagine that there are just a ton of little things these two do that made perfect sense during the war, but now that the war is over, look really odd.

Bumblebee I imagine was raised to be very conservative with energon use. It was a treasured resource and there was no room for him to be playing around with it meaninglessly. I can see him getting angry at his team, yelling at them about ridiculous energon use as though he were still on the front lines trying to save as much as possible in case of an attack. Smokescreen I think would have been trained to function on minimal amounts of recharge to the point of it being scary for normal bots now that the war is over. Him just wandering around on night patrol, his gaze on the horizon looking for the tell tale signs of seekers or artillery strikes. I bet it freaks Bee's team out a lot.

Also Bumblebee and Smokescreen getting Bee's team playing games that they think are normal and fun, but are NOT in any way either of those. Something like tag but if you get caught you are electrocuted in order to teach you to keep moving. Games where instead of a ball, actual weapons are involved in order to improve reaction time. Random bombing drills made "fun" by songs and marching. Being taught to defuse explosives while working to the equivalent of Cybertronian kahoot music. Not to mention the bedtime stories and legends these poor sparks were told. I 100% believe that Megatron and the Cons were the boogiemen of their early lives.

So many things they see as normal, such as cleaning a weapon as a soothing action instead of, I don't know, going on a walk. Checking the security feed as their version of a break. Doing drills in the morning rather than having any fuel since again, fuel is precious.

So much crap that they think is normal but slowly realize is not and is just their wartime trauma.

I think I will write a fic about it to be honest.

[charnelhouse]

Now I'm thinking about Ghost being super tender while he caresses Red's stretch marks from the pregnancy. He's marveling at scars that happened as a result of making life, not taking it away.

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Mention of smut. Syrupy fluff.

It’s early, and neither of them has slept much. Simon can recall waking at 3 am for drills and never complaining. He’d endured it, and now he can barely keep his eyes open. He glances behind him where their milk-drunk daughter dozes, snug between their pillows. Their son is dead asleep at the foot of the bed; lips parted as his chubby arms inexplicably clasp an avocado against his chest.

He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. It had been a long fuckin’ night, and in the raw slip of morning, a part of him misses the field. The dawn aches like a bruise. He should start the coffee but finds himself drawn to the bathroom.

He leans against the doorway and watches Red inspecting herself in the mirror. She’s in panties and nothing else. Her hands slip up her belly to grip her breasts. She frowns.

“You better not be thinkin’ what I think you are.”

She rolls her eyes, squeezing the tender flesh of her breast. “They’re ruined.”

He snorts before sauntering toward her, slipping behind until his chest is glued to her spine. She fits him faultlessly. Sometimes he enjoys wrapping his arms around her, forcing her head under his chin as if he could swallow her entirely. Keep her safe. Keep their children safe. 

His hands slide up her feverish skin, encasing her own. He squeezes her breasts, heavy with milk and no doubt sensitive. She sighs, her ass rocking against him. He lowers his head, burying his nose into the side of her neck as his eyes find hers in the mirror. 

It’s strange to think back to the time when she’d never seen his bare face. She’d slept with him before knowing what he looked like—nestled in the dark. The two of them sharing secrets. They’d reeked of blood, artillery smoke, iodine, sweat, and now it’s formula, spit-up, and baby powder.

“I know you’re not speaking poorly about these beauties,” he admonishes.

She laughs, and exhaustion is threaded through it. “I’m all scarred up.”

He stares at her body in the mirror hungrily. His eyes dart from the puckered flesh of old bullet wounds in her shoulder and lower abdomen. A scar on her thigh, a thousand other tiny ones splashed across her skin. They match his and he presses his lips to her ear. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

She grimaces as she draws a fingertip over the stretch marks slashing her belly. “It’ll never be the same.”

He clicks his tongue before gripping her hips and spinning her around. He forces her against the counter, and she lifts an eyebrow. “What are you-”

He goes to his knees, joints popping because he’s damn old, but he still knows what to do. He clasps her waist and kisses the stripes of discolored flesh. He peppers his lips across her stomach, and she inhales sharply, fingers curling into his hair and holding tight. 

“Simon,” she sighs in that velvet, silky way she has when she’s wet. He blows cool air above the band of her underwear, his hands scraping down her thighs. 

He turns his head, resting his face against her belly as she cradles it. She strokes his cheekbones, the tiny scars that litter his skin. “You’re such a fucking softie, Riley.”

He grins. “As much as Johnny?”

“More.” She sniffs. “You’re too good.” 

He lifts his head and holds her gaze. Her palms are still warm on his cheeks, her lashes damp and clumping together. “Did I make you cry?”

She scowls. “Don’t be smug.”

The corner of his lips quirk. “I’m not.”

“Right there,” she taps his mouth. “That’s your smug look.”

“Was tryin’ to make you feel better, duchess.”

“You did,” she hunches over to kiss him. It’s tender and warm, and her tongue lazily drags against the roof of his mouth. His cock twitches. ���I’ll suck you off just for that,” she murmurs against his teeth.

“Nah,” he says, pushing her back and standing suddenly. He grips her by the hips, lifting her before dropping her on the counter. He curls his thumbs under her panties and wrenches them off. 

She yelps before covering her mouth with her hand. “Simon - the kids-”

“Are asleep, Red,” He smirks as he inches closer to her cunt. It’s already visibly soaked in the pink dawn that filters through the tiny bathroom window. He nuzzles her inner thigh before gliding a finger through the hot slit of her pussy. Her hips buck. “Fuck, duchess, you smell good. I’d have you for breakfast every bloody mornin’.”

She giggles as he hitches her knee over his shoulder before beginning to lap at her.  “Your tongue is - your tongue is so -” She hisses as her head falls back against the mirror. 

“Yeah?” he husks, the muscles in his back flexing as her nails dig into the flesh. “Tell me how good it is. What does my beautiful girl need?”

[silaslich]

Choices have consequences

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!captain!reader

Wc - 2.8k

Summary - you’re tasked with taking your team to Germany to assist tf141, all goes well until Ghost takes a bullet.

No CWs

AN - this was wholly written for my own entertainment just so I could interject my ocs somewhere with no context but hey why not post it for the fun of it :)

Stories did little to compare to the haunting image of the man in the mask.

The Ghost.

A strong soldier with a good head on his shoulders. Perfectly curated for his field; no strings attached, no loose ends. No one waiting for him, no one that would seek him out if he were to disappear. Not one single person who would be notified of his death when that dark day came.

Ghost had cut himself away from any semblance of a normal life he had left. He took the choice out of Simon’s hands and forced it regardless, hiding his truth and burying it away. Files upon redacted files lay piled up. His name. His face. His home. His family. All buried deep down in the archives, tucked away in a dark corner where no one would see them. Where no one would know to look.

He was an anomaly. A complete stranger to these men. He couldn’t relate to them, couldn’t join in with idle conversations between deployment or while on transports. Talking about future plans; wives, kids, holidays spent around a stained oak table with chairs pulled up to each corner - filled to the brim with family and friends and pets.

He would just keep his eyes low. Listening carefully but mind somewhere else completely - disassociated. Displaced from his surroundings.

You met him years ago in Germany. Barely two words spoken between you before you were split, sent your opposite ways to divide and conquer.

Task force 141 wasn’t foreign to you, John Price had been an acquaintance of yours for some time now, conversations had in passing like ships across seas, opposing squadrons touching down onto the tarmac of the same holding barracks or tight-knit rendezvous at the higher up facilities. It came with the territory of being a Captain, Price had is men and you had yours. He’d remarked that you were young considering your rank.

“I’m older then I look, Captain” you’d said. You weren’t about to tell him how old you really were, that you were perhaps closer to his age then he thought, you’d let that conversation happen another time.

Germany had been a chance encounter. A tipping point in an otherwise routine mission; a drug ring shipping through exports across Europe, a rat had let slip of armour deals happening too, heavy duty artillery that was more then just black market trade. Warfare grade shit. By some chance, yourself and your force had been available to assist, already running through that particular area of Europe for another lead you had been following. It had come up short. After just a short phone call you were dropped by helicopter onto the outskirts of Görlitz, a rural town that would provide a great meeting point that would be more than inconspicuous. An old hay barn had been the check point. It’s decaying wood panels all chipped and splintered and rotten from the damp. The roof was half con-caved and the landscape was dull and horse sick. Grazed down right to the clay.

You and your team kept a low profile, walking along the tree lines with weapons drawn, rifles held to your chests as you scanned your surroundings. Old habits died hard. It would take some drilling out of you for you to change your ways, always on the look out, always watching and waiting for the jump.

The select few men you had brought with you were some of your finest; the big Austrian lieutenant König, Toni (Norvin) Espin the scouser sergeant, Craig (Jank) Conners the Londoner and Felix (Trap) Valenski the basket-case Canadian.

It was a team you’d hand picked yourself, comparable to TF141 in the sense that each of you came from somewhere else, some other unit or faculty, bought together by pure chance or pure luck. Freedom fighters for the greater good. Dirty job. Clean world. Clean slate for the rest of humanity to crack on with. Your hands filthy and stained, not washing off in the sink, stained deep down to the bone, bleached into your skin.

Your fist rapped against the wooden door, barely holding on at the hinges. You kept your eyes to the door, only glancing over to your men to gesture to your own eyes with two fingers, then pointing them out into the landscape, signalling for them to keep a look out. Price met you at the door, peeking through a splintering crack.

He ushered you all in with a “good to see you made it lads”.

There was a small woodworking table propped in the middle of the barn with a small flash light placed atop. A make shift desk. Littered with maps and coordinate sheets, messy scribbles dashed across and certain areas circled. It looked like they’d been here for hours. Stewing away. Plotting.

The five of you filed in, spreading out across the back portion of the barn, staying aback, not treading on the toes of the 141. You were here to assist, not to overtake. You took a step toward Price.

“So tell me Captain” you began, shifting your rifle to lay across your chest as it sat propped by its strap, “what do you need of us?”

Your eyes scanned the room, finally taking in the the rest of his force. That’s when you saw him, the Ghost, a burly masked lad with a hulking stature and dangerous air, he didn’t unsettle you in the slightest but you could see why someone on the receiving end of his barrel might think otherwise. He was set off away in the darkness, arms folded and one foot propped across his other leg as he leaned against a wooden bannister frame. To his left was a shorter man, dark hair shaved into a tasteless mohawk, a prominent scar across his chin and a slanting smile painted across his face, he had a kind eye about him, you learnt his name was Soap. Hovering close to Price was the last to be introduced, his name was Gaz, a handsome young chap with slight facial hair and shades pushed up to sit atop his head.

“He’s a big lad ain’t he” Soap chuckled, nodding his head toward your lieutenant. König said nothing in retort. You raised a brow and looked across at the Austrian, his mask covering any emotion he could possibly be showing, you turned back towards the Scotsman.

“Glad to see your eyes work well sergeant” you smiled, nodding your head, he only laughed in return. Gaz laughed too. Price cleared his throat.

“I’ll get straight to it Cap” he said, beckoning you with a finger to step even closer to his makeshift table, you rounded the wooden desk, eyes scanning quickly over the scribbled plans and route markers, committing them to memory.

“I’d like you to form our defence, cover our arses as we infiltrate” you went over the logistics quickly in your head. You kissed your teeth in thought.

“Swap a soldier for König” you said, eyeing up Prices’ boys to see who’d best fit. Price looked at you and raised a brow.

“König would be better utilised as a battering ram of sorts, better close up on the offence rather then at long distance. He can get you in and better still he can cover you from there on out” you traced your gloved finger down over the map, following the route in which Price planned to take.

He grunted in the back of his throat, acknowledging the information you’d gifted.

“Right. I’ll swap your big fella for Ghost, he can stick with you lot at long range and cover our backs incase it goes south” he sounded pleased with his plan and you nodded in response, you glanced over at Ghost, seeing he hadn’t moved even an inch since you and your team had arrived. It’s like he really was just that -

a Ghost.

You jumped the drug ring that night. Just as planned; Price took König as his defence, followed by Soap and Gaz. They powered their way through the rings holding facility that was hunkered up on a canal channel, up stream and out of sight. They worked quick and they got the job done, with the assistance of yourself and your boys securing the perimeter and having Ghost as your extra.

Ghost hadn’t said more than a few words; despite the odd movement suggestion or offer of instruction to your men, he kept his mouth shut. You’d worked with hundreds of soldiers in your time, helped train some of the best of them, you’d seen personality types like his before - more brain and brawn then most, with that added third element of reservation. He thought of each word carefully, only gave away what he needed to, and in return you didn’t pry.

By the time Price was heading back with the rest of his crew, yourself and the others started to shift too, readying yourselves to meet them half way. They aren’t too far, just down a ravine heading towards the channels that would have carried the drug rings cargo. Norvin pipes up.

“Where after this Cap? Somewhere sunny?” He smirks when he speaks and you brush him off with a roll of your eyes.

Wishful thinkin’ Norv” you retort, falling into step beside Ghost who happens to be the closest. Trap is the next to start.

Put in for somewhere properly cold, this soggy shit doesn’t count” the lanky Canadian gestures around with both hands dramatically, the motion forces you to follow his eyes.

It certainly is just a soggy and bogged up blanket of rain and sleet out here this time of year, the smell of the earthy soil and kicked up leaves fresh in your nostrils.

As you all trudged further down the brow of the steep hill you saw the rest of the boys come into view, more specifically, you saw König first. That big bastard was hard to miss, a racing thought sprung to mind, it wouldn’t be hard for the enemy to hit him.

It was slippery and muddy. Caked to your boots and splashing up to your calves, it took some time to progress and cover the land, mainly because Jank took a nasty spill and instead of helping everybody just laughed - even Ghost cracked. You supposed it was funny, there’s nothing that can bring a group of soldiers closer then laughing at the expense of one of their own men. Jank didn’t find it particularly funny, smothered in mud right up to his eyeballs, you eventually caught yourself and offered him a hand up. Much to your surprise, he didn’t pull you down into the dirt with him, given his track record - you wouldn’t have put it passed him.

As yourself and your team head down the hill, you see as Price and his boys are coming up, honourable members of each being Ghost and König of course. The captain gets closer and closer, raises his hand to wave you down when you hear and feel the air whip around you.

It’s like lightening striking. One second you’re standing up right walking beside Ghost, and the next you’re crushed beneath the entirety of his weight.

It’s hard to tell if the razor sharp pain in your chest is from the impact or from Ghost crushing your ribcage, your voice dies in your chest when you cry out in pain, but it falls to complete silence when you manage to pin your eyes between your chest and Ghosts.

Because there’s nothing but blood.

-

It’s a hard place to be. On the wrong side of the door, from the outside looking in.

Guilt is a weight you carry well. It’s something you’ve had to come to terms with, make a friend out of, because she’s a headstrong mistress - one that doesn’t allow her victims much room to breath.

You’ve watched countless men and women die, both by your hand and the enemies. It’s a way of life unfortunately, another thing you had to prepare for when ranking up. Those deaths are on your shoulders, carried on your back till the day you kick the bucket yourself. It’s your job to oversee your team, to carry them with you, deliver them back home to their friends and families at the end of it all - hopefully not all of them in caskets.

Watching on now; this man, near enough a stranger to you- listening to his chest rattle and watching as his ribcage rises and falls in shallow succession. It’s a new found sensation that cuts deeper than anything has before. The ache of the healing wound in your chest strives to remind you that you should be the one in his place.

Someway - somehow, Ghost had seen the glint of a sniper in the distance, so far away it could have been anything, a stray of light catching the stream or a trick of the eye. Yet, he shielded you, screamed for everyone else to drop to the ground, he had bellowed so loud you hadn’t even heard it over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears.

Not only had he saved you, but the rest of the team as well, Ghost had walked away as the only critical injury. Even your wound was surface deep, his body had slowed down the bullet almost indefinitely, all you had now was a gnarled scabbed up entry wound.

And Ghost still hadn’t woken up yet.

The days stretch into what feels like eternity. You don’t eat and can barely sleep, you can’t even rip yourself away from the ward.

You carry your guilt well, so you can’t justify what makes you stay, what keeps you rooted to the sticky-clean vinyl floor.

Price stays too. Eaten up by his protective instinct, much like you are with your own team, they’re more than just that - a fucked up sense of family hiding between the bloodshed and the bullets. It’s why he had allowed you to stay, given you permission on Ghost’s behalf to see his face, to watch the way his features slope gently in sleep.

On the ninth day, Ghost wakes up.

It’s an awful ordeal. You’re getting yourself and Price a coffee when you hear it - when you hear him.

Something smashes and the machines keeping him breathing must clatter to the floor, Price pulls the assistance alarm just as you make it to the door.

For the briefest of seconds, Ghost stills when he sees you, eyes wild and frantic - but they’re glazed over, he’s clearly having an episode of some sorts. You make it to the bedside just as he’s pulling the wires off his chest, grabbing hands aiming for the oxygen mask next, Price’s voice is there attempting to soothe him the entire time.

“Calm down, Simon” he breathes, lowering his face close to Simon as he braces his palms gently on his chest, ushering him to relax, “it’s okay Si” Price looks from his lieutenant and then up at you.

His eyes contradict his tone. For the first time since you’ve known him, Price looks worried, if you didn’t know any better maybe he even looked scared. Fearful for his friend. You’ve deduced plenty in the last week or so, the captain hadn’t overshared on Ghost’s behalf, but he’d let enough go unsaid that you put two and two together - Ghost hadn’t always been a Ghost.

He was once a man; with a life and a family, despite being broken down and beaten by his father he rose above it, he sought out a life that would give him the control back. But even that was short lived, betrayed and brought to his knees and buried alive - left to rot away in that casket six feet under.

Ghost wasn’t created to replace Simon, he was created to protect him. Not just his identity and his past, but to protect that little boy that never got a chance to be just that. Simon had to grow up too fast; everything innocent and sweet ripped away too young, instead he was carved out by harsh words and glass bottles - moulded to be a shell of his former self.

The nurses are quick when they arrive; they sedate him through his IV and replace everything he’d managed to rip out, he’s in and out of it. Drifting as Price said.

You sit there for the rest of the afternoon. Silent by his side as he rests. Again- you don’t know what keeps you there. Maybe it’s an obligatory sense of responsibility for this man’s life now, he’d saved yours, now you owed him the same. It makes the wound in your chest ache, the dull throb of it palpable under your palm when you rest it there.

Then you realise as your eyes scan him, hovering over the bandages that wrap around his entire torso -

You’ll both have matching scars now.

[saintship]

humbly would like to request konig seeing s/h scars on his s/o for the first time :’)

fun fact i got dumped one time over em one time, my ex saw em on my thigh and was like “yeah no”

First of all I’m hunting this fucker down, what the hell??

People who get stranger’s IP’s do your shit

I’m so sorry that happened to you, that little boy did not deserve you, I hope you enjoy<3

SIDE NOTE I saw a headcanon on tiktok saying “König is NOT shy” And I kinda loved that so I tried to explore it a bit

Warnings: S/H scars, revealing of traumatic events

König x Reader

Outer Patrol

Of all the assignment you cycled through, outer patrol was the easiest on the eyes. The forest surrounding the base consisted of thin birch trees packed together, so that slivers of sunlight would reach through and grace the east grounds. Your favorite was the early morning outer patrol with König—he shared your fascination with the forest, and slung a loose arm around you when it had been truly freezing last winter.

Now, in the warmth of July, the sun casted its light aggressively through the gaps of branches and leaves, the humid air clouding your thoughts.

The sticks and leaves crumpled under both of your boots, König bringing up the rear on the narrow path.

“Do you think there are bears out here?” You murmur, looking carefully through the gaps of the trees.

“Nein. We make too much noise..” König pointed out. The camp certainly made itself known during artillery drills.

You hum, letting the air settle in silence again. Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks, causing König to nearly topple you over.

“Hey!”

“Sh!” You hold up a gloved hand, staying as still as possible. Slowly, you lifted the other to point ahead of you, where a fox pawed at the ground, investigating the lush grass.

“That’s not a bear.” König’s whisper nearly made you laugh, but you swatted his shoulder instead, smiling.

“He’s so cute..” you whisper. The fox lifted its head, spotting the two of you and bounding away quickly.

“I guess it’s not too loud for him.” You turn around and walk backwards to face your partner as the path widens ahead.

“Maybe we’ll see kits in the spring.” König said softly.

“Aw..” You cooed at the thought, smiling.

The path continued, but there was a faint fork that led off to the right.

“Have you seen this?”

König shook his head.

You pushed back a branch, stepping through the threshold. The path was littered with overgrown ferns, bushes, and a few fallen logs you had to vault over. Finally, the path opened to a clearing, where a small stream expanded into a large pond nestled underneath a trickling waterfall. The rocky ledge slanted down, the falling water sparkling beneath the late morning sunshine.

“Oh..my god..” you breathed. You turned to see König’s reaction; he was transfixed on the water, his eyes shining under the dark paint and hood.

“This is insane..” you knelt by the water, removing a glove to feel the temperature. “Not bad. I bet people used to swim here.”

Suddenly, König’s pager buzzed, and he was broken from his trance to retrieve the device from his hip.

“König, outer patrol..” He greeted.

“Price is tellin’ me to inform everyone off base to not come back until the afternoon; apparently we’ve got more people than we’re supposed to have on the property, and the hounds are here earlier than he thought.”

Simon’s voice rang gruffly through the transmitter, sounding irritated.

“So just don’t come back for a few hours, yeah?”

“Ja.” König replied.

“Thanks, Ghost!” You called from where you knelt at the water.

“Whatever.” The line clicked, leaving them alone with the sound of running water again.

“Well, we couldn’t have been in a luckier spot to stay put.” You stated, pulling off your backpack. You set down your gun next to it and hugged your knees, watching the water.

“That is true.” König conceded. He shed the bulk of his gear, along with his weapon, but remained standing, wandering along the shoreline. He knelt for a moment, seemingly inspecting something, before standing again and tossing a stone sideways, the rock skidding a total of four times before plunging into the water.

“Woah!” You got to your feet, walking over to him. “You could go Olympic..” You found a stone that seemed thin enough, turning it over in your ungloved hand.

“Just turn your hips. Put your soul into it.” König instructed, enacting his ridiculous stone-skipping stance. You laughed a bit, but followed his direction, skipping the rock twice.

“Ha!” You threw your arms up, connecting your hands with König’s for a double high five.

“Not bad..” He chided.

The sun rose in the sky over the next hour, you and König perfectly content with skipping rocks, wrestling, and splashing each other. All the movement combined with the beating sun made for a layer of sweat underneath your uniform.

“Wish we could swim; I’m melting..” you laid on your back dramatically, feeling the warm stones through your shirt.

“Why not?”

“Because, we have work, and someone might- hey!” You sat up, gaping as König lifted his shirt. He was careful to keep his hood on, but dared to strip of his pants, boots and socks.

“What are you doing?” You couldn’t help but smile at his tenacity.

“Just to my waist!” König gestured to his bare torso, his black briefs and hood being the only fabric left on him. You watched as he waded in, the muscles of his back enough to have a warmth climb your neck. You look away, feeling uncertain about ogling your coworker.

“It’s so nice!”

You turned back to see him hip-deep, running his hands back and forth along the surface. The definition of his chest and shoulders was criminal, accentuated by the patterns of light reflecting off the water’s surface.

“Come on!”

“No way!” You grinned, trying to hide the sense of dread the idea brought onto your mind.

“I am willing to use force!”

“Oh, god..” you sighed, removing your boots and socks. You waded to your shins, rolling up your pants so they didn’t get wet. The water was cool, washing away the sweat prickling on your legs. “Happy?”

“I don’t think so..” He sang, wading back to the shore. The water cascaded down his lower stomach, along his thighs. You found yourself furiously studying the pebbles at your feet, rendering you unaware of König’s attack.

He lifted you from the water with damp hands, ready to drop you in the further depths. You yelped, laughing but terrified of coming back with a soaked uniform.

“Alright! Alright!” You shouted. “I’ll get in, crazy!”

A gentle laugh rumbled from his chest, which sounded right by your ear as he set you down. You had felt the muscle of his chest through just a layer of fabric; the thought enough for you to avoid his eyes.

With all the laughter, you almost forgot the reason you didn’t want to undress in the first place. While König returned into the water, you pulled off your shirt, your sports bra being the only covering for your chest. The high-waisted underwear that you wore so your belt didn’t dig dents into your skin acted as bottoms, but you were hesitant to remove your pants. König noticed your labored breathing, returning to your side again.

“You don’t have to..if you really don’t want to.” He said gently, holding out a surrendering hand.

“No, it’s not..I just..” you sighed, irritated, and sat down in the sand.

“Is there something bothering you?” König’s gentle question shouldn’t have made you shrink the way it did.

“I’m sorry I pressured you, I didn’t-"

“König, it’s not your fault.” Your words escaped a bit snappier than usual, your shame building into frustration. “It’s..there are parts of myself you haven’t seen. Things that might upset you.”

König continued to look in your eyes, his concern drifting to confusion.

“There is nothing I would hold against you..” he assured. “If you want to do this, you shouldn’t hold yourself back, it’s alright.”

His words grounded you. He was right; a bodily feature is not grounds for hiding yourself away for the rest of your life when you don’t want to.

You nod, finding it easier to just get to it. Your belt came off first, the sound of the sliding leather deafening in the air of trickling water and chittering birds. Sliding your pants down your legs, the scars stretching over your thighs seemed especially defined under the sunlight. You discarded your pants, resisting the urge to cover yourself. You heard an intake of breath from König; a noise of realization.

“That is why you didn’t want to?” He asked gently.

“Scars like these don’t sit well with most people.” You murmur. Standing, you wade fully into the water, letting the water come up to your shoulders. König followed quietly, the same depth with his height letting the water only reach his sternum.

“I don’t think of you differently.” He admitted softly. “I’m honored you trust me to share something like that..I believe you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

You study his eyes for a moment, the water around you soothing your worries. “Really?”

König nodded, then let the silence stretch its legs between the two of you for a moment.

“Do you wanna go under the waterfall?” König asked.

You smiled. “Your hood will get wet..”

He hummed in realization. “I suppose you’ll have to go under for two?”

You laugh gently, swimming toward the waterfall with a splash at his chest. The water fell gently, soaking your hair and cooling your scalp.

“That’s nice..” you murmured, your eyes closed. “They’re totally going to know..”

Opening your eyes, you spot König already looking your way. The water is deep enough here that the edge seams of his hood are dipping into the water.

“I think it was worth it..”

You know he doesn’t mean it was worth it to escape the heat. Or threaten to dunk you underwater, or watch you tilt your head back under a glittering waterfall. You’d admitted something raw—deeply personal. There was a tie that bound you now, separate from that military based trust that everyone shared. With the others, you’d devoted the sacrifice of your body; your role in the fight. But to one Colonel, you had devoted your mind.

[coveholdenmyluv]

I. Midoriya - New Beginnings

Synopsis. Stained and calloused, the commission has nurtured your palms into silent artillery and trained you to fight the wolves they throw you in with. Not at all accounting for the possibility that you too might learn to bite the hand that feeds you.

- or alternatively - in which the Hero Commission recruits YOU to go undercover as a student in UA to keep a certain class, who already seems to be a magnet for trouble, in check…

It’s safe to say you get a little more than what your briefing covered.

A story of the finding of self love, a family, and a new beginning.

Series masterlist.

Chapter warnings. emotional manipulation, Izuku Midoriya the man that you are, deku accidentally hurts the reader a LOT in this chap LMAO, more hitting deku in the nuts, silly willy class A working their magic on the reader, aizawa brining out reader’s suppressed daddy issues?! remember when I said class A shenanigans last chapter? Well, it’s worse this chapter.

Chapter synopsis. Let’s go to camp! But first, Madam President wants to speak to you again? No biggie!…

3| Training Camp: start. 11.3k words

You couldn't lie to yourself, you were nervous.

Around a half hour ago, you had received the familiar orders to head west once again. You hadn't planned to be returning for a debriefing so suddenly, much less when your mission had hardly even began. Nonetheless, you pulled on your hero suit and walked the overfamiliar dull halls of the HPSC headquarters.

Upon entering the room, you notice the president seated behind her desk with her elbows propped up and fingers interlaced before her face.

'Oh no, she's in her classic anime villain pose.' You shriek internally.

"Aeron, come closer." She orders, voice dangerously low.

Gulping, you noticed that she had skipped the traditional wishes of pleasant mornings and formal greetings. "Madam President." You acknowledge, assuring her that your attention was on what she was to speak of and no where else.

"Take a look at this," She utters and reveals a news article from the folder that lays upon her desk top. The said article discussed a student of UA being manhandled and threatened at the local mall just yesterday. "So? What do you have to say for yourself?"

A look of horror paints your face, not able to fathom what she held before your eyes. "You still read the newspaper?!"

"Aeron. Be serious for once in your life." Her eyes harden as she grits your hero alias bitterly. "Where were you?" She asks.

"With all due respect, President, I had no way of knowing this was going to happen. It's simply not possible to know of every single student's whereabouts throughout every hour of the day." You defend yourself.

"Of course not," She spits as if the words were laced with acidic lemon juice. "But it is possible when they travel in a group. Apparently most of the class was also present, call it an outing of some sort. A class you are now apart of, so I repeat: Where were you?" She drills.

Lowering your head in a state of dishonor, you feel yourself shrink at the weight of her disapproving gaze, "I wasn't informed." You mutter softly.

"You weren't invited, Aeron. That is the problem here. You must gain their trust and camaraderie so that you are made aware of these instances. An elite hero course class from a prestigious academy all in the same building, with no protection might I add. Any intelligent villain would seize this opportunity. Unfortunately, one did."

Finally gaining the courage to lift your head, you ask, "Were they harmed?"

"Thankfully, no one was. The police are launching an investigation as to why the villain solely sought out a singular student, and you are going to be of their aid."

"Of their aid?" You repeat curiously. "What might that entail?"

"Nothing that alters your current objective as of yet, at least not too much." She answers, "All we ask is that, if you find any important information, no matter how minute it may seem, you are to report it to me directly."

"Information regarding what exactly?" You inquire, still not completely comprehending what it was she was asking of you.

"Izuku Midoriya."

The moment she uttered his name into the existence of your conversation, your body instantly went on edge. There was something about that boy that had your instincts going erratic, not in the aspect where you felt yourself in danger, or rather, physical danger, but instead as if you were exploring uncharted lands. Hiking Mount Everest or sailing the Bermuda Triangle.

His aura alone was enough to intrigue you. It was asphyxiating, as if he had accumulated generations worth of energy in his still young body.

"We don't think it's anything sinister regarding the boy, but we need information so that we are caught off guard no more." She further explains. "I trust you can handle this additional weight to your objective."

Still, it pains you that you were unable to fulfill your mission's goal of keeping them safe. More so, it pains you to disappoint the blonde woman before you.

"Forgive me, Madam President. This won't happen again, I will assure it." You promise as you place your hands on your thighs and bend your body into the deepest bow you could conjure as your heart aches in the gaze of her disappointed stare, "As well as, you can count on me to relay any information regarding Izuku Midoriya directly to you, commissioner."

"See to it that it doesn't." She states, before a brief pause ensues. "Aeron, I chose you specifically because I know that you are capable of this task. You have never and will never disappoint me. In fact, I want you to take this as a mere warning."

"A warning of what, President?"

"A warning of what could happen, should you not properly integrate yourself into the coterie of aspiring heroes, in other words, should you not take this seriously. You have done nothing wrong as of yet, I just want you to expand on your efforts of befriending these students. Whether you have to fake it till you make it or not, the sooner you act, the better. When do you begin attending classes?" She ends with an inquiry.

Nodding in compliance, you answer, "It is currently summer break, but I was invited to attend the summer training camp, which should enact soon."

"Very well, I believe I have made the correct choice. Feel free to prove truth to my judgement." She tells you with finalization.

Bowing once again, this time in confirmation, you accept orderly. "Affirmative, I shall do so with pleasure." Straightening your back and looking to the woman for approval of your departure, your eyes hold nothing but the familiar gaze of an obedient child soldier.

A loyal government dog.

That fact causes a pleased smile to grace the chair woman's lips.

"UA has finished its first semester and started summer vacation." Mr. Aizawa announces, before his mercury eyes harden into narrow slits and he scrutinizes his class. "However, those of you aiming to be heroes will not receive a single day of rest. At this summer camp, we will have you striving for even greater heights. Go plus ultra and all that."

"Yes, sir!" The class yells in unison upon his dismissal and the weary teacher drags his feet across the pavement as he leaves to finalize the preparations for the trip.

"Aeron!"

At the abrupt call of your name, your head shifts to find none other than Iida hastily padding his way over to where you stood.

"As this is your very first excursion with us as a class, allow me, Tenya Iida: your new Class Representative, to extend a warm welcome your way. Of course, as much enjoyment as this will bring us, please heed Mr. Aizawa's earlier words of staying on task and sparing no effort regarding your training. As you know, training regiments are a very crucial component to-"

"Oh. Em. Gee!" A high pitched squeal interrupts his headstrong monologue, leaving the boy sputtering in its wake. "I cannot believe that Mr. Aizawa let you join us for camp. This'll be the best opportunity to get to know each other and he must have known that!"

Pink fingers gingerly gripped your arm as she tugged and swayed you every which way. Taken aback by her enthusiastic greeting, you fight the urge to pull away, nearly jumping out of your own skin at the foreign touch. In all honesty, you would've, if not for the chair woman's earlier words ringing in your ears.

Are all teenagers in this day and age so open to physical contact? You weren't sure you shared that sentiment, for the goosebumps on your arm sent your mind reeling as if her fingers would burn directly into your bones any second now.

"I don't think that is the reason he chose to invite me." You reply, your gaze bouncing repeatedly from her expression to the grip she holds you with. Though, after noticing the subtle way she faltered in her enthusiasm, your backtrack was immediate. "But, I totally agree! There's always enough time for a good time!" You mask your hesitance with forced equal vivacity.

"Right?" She agrees, "We'll play truth or dare, roast marshmallows, and have a class potluck!"

"Ahem! Ashido, it was terribly rude of you to interrupt me as I was welcoming our new comrade to our class. A favorable relationship with each other is vital to success on the battle field, you'd do well to exercise these same practices. In fact, I can tell you more about this topic if you'd like! Your personality will make this as easy as eating pie-"

"She doesn't want you to do that, Iida. I think Aeron will live without your formal greeting. Ribbit." Asui joins in the conversation, and her words do well at diminishing his intense interest in speaking to you. Though, perhaps too much. At the forlorn expression on his face, you enter a sudden state of brief panic.

'Jeez, first Ashido and now this guy... are all kids my age this sensitive? A few words are able to deter their enthusiasm? I can't allow his eagerness to make me feel welcome disappear, how will I befriend him if he decides he no longer wants to speak to me? He's the class rep, if I have him on my side, the rest are sure to follow!'

"But! It is very much appreciated, Mr. Class rep. I agree, our camaraderie definitely plays an imperial role in our pending future, which is why this is the perfect first excursion of mine with you all as a class."

"Yikes, you're sounding an awful lot like Iida there." Sero inserts himself. "Can't believe he's rubbing off on you already. What happened to the snarky overconfident chick that kicked all of our asses while talking the most shit?"

"Did I? I don't recall..." You lie.

"Don't sell yourself so short, Aeron. That shit talking was well deserved, we were getting too cocky." Kirishima adds suddenly. "With your performance during our practicals, I'm sure you'll not only better yourself this summer, but you'll totally push us to our limits as well! Don't you agree, Bakugo?"

The blond in question stood beside him, clearly not amused by the conversation being had. You could tell so by his scowl and sharp squinted eyes he pointed in your direction. Though, the only thing he releases is a coherent dissatisfied grunt.

"Hey come on, don't be rude. First meetings- or er, I guess second meetings in this case, are important! We're gonna be classmates!" Kirishima urges.

"I don't care." The blond rasps and flicks away the hand that the red head had placed onto his shoulder, "We're not here to play pretend. Besides, what you say doesn't match the look in your eyes." His words, directed at you, cause your smile to strain in its corners as you fight off the scowl that yearns to paint your lips.

Of course, he isn't wrong. But you don't need him pointing out the obvious when it's clear that the rest of the students are too oblivious to see so as well. He would only end up blowing your cover.

'Okay, I knew this guy was trouble but I didn't think he'd cause me trouble.'

"Aw, you just sound jealous Bakugo." Jirou teases, to which the boy responds with a roll of his eyes. "Still not over the broken nose?"

"Shut the hell up!"

"Ugh, whatever! What I'm most excited about is the activities we'll get to do together. Which reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you, Ronnie. What the hell is your skin care routine?!" Ashido demands the information to spill out of your mouth, her urgency clear as she shakes you by the shoulders arduously.

"Skin care rou-tine?" You articulate as best as you can whilst you are manhandled. "Wait, who is Ronnie?" You register as the girl halts her motions.

The girl giggles, "You, silly. It's a cute nickname, right?"

You eye her warily, because, a nickname? Other than Keigo, no one has ever dared to do such an intimate thing. Teenagers are weird, you realize. Or at least, the ones you have met so far. How could they, or more specifically the girl before you, behave so trustingly towards a person they've met with only once before? It was so confusing. Confusing to the point where it was stupid to you. So very stupid. The stupidest thing you've ever experienced. Stupidity at its finest.

Your cheeks are on fire.

"Y-yeah, whatever. Ronnie is fine." You reply in what was your attempt at a nonchalant tone.

"Damn right she is." Comes the atrocious voice of the smallest student in the entire school, his size only being rivaled by the principal himself. With drool spilling down his face, his small palms rub themselves together as he gawks at your exposed legs. Though, his ogling doesn't last long. Sero's leg making contact and kicking the rodent away made sure of that.

"As for my skin routine, I packed most of my products, as well as a few extras. I could show you later, if you'd like?" You offer, unsure of what else could satisfy the teen.

"That sounds amazing! Oh, if you have enough, we should totally invite the other girls too!" She adds, and then as if on cue, Uraraka begins to exclaim her excitement for the upcoming trip.

"Let's hear it for camp! Camp! Camp! Camp!"

Well, you've definitely got yourself an enthusiastic bunch. For better or for worse.

"I heard some of class A is taking extra courses! Does that mean you guys actually failed the final exam? That must be so embarrassing! Of course, I'd never know how that feels like." Yells a sudden high pitched voice, foreign to your ears. "On top of that, I've heard talk about the addition of another student to your roster. Do you guys need all the help you can get? They're probably just as much of a naturally shallow loser as the rest of your class!-"

Though, the loud blonde comes to a screeching halt in both his exaggerating movements and degrading remarks alike as he scans the crowd before him. His manic eyes, widening as they do so, land on you.

And his worst nightmare becomes a reality as his cheeks flush baby pink.

Mistaking his bashful state for a threatening glare, sizing up his opponent as he stares into your soul, you ask with an edge to your voice, "What?"

Dread then fills his features as he registers the reason as to why the butterflies in his tummy are running rampant. "Oh come on!" He stomps his feet in place alike a child. "That is so not fair! When is it our turn?! Why do they always get nice things?!" He proclaims to the sky in a vast anguish.

Before he can muster the strength to shake his fist at the clouds, a ginger arrives on the scene and chops at his neck, which causes him to face plant painfully onto the concrete beneath their feet.

"Don't mind him." She says idly as she drags him away by the back of his collar.

"Monoma's scary..." Mutters yet another foreign voice. Arriving as a pack, the only other hero course class joins your own as you patiently wait to board your busses.

"Oh, the rest of class B!"

A girl with silky dark green curls and sharp teeth that glint with her smile greets the crowd before her. "Hey, it's nice to see you guys outside of the sports festival. I guess now, we're technically not rivals any longer." She teases, before her serpent eyes land on your figure. "And a new face? A nice change of pace, I've gotta admit." She drawls and extends a palm in your direction. "The name is Setsuna Tokage. It's a pleasure to meet you. Sorry about Monoma, he can be a little much at times, but luckily Kendo is here to keep him in check."

Placing your palm in hers, you both give each other a steady shake. "Aeron." You say and release your grip. "The pleasure's all mine. Give kendo my gratitude, will you?"

Her eyes briefly flash with recognition and she smiles widely with poorly masked astonishment. "Will do, Aeron."

"Time to get on the bus!" Kendo yells by the bus doors.

"Ah, it looks like there's our cue. We'll see you guys at camp." Tokage bids you farewell.

"Class A and class B?" Mineta mutters as he wipes at his sliver with his arm. "It's like a buffet of bombshells."

"Dude. Get yourself together before Aizawa leaves you here." Kirishima scolds.

Iida takes the initiative as a proper class president should and moves the class along. "Attention class A, our bus is here! Everyone line up in seating order! Aeron, you can sit beside me as you don't have an official student number yet!"

"You guys never listen to me..." Iida murmurs as he woefully overlooks the arrangement in which his classmates sit in, noticeably arbitrarily rather than the formal order he prefers.

"He drew, what?!" You screech.

"Deserved." Bakugo declares from his seat aways away.

Kaminari cackles in his seat, hand repeatedly slapping the red head beside him. "I still have the pictures!"

"We all actually took a turn at writing on your face." Kirishima says, his beaming smile never faltering even at the dull look you point at him.

"I drew a heart!" Uraraka announces from the seat in front of you. "You're surprisingly a very deep sleeper."

"I'm usually not... I was just really tired because of my quirk." You explain and punctuate your sentence with a groan. "Kaminari, give me your fucking phone."

"Language." Iida mutters, "There are a million different ways to word that sentence."

"Kaminari, give me your damn phone."

"Still not good enough." Aizawa adds from his seat at the front.

"Kaminari. Give. Me. Your. Phone." You grit.

"No way, Jose!" He squeals and shoves the device in his pants. Who the hell is Jose? "This is peak blackmail material, I'm guarding this shit with my life."

"I give up. Say whatever you want." Iida sighs exasperatedly.

"On the bright side, I felt really bad and decided to wipe it all off of your face before you woke up." Midoriya reassures you, sitting beside his class president and clutching his notebook to his chest. "Which reminds me, you said that you're usually not such a deep sleeper, but because of your quirk, which I'm assuming you're referring to your quirk usage, you didn't feel a thing when every one of us took a turn at doodling on your face. This can only be just one of the many drawbacks such a powerful quirk has to wield, am I right? Do you mind telling me more about the drawbacks and what comes after you've reached those limits? And what about the manifestation of each power that Vitality grants you, where does all of that energy even go? Do you receive the energy or does it simply dissipate into the air? I'm assuming it's the former, since the energy you consume is not invisible, so we surely would be able to see it floating about in the air. What would happen if you were to overload your body with too much of that energy? Would it be too much to handle, which would cause your body to explode? If so, did you have to train your body to reach a certain stage to be able to handle and maintain such extreme amounts-"

"Please. Stop. Talking." You grimace, already feeling the incoming migraine you'd have to deal with for the rest of the day, forcing your fingers to rub at your temples in search for comfort.

"Speaking of pictures, this is officially our first road trip we will take as a class!" Uraraka announces, twisting and squirming in her seat in what you guessed to be excitement. "I mean yeah, it's not that long of a drive, but still."

"That has nothing to do with pictures, Ochako. Ribbit."

"We should definitely take a picture to commemorate this day. You'll thank me when we graduate." She replies. "What do you guys say?"

"Well, I suppose a photo would be fine. As long as you get my good side..." Todoroki murmurs uncertainly, shifting his head so that only his right side was visible.

"Got it!" The brunette readily agrees, "Okay, start posing." She directs the class, extending her arm so that every classmate was in view of her... flip phone.

"What is that..." You murmur. "An ancient relic?..."

Bakugo audibly gags from the back of the bus at the sight, and you can see the surprise coating the features of both Iida and Yaoyaorozu from where you sit.

Seeing her classmates reactions and very obviously having endured this situation before, Uraraka simply rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, guys. No need to clutch your pearls. There is no way you guys were this sheltered growing up."

Ashido titters nervously and swoops in to take the reigns, "How about we use my cellphone instead?" She insists, already slipping her pink device into the rosy cheeked girl's palms, who only grumbles in compliance.

"But when these become a trend later, I'll have the last laugh. You'll see."

"Okay! Poses and count down can begin now!" Mina instructs, plopping back into her seat beside you and unexpectedly throwing her arm around the back of your neck.

"How insulting that you assume I am not always in a pose fit for a candid photo!" Aoyama exclaims, standing from his seat and placing one hand on his hip and the other interlaced in his lustrous mane.

"One!" Uraraka begins, smart phone in hand.

The sight of Aoyama standing causes a spike of urgency to force an audible gasp out of Iida and lift himself from where he sat. "No one should be standing! That is a safety hazard, please stay seated!" He demands, arms slicing through the stuffy bus air. Ashido doesn't hesitate to take the countdown as her cue to further your intimacy by gathering the fat of your cheeks into her palms and squishing your lips into a pout.

"Two!"

Iida's abrupt stance creates the awkward chain of events of Midoriya stumbling out of his seat and flailing his arms about, before accepting his fate and submitting to his fall backward, whilst Tokoyami hastily attempts to block Bakugo's rude hand gesture towards the camera.

"Three!"

Yaoyaorozu and Jirou had moved to create a conjoined heart, while a contradicting Sero forms a circle and allows Kaminari to stick his finger in the said circle. Leaving poor Kirishima to watch in pure red-head fashioned horror.

And just as Uraraka's finger presses the screen to capture what was supposed to be a wholesome moment to looked back on in the far future, Midoriya's falling body crashes into your own. Hard. Though, perhaps it is more fitting to say Midoriya's very very thick skull slammed into your face with as much velocity as what you guessed the bus you currently rode in was moving at.

'Click'

Squealing, Uraraka goes to admire the picture she has just taken... only for her face to lose its vivacity dramatically. "This is why we can't have nice things." The girl whispers to her frog friend beside her.

"Holy shit." You utter, clutching a palm to your face. The instant the boy's head collided with your face, a sharp pain shot through the length of your nose.

"Ow." He mutters and rubs the back of his head, not appearing to have been too affected by the collision. Though, upon twisting his neck and gazing at whatever, or whoever, had broken his fall, his face filled with the utmost amount of dread. "I am so sorry, Aeron!"

"Why is your damn head so hard?" You groan nasally, squeezing your eyes shut before you feel the warm trickle above your lip morph into a thick stream. Almost as if your lips were mountains, and your blood ardent rivers in search for oceans.

"I warned you guys about arising from your seats," Iida scolds like a disappointed parent, before the vibrant crimson comes into view and the boy begins to panic as well. "Aeron! Your nose! Don't worry, I always come prepared and carry tissues... though, they are in my bag and those bags seem to be at the back of the bus... Mr. Aizawa, permission to traverse the back of the bus for my tissues?"

"This is such a rare Deku W?" Bakugo murmurs to himself, staring at his palms conflicted on if he should praise these events or call his classmate out on his annoying clumsiness.

"Are you okay, Ronnie? That's a lot of blood you're losing..." Ashido points out.

"Again, I am very sorry, Aeron! It was truthfully an accident." Midoriya pleads in your direction, palms slapping together as he proclaims how he should have been more careful.

"Ugh," You groan in pain, "It's fine Midoriya, it's just a nose bleed." You grumble, and truthfully, your hands ached to deal him the same damage he had just done to you, though you gathered that you bore some portion of the fault as well. Afterall, you were getting a little too comfortable with your peers, which resulted in your guard slowly disappearing, hence why you weren't in the right mind to dodge the literal human body hurling your way.

"Yes, but I know how painful nose bleeds can be in the first couple of minutes that follow after the impact." He adds.

"I've been through worse."

"That doesn't mean this wouldn't hurt, I know how hard my head is from experience!"

"Again, it's just a nose bleed. I get these all the time, I can handle-"

Lifting himself from his own seat up front, the scruffy man sluggishly makes his way towards where you sit. "Alright, I'll handle this. Midoriya get back in your seat before you cause anymore accidents." Aizawa instructs, to which the boy apologizes once more and adheres to his teacher's words.

With your lashes fluttering and lids lifting at the feeling of a new presence before you, you are met with the pale man with dark features that you had stood face to face with not that long ago, only this time instead of a feline-like grin after he informed you of how he planned to have your first activity with your new class be to beat them unconscious in their finals, he wore a displeased frown. The creases in between his brows spoke the words he likely would never utter aloud, though not out of cruelness, but because that was simply the way he was.

You are a great judge of character, you know how to read people, the skill being one of the first taught to you as a child. So, it was a given that upon your first meeting with this man, the lack of presence from that inherent skill had frightened you. You could not read this man then.

But now?

You wished you couldn't understand what those creases wrote onto his skin. You wished that those skills would just cease to exist, in fact, perhaps they had. Perhaps that was why those creases told you that he was worried. Perhaps they were wrong.

It truly was a minor nose bleed, you could tell so by the lack of pulsing in your skull. You know he had to have known that, he is a trained Pro after all. So why are those creases, the downward curl of his lip, and his softening irises proclaiming empathy?

Did it hurt him to see you hurt? It'd be a cold day in hell before you would ever allow yourself to believe that.

"Don't tilt your head back, it'll only make it worse." He informs you, and it's only then that you notice the first aid kit in his hands. Taking out the gauze pads, his index and thumb gently grip the bridge of your nose, giving him a better view of your wound. "It doesn't look or feel broken, so it's likely just a simple nose bleed cause by the blunt impact of Midoriya's dense head."

The boy in topic rambles further profound series of apologies, but his words go through one ear and out the other as you stare dumbfounded at the man before you. For some reason, the delicate way your teacher handed your injury was causing something in your chest to ache and eyes to soften.

His touch is so gentle.

"Right." You say.

Dabbing your skin with the soft tissues, he cradles your face and tilts your head for inspection. Once he deems you cleanly enough, he hands you the rest of the gauze and lifts himself from the ground. And just as you think he was fed up with coddling you, you are graced with two soft pats on the top of your head.

"There, that should be enough for now. Let me know if it continues to bleed." He offers, and walks himself back to his seat the front of the bus.

"Thank you, Mr. Aizawa." You whisper, still only half present.

"Aeron?" Midoriya calls, effectively snapping you out of your daze.

"What?" You snap.

The boy lowers his head in guilt, "I really am sorry. I never meant to hurt you." He apologizes yet again, and his big doe eyes make it difficult to maintain eye contact.

"Whatever, Midoriya. I already told you it's fine." You turn your gaze away, "As long as Bakugo didn't pay you for that, all is forgiven."

"Definitely not! Kacchan wouldn't waste his money like that! He'd probably rather do it himself." He chuckles.

"Good, then you'll live to see another day."

A nervous huff and a wry smile is all he offers after, "Right, thanks."

Not really wanting to socialize any more than you already had, you turn back in your seat, pondering what the fuck just happened and why did all these feelings transpire within you at the mere touch of a concerned adult?

'The bar is in hell... and so is my dignity.'

Squinting at the bright rays cascading from the scintillating ball of gas in the sky that bombarded your surroundings, you hopped off the bus and onto firm dirt. And despite the heat that soaked into your skin, you embraced it with open arms.

The sun had always felt rejuvenating to your body and psyche; being part of your quirk, simply lying in the sunlight or under the moon was always a way to recharge your soul. You couldn't count the amount of nights that nightmares kept you away from slumber, and more likely than not, on those very nights, you would end up sitting on the terrace back in your pent house and speaking to the man in the moon as if it was an old friend.

Groaning and stretching your arms high above your head, you take in the surroundings of the rest stop Aizawa had decided to make use of. It looked as if you were on a cliff boarded by short logs of wood, greenery several feet below where you stood.

...Not a toilet, convince store, or even a place to sit in sight. Though, what did catch your eye was the black car parked randomly parked adjacent to the bus you had rode here.

"I'm so hungry." You mumbled as the rest of the class joins you outside of the bus.

"Finally, I needed to get off of that thing!" Kaminari complains as he begins to perform a set of squats. "My ass is killing me."

"Let me get through, I've gotta pee!" Mineta yells as he races around searching for any suitable place to relieve himself.

"How's your nose, Aeron?" Uraraka asks as she stands before you.

"Yeah, Midoriya looks hard headed." Jirou adds.

Clutching his hands together, the freckled boy wails, "Again I'm so sorry, I didn't catch myself fast enough! It was an accident I sw-"

"We get it, Midoriya. It's getting old." You wave the boy off. His persistence almost drawing a chuckle out of you.

"Also, you didn't catch yourself at all, Midoriya." Asui comments.

Inspecting his surroundings, Kirishima cautiously notes, "This isn't much of a rest area."

"Not really, and where's class B?" Jirou asks.

"You don't actually think we stopped here just so you could stretch your legs, right?" Aizawa asks rhetorically with his hands in his pockets.

'How is he not dying with that big ass scarf on?'

The sound of multiple car doors opening and a feminine voice causes all of your heads to snap the other way, "Heya, Eraser."

"Long time no see." The teacher greets, lowering his head briefly in respect. Two young women both donning cat ears, paws, and tails step out of the vehicle.

"You can call us, 'The Wild Wild Pussy Cats'!" They both announce enthusiastically.

You stifle a yawn as your teacher begins to explain their presence, "These are the Pro Heroes you'll be working with at the summer training camp."

'Never heard of them-'

"They're a four person hero team who specialize in mountain side rescues! The Pussy Cats were founded when we were kids, like forever ago!" Midoriya explains with an excited blush on his face.

'-never mind, thank you Midoriya.'

"This marks their twelfth year working as a-" The boy continues, before a heavy white paw envelopes his face, effectively halting his rant.

"I'm pretty darn sure your math must be off." The hero named Pixie Bob refutes, her face inching closer to the boy with a menacing expression. "I'm eighteen at heart <3"

"...Understood." Midoriya utters from beneath her paw.

"Everyone, say hello. Don't be rude." Aizawa commands.

"Hello, nice to meet you." The class murmurs in unison.

"We own this whole stretch of land out here, everything your eyes can see. The summer camp you guys are staying at is down there." Mandalay explains, pointing a manicured paw towards the green field you overlooked. "Just at the base of this mountain."

"That's far!"

"Then why did we stop all the way up here?" Uraraka naively asks, "It's not like you guys expect us to run all the way there, right?" She offers with a laugh.

"Oh, you sweet summer child. You've just jinxed us." You realize.

"What? No that can't be right." Sato denies your implications. "Please, tell me that's not right..."

Sero chuckles nervously, pivoting on his right foot. "Very funny guys. Now, let's get back on the bus. Now. Please."

"G-good idea, let's go load up." Kaminari agrees as he too turns to escape this nightmare.

With a conniving smirk stitching itself onto her face, Mandalay purrs, "It's currently nine thirty in the morning... so, if you're fast enough, you might make it there by noon."

"No way!" Kirishima shrieks in disbelief.

"Holy crap!" Mina exclaims in horror.

Kaminari spins on his heel and dashes towards the bus doors, nearly tripping over his own laces in the process, "Save yourselves!"

"Can't we at least have a pre-torture snack? How the hell are we supposed to get down there if we're running on zero fumes?" You ask.

"You don't need food as fuel because of your quirk. Use the sun, Aeron." Aizawa answers.

"Kitties who don't make it there before by twelve thirty won't get any lunch." Mandalay adds.

"You both are downright evil!" You wail.

Aizawa stands as stagnant as usual, not at all being affected by his student's cries of anguish. "You guys should have known this from the very beginning. The moment you stepped foot on that bus..."

Before any of your classmates could have even reached the doors, Pixie Bob puts her cat-like agility to good use and terminates their attempts by leaping before them and showcasing her claws.

"The training camp has already begun."

Placing both paws on the ground, her palms emit an azure blue glow that mirrors the shade of her eyes. Suddenly, the ground beneath you begins to crumble and you realize you are descending multiple feet in the air.

"What the hell?!" Uraraka shrieks.

"She's controlling the ground!" Midoriya realizes.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock!" You grit his way.

As you plummet, you quickly realize that you would need to find an opening or conjure up a way to break your fall. Although your sight is heavily obstructed by the pounds of dirt, you manage to guess at which point you expect to reach the ground.

Shifting yourself so that the impact would hurt you less, you touch the floor with a simple roll and a grunt.

Sighing heavily in relief, you start, "Oh thank gosh, that would have really hurt-" Though you aren't allowed to finish your victory cry before a body crashes into yours. Effectively breaking its fall.

"Oh, that wasn't so bad." Midoriya comments, his eyes remaining squeezed shut from the freight. "The floor is actually find of soft-"

"Oh you are so doing this on purpose." You accuse from under him. "Do you hate me?"

The boy open his eyes in panic at the sound of your voice, registering just who had softened his fall... once again. "Oh, no no no! This can't be happening, I swear to All Might I would never-"

He doesn't finish his sentence due to his world getting flipped upside down. Literally. You grab onto the back of his shirt and thrust him before you, forcing him to lay on his back harshly as you stand over him.

"Ouch." He whines.

"Since this is private land, you can use your quirk as much as you want to!" Mandalay announces from the top of the cliff. "You've got three full hours! You should be able to make it to the facility in that time... that is, if you can make it through the Beast's forest."

Facing the forest in topic, you gaze into the dark abyss of nothing but dirt and a mass amount of thick and tall trees. "How big is the beast that it needs an entire forest?" You ask dubiously.

"That name sounds right out of a fantasy game. I'm assuming we don't get any power ups?" Kaminari suggests.

"We've got quirks, idiot." Jirou answers, "Still, why do we keep falling for Aizawa's stupid tricks?"

"I wonder how much I'd win if I sued..." Uraraka wonders, glaring at the forest as if it'd simply toss her the money in terror.

"Give me a call if you need a statement." You offer absentmindedly, inspecting the forest thoroughly.

"I guess there's no use in complaining, we might as well move our asses." Kirishima adds, dusting himself off and counting the bruises he'd already garnered.

A purple blur sprints past you and into the unexplored land. "I've gotta piss, I've gotta piss, I've gotta piss. I've held it and didn't spill a single leak!" Mineta yells and makes it well into the forest, before yielding at a deep rumbling growl.

A grey monster made entirely out of the dirt around it bears its teeth at your group and stands on all fours. There were no eyes visible, though it had rippling sculpted muscles and stood tall within the leaves.

"We're all gonna die!" Sero and Kaminari screech in unison, both of their jaws nearly touching the ground beneath them.

Mineta stood directly before the beast, and in noticing the small human, the beast lifts its right arm and goes to slash at his body.

"Please calm yourself, my giant friend!" Koda begins to yell as he runs towards them with tears threatening to drip down his cheeks. "You don't wanna hurt any of us!"

Though, before it could even ghost the boy's skin, you bolt forwards and slide onto the dirt, kicking him out of its reach. Forcing yourself to roll with him in order to avoid contact with the strike, you grasp his body and clutch him near you as you slam against the trunk of a tree.

Exhaling in relief, you begin to mutter. "Damn it Eraser, you're really going to put me to work."

'Koji Koda. His quirk is anivoice, and it allows the user to communicate with and command animals through speech. It would have worked, if only this thing was actually an animal. It is purely a lump of dirt being manipulated by... Pixie Bob. This has to be that cat's quirk.' You conclude.

Leering over you and bearing its tusks once again, the monster reels its arm back once again, attempting to immobilize you a second time.

"You've got to be kidding me." You groan.

Without hesitation, you materialize your energy and shape it into a long sturdy spear, using the shaft to slice through the arm raining down on you. When you realize you are being given a struggle, you decide to apply even more energy into your weapon, causing it to heat up slightly. Providing for a clean cut all the way through the shoulder.

"They're not as strong as they look," You conclude.

As the claw hits the ground, you suddenly sense the same aura you've sensed before. The one that never fails to give you goosebumps at its mere activation.

This was the aura of a charging force.

'Izuku Midoriya.'

He stands just aways away from where you sit on the ground, hot pink marks painting his skin and cool green miniature lightning surrounding his body.

Frost follows after, centering from the dial toned boy behind you, sprouting until it reaches the monster you had momentarily stalled and imprisoning its legs.

"Reciproburst!" The class president yells, storming towards the beast with his engines hot and ready to slice through the other arm. Which it does flawlessly.

"Die!" Bakugo exclaims, lunging himself at the being with sparks flittering around his palms. Creating a powerful explosion, the blond obliterates the left leg into pieces, threatening its balance and causing it to tip over.

A crystalline opening for the final blow is made.

"Smash!" That blow being taken by none other than the freckled boy itching to put his power to good use, striking the monster right in the chest, dispersing it into thin air.

"Wow!" Sato exclaims after a few seconds of collective silence, "You guys defeated that beast in an instant!" He praises.

"You did it!" Sero joins.

"Yeah, they did it... and I did it too..." Mineta mumbles, on the brink of losing consciousness due to the shock, though that doesn't halt his attempt at thrusting himself into your arms hoping to be coddled.

"You did Jack shit but piss your pants." You grit, dodging his embrace and allowing him to fall face first onto the ground. "That was close." You exhale, replaying the memory of his near death experience.

"It seems we make a great team, Aeron." Iida tells you with a soft smile, walking towards you and offering his hand.

"Maybe, but you guys did most of the work." You reply, accepting his offering and joining him in standing. "And I might've just gotten peed on in return."

"You were the first to act in a moment of crisis, and you saved a fellow classmate. Unfortunately, a slightly damp classmate at that." He grimaces at the thought, though his warm grin returns once again upon gazing at you. "Great first day as a member of class A, if you ask me. Well done."

Your heart just squeezed.

With eyes that have softened in their corners, you panic for a suitable response to answer him with. "Thanks, Iida."

Unfortunately, your brief moment of acceptance is cut short when your instincts alert you. Rumbling can be felt in the pattern of stomps and another roar bellows through the forest.

"They're coming."

Jirou immediately places her headphones onto the ground and listens for the origins of the sounds. "There and there." She mutters, pointing a single finger at the sky and another to her left.

"Up above?!" Kaminari cries, "Where'd you get that from?!"

The sound of wings flapping only confirm her suspicions, rendering the blond silent in fear.

"Hey come on, how many are there?" Sero asks, looking every which way in paranoia.

"What should we do? Run away?!" Ashido asks.

"As if." Bakugo answers.

"Guys, if we don't make it to the facility by noon, we won't get lunch." Sato reminds you all.

"Then that settles it." You state, preparing for the incoming ambush.

"We have no choice but to get through here and take the shortest route." Yaoyorozu declares.

"Ribbit."

"All right, move out class A!" Iida announces, readying his stance.

Utilizing his quirk, Shoji joins Jirou on gathering as much information as he can on the monsters whereabouts. "Three up ahead and two each on either side!"

"Eight total. They're coming!"

As your class begins to apprehend and disembody the creatures, you pause to analyze the situation further. Something was not making sense.

'One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.' You count internally and discern the beasts movements. 'The rest of the class is taking care of seven, but where the hell is the eighth?' You ask yourself, recalculating to confirm that you truly were missing a monster.

'I doubt those two would miscalculate, this is their field of expertise. So if those dirt monsters are all around us on the ground, and some are able to occupy the sky, then that means...' Your gaze darts to the ground, scanning for any abnormal behavior.

'Crack'

"There!" You exclaim, scrutinizing the breach of solidified dirt.

Focusing your physical energy into your fist, you throw yourself onto the ground and slam it down. Again. And again. And again. Fist pulsing with pain, blood, and power before a portion of the ground you stand on caves in, allowing you to catch a glimpse of the monster attempting to launch a sneak attack on your class.

"Come out into the light, snake. It's over." You taunt. In response, the ground crumbles as the monster unveils itself, roaring with displeasure. It stood well into the air and bounded towards you.

Escaping in the opposite direction, you place your feet onto a tree trunk and leap before you take hold of a thick branch. Making use of your upper body strength to climb atop and calculate your next move.

'The neck.' You decide.

This particular monster had three rib cage like tusks that guarded the nape of its neck.

"Bingo."

Channeling your inner Levi Ackerman, you lift yourself on the branch and sprint towards the monster before leaping onto its body, landing on it's back. Climbing upwards as you dodge its spiky tail that swung your way, you conjure up another long spear, jabbing it into its neck and taking ahold of the other end before you launch yourself onto the ground and drag the blade down its solid neck as you plummet.

Landing on the ground once again, the monster's head lolls to the side. "Implosive Daggers." You murmur, and squeeze your right eye shut. With the utmost precision, you shoot blades of energy towards the other side of the creatures neck before its head detaches and crashes on the ground. "Bullseye." You praise yourself, pursed smile forming on your lips at your victory.

"This is fun." You decide.

Training camp - Day 1; 5:20 PM

"This is so not fun."

Lugging yourself forward, you donned multiple scrapes and scratches as you struggled to keep your eyes open. You nose was even dripping crimson due to the exertion your training had implemented.

With the sun descending in the sky and the trees obstructing it's rays, you had no way to replenish your quirk. The only option was to use that of the students around you but unfortunately for you, they needed theirs just as greatly as you did. That much was noticeable, as they were in no better shape than you.

"Ha! The litter is here!"

"That took longer than expected."

Stepping into the light, you notice all three heroes waiting patiently in front of the building you slowly inch closer towards. Uraraka dangles off of your left side as she clutchs her mouth and stomach in nausea.

"You said it would only be like, three hours!" Sero exclaims as Sato and Kirishima drop to the ground behind him.

"Oh no..." The pink cheeked girl in your arms murmurs before she too drops to the floor, only this time, to relieve herself of her breakfast. Alarmed, you quickly tuck her hair behind her ears and awkwardly pat her back.

"I guess we timed it based on how long it'd take us, sorry!" Mandalay explains.

"You are so not sorry." Ashido grumbles.

"And now you're bragging about how much better you are? That's so mean!" Sato whines.

"I'm starving. This is hell!" Kirishima complains as he no longer fights to open his eyelids. Uraraka, stomach now newly emptied, juts a thumb up in agreement.

"We missed lunch, I don't know if my life insurance covers starvation." You ponder aloud, standing up from where you crouched.

"I don't even have insurance." Ojiro mumbles.

"Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow!" Pixie Bob exclaims with a pair of manicured paws covering her face.

'She reminds me of Kitty when Keigo forgets to feed her.' You think.

"I thought it would take you kids even longer! But, you did much better against my dirt monsters than I thought you would." She praises before she lowers her voice. "You guys were seriously great." Wiggling her claws before her, she exclaims "Especially... the five of you! It seems like you've had quite the bit of experience." She pauses for dramatic effect before launching herself forwards. "I call dibs on these kittens! They're puuurrfect!"

You weren't really paying attention to the hero, though she gives you no choice but to pay her heed as she appears before you and four other students.

Bakugo groans in annoyance, "The hell, lady?!" He grunts and shields himself with his arms.

"I just wanna nap!" You whine childishly as you cover your face with your palms.

"Endure! Do not let yourself be taken by this COUGAR!" Iida motivated, his stance mimicking that of the blond beside him.

"I am very uncomfy right now!" Midoriya states, eyes squeezed shut and body folding inwards.

"When are you feeding us?" Todoroki asks through his palms as he too hides behind his fingers.

"...Mandalay, has she always been like this? Please get her away from my children." Aizawa asks the woman beside him.

"It's gotten worse lately, she's at the age to take a mate." The Pro Hero answers apologetically.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Uhm! Speaking of people's ages-" The freckled boy beside you starts, before getting a paw to the face.

"Choose your next words carefully boy..."

"I've just been wondering since we got here earlier. Whose child is that?" Midoriya mumbles from under the triggered woman's claws, pointing in the direction of a small dispirited boy in a red hat.

The question startled Mandalay as if she had forgotten the child was even behind her, "Oh! This little guy is my cousin's son, he lives with us now." She gestures to the immobile boy, "Don't be shy, Kota. Say hi to everyone. You're gonna be around them for the next week." She gently encourages.

Midoriya, gaining confidence, strides up to the young boy and smiles gently. "Hey there, my name is Midoriya. I'm from the UA High School hero course." He bends forward and offers a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you!"

The boy stares at his outstretched hand, before quietly reeling his right arm back and thrusting his clenched fist into Midoriya's crotch. The action causes the boy's knees to buckle and a wail of pain to slip from his lips.

Iida, utterly appalled at the assault, moves to catch Midoriya before he can fully tip forward. "What a low blow! You fiend of a child! A punch to the scrotum is unforgivable!"

Kota halts his leave and slowly pivots his neck to glare directly into the class representatives eyes. "The last thing I wanna do is hang with some wannabe heroes!"

"Wannabe?! Do you know who I am? How old are you kid?!"

The interaction causes you to snort involuntarily before covering your mouth with your palms.

"Did you teach him that?" Todoroki asks, obviously referring to the same move you pulled on the same green haired boy during the practical exams.

"Puh-lease, that strike was juvenile. I have technique." You reply, to which the boy cracks a smile.

"You've gotta admit, that brat's got spunk." Bakugo comments, promptly ignoring your previous topic.

"He's like a mini version of you." Todoroki states.

You hum in consideration, "But cuter."

Unsurprisingly, your comments enrage the blonde. "What are you talking about?! You need to shut your mouths before I blast you both all the way to hell!" He threatens inching closer to your faces.

"Yeah, sure." Todoroki deadpans.

"...Definitely cuter." You grimace.

"Enough playing around." Your teacher directs. "Get your stuff off of the bus. Once your bags are in your rooms, we'll have dinner in the cafeteria. After that you can bathe and sleep. Tomorrow your training starts in earnest, you better get a move on." He ends, pointing a thumb in the direction of the building.

"Thank you for the food!"

Your eyes glimmered like stardust at the amount of dishes before you. Never in your life had you been allowed to feast in such a way, and from what you could gather, you were to plate the delicious meal yourself!

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you place your chopsticks into your hand, picking up a slice of the pork cutlet sitting in front of you and placing it onto your tongue.

Immediately, the combined flavors erupt in your mouth with each chew, and a squeal escapes you. In a matter of seconds, your mouth was filled to the brim with everything edible within your sight.

"Aeron, you're drooling." Jirou informs you.

"I really don't give a shit, right now." Comes your half-audible reply. "I'm gonna sleep so good after this." The food is so good, you're almost brought to tears.

"Speaking of, Sero said the guys room is huge!" Mina exclaims.

"Can't be that much bigger than ours right?" You ask, feeling the warmth of your miso soup trickle down your throat.

"I wonder if I can sue for sexism..." Uraraka mutters.

"...let's not."

Mandalay enters the cafeteria, hands donned in a pair of baby pink oven mittens with minuscule kitten paws littered on them. A brown cardboard box laid upon her palms. "Alright, we've got dessert. I know it's early in the meal, but considering how spent you guys are on your very first day, we've decided to cut you guys some slack." She announces.

She then places the container onto the table, coincidentally directly in front of you.

Her first mistake.

"Aeron, you're drooling again." Apparently, it was not just your imagination, as Jirou once again informs you.

As she lifts the top off of the box, it's as if the gates of heaven themselves have opened just for you with how intense the dessert shines in your eyes. A ten inch vanilla cake frosted with fluffy white whipped cream. Vibrant rosy strawberries embezzled the rim and you swore you could feel your saliva pooling at your ankles as you ogled the sweet dish before you.

"That's...cake." You whispered.

"Uhm, yeah?" Ashido giggles at your reaction. "You're acting like you've never eaten cake before."

"And strawberries?" You ask, head tilting slightly as you inspect every detail your eye can catch. Grabbing the silver knife that was placed on the plate, your arm slowly inches towards your desired baked good. "I need it. Now."

"Ronnie, you're scaring me." Ashido trembles next to you, peering warily at your predatory gaze.

Carefully crafting yourself a slice, you place a piece onto your plate.

The supple skin of the ruby colored berries whispered your name in a siren like melody. Calling upon you to taste whatever it had to offer. Giving into temptation, the pads of your fingers lift the fruit towards your mouth and with your eyes shut, your teeth pierce it's delicacy.

Saccharine but tangy juices envelope your taste glands, creating a harmony you've never felt before.

"Oh wow, she has literal hearts in her eyes."

Squealing once again in bliss, you vigorously shovel the rest of the dessert into your mouth. You're about to pull your cellphone out to inform the person dearest to you about the stash of gold you have just stumbled upon, before you feel your energy deplete rapidly. "...Uh oh." You whimper and face plant directly onto the dish before you.

Splat!

"..."

"..."

"..."

Every student in the vicinity ceases their movements and noises in favor of directing their attention to your form. Nobody dares to be the first to act... well, no one except a green haired boy fearing the worst.

"Oh my gosh?! SHE'S DEAD!"

Unsurprisingly, his exclamation creates a ripple effect of chaos and panic within his peers.

Making his entrance, your teacher makes his way towards your seat, arms out in an effort to quell the madness. "Calm yourselves." He says in his usual monotone voice.

Upon reaching your table, he gently places his palms on either side of your head and lifts it, revealing your soft face coated in fluffy cream. "Pass me a napkin, please." He asks the pink girl beside him, to which she hastily complies. His fingers tenderly cleanse your silk like skin which he begins to inspect. "She's just sleeping." He reassures.

Sighs of relief float throughout the room at his confirmation. The girl beside you takes the chance to gaze at your sleeping form, only to gasp in astonishment.

"Her sun mark... it's a moon now." She mentions.

"And it's glowing, like when she activates her quirk." Uraraka adds.

Aizawa himself examines the dainty crescent shape painted between your brows. "The sun has gone down, so she can't count on it recharging her, should she have the need. Fortunately, the moon is a great substitute. It also glows when she sleeps, since that is another method in which she can regain her energy." He explains.

"Come to think of it, I do recall it doing the same when she slept after our practical exam." Yaoyorozu adds.

"So that's why she kept saying that she needed a nap!" Kaminari realizes.

"Her quirk most likely forced her body to shut down for the time being since she still hasn't had the time to regain any energy. I'm guessing she didn't steal any of your stamina in the forest?" He asks and looks to the group around him for confirmation. "I thought so. It's fine, she just needs rest. Did she eat enough?" He asks the girls around you, to which they nod. "Good. Allow her to rest for the remainder of dinner. Afterwards, wake her so that she can bathe." The teacher instructs as he lightly places both of your cheeks down onto the table, your soft breathing beginning to fill the air. "Where is her uniform blazer?"

"Oh! We took them off when we unpacked earlier. They're back in our rooms." Uraraka explains.

"Great," He replies sarcastically, "Does anyone have their blazer that is currently not in use?"

Not giving anyone else a chance, someone immediately answers. "She can have mine, sir!" Midoriya offers at the other end of the table. "It's the least I could do, considering the amount of blood she lost because of me. And I fell on her. And I immediately assumed she was dead. And-"

"Okay, thank you, Midoriya." Aizawa cuts the boy off before he could begin another rant. Taking the offering, your teacher drapes the coat over your back, effectively keeping you snug for your nap. "Alright, continue, and don't bother her. If I see any of you pulling out another washable marker, you can kiss the hot springs goodbye, rugrats."

Only once she assures that he is out of sight, Ashido slips her phone out of her skirt pocket. "He didn't say anything about taking selfies with her." She explains with a mischievous giggle.

"Oh! Try the cat filter!" Uraraka exclaims.

"Take some on mine too, yeah?" Jirou asks as she passes her own electronic to her friend. Many other students following her lead.

You are so fucked when it comes to blackmail material.

Steam billows in pools around your naked forms, muscles relaxing and minds quieting down.

It has been a while since you felt so serene, allowing your brain to cleanse itself of any restlessness thoughts. With your hair neatly tied away from your face, you were free of any obstruction that prevented you from voicing thoughts you normally wouldn't voice aloud.

That explains the questionable topic of conversation.

"I usually apply my socks and then one shoe at a time while tying them as I slip them on." Yaoyorozu explains.

"What?" You mutter, your eyes remaining shut in relaxation. "That sounds complicated. I feel like putting on both socks first, and then both shoes, and then tying them afterwards is easier."

"But, that just sounds wrong." Tsuyu adds. "Why stop your application during each step? I'd usually go for putting on my sock, shoe, and then tying my laces before I start on the next foot."

"You see, this is why I prefer to wear sandals." Uraraka sighs.

"Objection, sandals are so not in season!" Hagakure counters.

"Uhm, objection, it's summer. That's prime sandal season." The brunette replies.

"Okay, but I'm talking about the sandals you wear. The really strappy ones." Hagakure describes, "They make my feet sweat just looking at them." She grimaces.

"When else would I wear them?"

"Those are for when you want to show off your pedicure indoors! You know, in the A/C."

"I think I make them work." Uraraka tilts her nose up in poise.

"You do!" Hagakure agrees, "But we can hear you from a mile away with the rubber sliding against your sweaty feet!" She finishes, causing your group to laugh at the thought.

"Let's talk about something other than feet." Yaoyorozu suggests, "How about we play a game?"

"Ooh!" Ashido chimes in excitement, "How about Kiss, Mary, Kill."

"How do you play?" You ask.

"You've never played before?" Jirou tilts her head in question, to which you shake yours in response.

"Basically, we give you three names of three random people. You choose which you would rather kiss, marry, or kill. Of course, not literally. Just for shits and giggles."

This game sounds unlike any you have ever heard before, which is honestly surprising, considering it seems like a game Keigo would have surely mentioned if he had even heard about it in passing.

"Ah! I'll go first." Hagakure volunteers, "Mineta, Sero, and... hm. Midoriya?"

"I thought we were gonna go with anime characters..." Jirou mumbles dejectedly.

"Those are my only choices?" You ask.

"Yup!" Ashido answers.

"I chose the last one specifically for you, Aeron!"

You sputter, "What? Midoriya? Why?"

You hear the invisible girl giggle, "Because after how much he roughed you up today, I'm dying to know your opinion on your new classmate."

"Okay..." You drawl dubiously, "Well, I'd probably kill Mineta... not literally, of course. Because killing is like, illegal. And I would never do that." You make sure to establish that lie. "And then I'd probably marry Sero."

"What?!" The girls shriek in unison.

"Why did you 'what?!' that? This isn't literal." You repeat their earlier explanations.

"We just want to know why. Sorry, any answer from you would have garnered the same reaction." Yaoyorozu explains.

You hum in contemplation. "Well, I've noticed that Sero goes out of his way to halt as many of Mineta's perverted attempts to make us uncomfortable. I find that admirable."

"Oh, that makes sense." Ashido agrees.

"So, you'd kiss Deku?" Uraraka asks hesitantly.

You sigh in resignation, "Yeah, if the situation had, for some reason, called for that. I'd kill Mineta, marry Sero, and kiss Midoriya. Just cause the guy has bruised me up a bit doesn't mean I'd wish death upon him."

Ashido squeals, "Ronnie! You're so admirable!" She praises as she scoots closer to you and places her head on your shoulder.

Your face contorts in confusion, "I- don't understand..."

"Just go with it." Hagakure mutters in your direction.

A distinct wail suddenly resounds from the other side of the wooden wall, snatching all of your attention. Looking towards the wall, you notice that atop of the very high ledge, stood Kota, the moody kid who had assaulted Midoriya's crotch earlier today.

"Before you become a hero, you should learn how to act like a decent human being." He states.

"Who did he clock?" Ashido asks, noticing that he was speaking to someone on the other side of the hot spring.

The boy's side of the hot spring.

"Mineta really is the worst, isn't he?" Asui calls out to the small boy, clearly having been through similar situations in the past since she didn't seem so surprised.

"Thanks so much Kota, babe!"

The boy instinctively turns towards the voices offering him their thanks, though he realizes in hindsight that wasn't such a great idea, considering the shock he felt at the sight. With pink cheeks and wide eyes, the boy yelps and begins to fall back towards the other side of the wall - your heart dropping at the sight.

"Gotcha!" Midoriya's voice was heard through the wooden wall.

After a brief moment of silence, you hesitantly wade towards the end of the spring, fearing the answer to your question. "Uhm, is he okay?" You call out.

"Yeah! He's fine!" Midoriya answers, "Well, kind of. I caught him before he reached the ground, but he must have passed out from the shock of... the fall. Yeah, he was shocked about the fall. I'll just take him to Mandalay, now."

"Good job, Deku!" Uraraka praises.

Yaoyorozu looks around warily, before she clutches her arms around her chest. "We should probably head on out now. We need all the rest we can get before we start early training tomorrow. Plus, I just feel uncomfortable now."

"Agreed. Given how relaxing this soak has been, I'm even more sleepy than earlier." You add.

At the rest of the girl's agreement, you all gathered your towels and belongings, heading to your designated cabin for rest.

"Before we go, here's the real Kiss, Marry, or Kill scenario." Ashido says ominously, "Satoru Gojo, Mikasa Ackerman, or Shoto Todoroki."

"Why is Todoroki amongst our choices? He's not an anime character." Jirou asks.

"Because he's Todoroki."

"...fair enough."

"I'd rather just kiss the hell out of Mikasa Ackerman." You answer, not wasting anymore time on the game and heading out.

"Heavy on that part, Aeron." Uraraka agrees and follows behind you.

Upon entering your shared cabin, you slip into your usual silk pajama set, feeling like the sleepwear was heaven sent on your freshly bathed skin. Lying your futons on the ground, all seven of you decided to lay in a rectangle, with your heads at the center. Surrendering to your body's needs, you plop onto your sheets and allow your eyelids to flutter shut. All the girls doing the same, wanting as much shut eye as Aizawa allows.

That night, a strange feeling clouds your amygdala. Still indescribable to yourself, you wonder what exactly that emotion is. It creates upheaval within a specific corner of your heart, as if someone had decided to light the candle implanted within you.

A glowing ember, which allows you better sight of something you had yet to reach. The warmth accompanying you along your journey to that destination. You knew you hadn't arrived, nor were you nearing. But you didn't mind, in fact you supposed you could enjoy the ride to whatever awaited you.

Slumber found you nearly effortlessly that night.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this batch! I hope you’re enjoying the story so far, see you in the next update!

Ps: this week’s episode was so good, everyone go say thank you to studio bones and horikoshi for gifting us with so much izuku midoriya.

[adoreeenina]

I wanna be yours - Ch. 1

Relationships: Recom! Miles Quaritch x Sully! Reader x Recom! Lyle Wainfleet

WC: 2.9k

Series Summary: ~~~ 𝗜𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝕋𝕨𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕁𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕊𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕪.

It’s been a year since the destruction of our home. The ongoing war has been hard on my family, especially on my father. My father gotten worse… cold, stricter, becoming less kind, especially to Neteyam, Lo’ak, and me. He became more like a Drill Sargent than a father. My father made us move to the hidden caves in the Hallelujah Mountains.

Within a year, the sky people expanded, their sizes tripled. My father had orchestrated many raids to destroy their machinery’s to keep them at bay from exploiting our home anymore than they already done. But no matter what my father has done to keep them away, they always bounce back. I’ve seen many ships constantly landing, bringing more people onto our home and more supplies to rebuild on what we broke.

Today my father prepares us for another attack. The supplies train was coming through the train rails not far. My father’s plan was to damage their railway system and take their supplies as our own.

“Do you have to go” Spider walks behind you as you readied your bow and arrow onto Rawm’s saddle.

“Don’t you worry about me. No matter what they throw at me, I always come back, you know that” Spider walks closer to you as he eyes the scars on your body, it went through so much from protecting Spider and your siblings.

Despite what you tell him, he still feels guilty, and it didn’t help that Neytiri blames him.

“That’s what I’m worried about” Spider softly says as he pats Rawm’s neck. Rawm chirps loving the attention.

You finally turn to look down at Spider. You knew Spider is worried about you. How could he not? You were always getting yourself into trouble and coming back with blood on you. You’re worse than Lo’ak, at least that’s what Jake says.

“Spider” you gently place your hand on his shoulder, making him look up at you.

“I promise you. I’ll come back in one piece” you promise with an encouraging smile. Spider couldn’t help but smile back with a nod.

“Y/n, let’s go” Jake calls for you. You sigh as you turn to check you have everything. You do.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back” with that, you bend a knee, placing your foot on Rawm’s harness, pulling yourself up onto his saddle, making Tsaheylu. The bond.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you” you smirk down at Spider as you lower your Rider’s Mask. With a loud yip, Rawm allows himself fall off the ledge.

Ikran’s screech and roars all around you as Rawm fly’s behind Jake and Neytiri. Many of the warriors hooting and ululating, including your mother.

Following close behind, squinting your eyes through the Rider’s mask, you could mask out the fast moving train.

“Ground team, go” you hear Jake speak through the comm.

Hundreds of warriors on direhorses come flooding through the forest, letting out loud war cries. Some carrying bow and arrows while others are armed with heavy artillery.

An explosion went off on the railway, perfectly timed. Part of the track has blown up, the train screeches as it nails its breaks, an attempt to stop, but the destruction was far to close.

The train couldn’t stop in time, colliding to the broken rail railroad, breaking it into pieces and parts of it falling on its side. The two gunships halted a turn. You knew you had to work fast, before they would call for backup to arrive.

Guiding Rawm to one of the gunships with a loud cry. You dove underneath the ship to its left side, readying your bow, you aim to the soldiers chest, killing him. Rawm flys above ship, quickly aiming your bow and arrow, you shoot an arrow, letting it break through the glass and to the pilot, killing him instantly. You let out a holler as you watch the gunship crash down with an explosion.

With that, many the Na’vi below got to work exploiting the scattered RDA cargo. You watched from above for any more incoming airships.

“Let’s go. Two minutes, people. Let’s go.” You hear Jake.

“Bro, we have got to get down there” you hear Lo’ak. You turn to see your two idiot younger brothers, riding close behind you. A mischievous glint in eye, a look that you knew well.

“No way!” Neteyam calls back.

“Dad will skin you alive” you warn.

“Come on. Don’t be wusses” Lo’ak challenges. with that, Lo’ak guides his Ikran to the ground.

“Lo’ak! Get back here, you… Argh!” Neteyam grunts, watching our younger brother

“Damn it, Lo’ak” you yell after your brother. You turn to Neteyam before he could follow your idiot brother.

“Neteyam, go with mom. I’ll get Lo’ak” you tell him. Neteyam hesitates before glancing down at Lo’ak.

“But-“

“Go!” Neteyam hisses under his breath before listening to you and leaves to the other way. You rather take the blame than let Neteyam take the fall for it.

“Taking the whole case! We’re taking mags, the RPGs, the stingers”

You follow close behind Lo’ak as you both land. You hop off of Rawm as you disconnect the bond.

“Y/n, let’s go. Come on!” Lo’ak calls for you before running towards the the rest of the people.

“Lo’ak!” you hiss as you quickly run close behind him.

“Move! Take that!” You hear Tarsem as he hands out RPGs. Lo’ak runs in line, waiting his turn to grab a gun.

“Tarsem don’t-“ before you could stop him, he already handed Lo’ak a gun. Damn it.

“Take these weapons. Here, boy. Go!” Lo’ak excitedly let out a war cry as he walks away with a gun in his hands.

“Lo’ak!” You were getting tired of calling for him. You started sounding like a fucking parrot, the animal you’ve seen on one of the movies Spider has shown you.

You cut off Lo’ak’s ululating as you grab him by his arm, pulling him towards you.

“You don’t even know how to use it” you nod your head towards the gun, visibly irritated.

Lo’ak looks at you with a smirk as he held up the gun, loading the chamber.

“Dad taught me”

You sigh feeling irritated as you watch Lo’ak pick the gun up to look through the scope.

“Stop that! That is not a toy” you hiss. Lo’ak is really testing your patience, you really want to smack him upside the head.

Not far from where you’re at, you hear a spotter hollers out, a signal.

“Gunships inbound! Fall back!” You hear Jake yell.

You look up seeing two more gunships aiming. Shooting.

“Lo’ak, Go!” You push him in front you, running towards your Ikran’s.

“Y/n, come on!” Lo’ak calls for you.

“I’m right behind you! Go! Hurry!”

You look behind and see one of the gunships aiming at you.

“Lo’ak!” You push Lo’ak, just when they shot at you, setting an explosion off. The impact threw you off. You fall with a grunt. Feeling lightheaded from the impact, you reach to touch your head, feeling blood. Shit.

Jake runs through the debris and broken parts of the train, looking for you and Lo’ak. No matter how bad the relationship between you and him. You’re still his daughter.

“Lo’ak, where are you?” Jake calls out, his eyes squints as he tries to see through the smoke.

“Y/n!” He calls out for you. Jake hears coughing and a dark figure and quickly runs towards it. Seeing it’s Lo’ak, he reaches for him.

“Easy, easy, you okay?” Jake softly tries to comfort him. Lo’ak is still in shock but none the less nods

“Yeah”

“Where’s your sister?” Jake hurriedly ask.

“That way” Lo’ak points at a direction.

“Where is she? Where?” Jake follows the direction on where he pointed.

“Get outta here! Go on!” Jake demands, climbs on top of the destroyed gunship seeing a trail of blood.

“Y/n!” Jake calls. He looks . His heart beating rapidly.

“Shit” you cough out.

“Oh no” Jake whispers, he follows the trail and jumps down from the ship. He sees a dead Na’vi on the laying face down. “Oh, no, no, no” he leans down to check the body, seeing it’s not you.

“Oh god” Jake breathes. He hears your coughing. He notices your body not far. He runs and jumps over a rock, kneeling down over you.

You’re laying on your stomach, Jake gently moves you on your back. You groan, the pain going from 0 to 100. You hiss feeling a burning sensation on your back.

“Y/n” Jake says softly.

“Dad?” You cough out, seeing Jake holding you.

Jake grabs you by your shoulder to sit you up and looks over your shoulder, seeing multiple burns and cuts on your back. You hiss from the movement as Jake lays you back down.

“What are you doing here, Y/n?” Jake growls as you cough. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Dad, can we not-“ you reply weakly.

Jake stands up as he pulls you by your arm and puts your body over his shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be spotters. You spot bogeys, and you call ‘em in. From a distance” Jake growled angrily at you. “Does any of this sound familiar? Get in here!” Jake tells Lo’ak, who was standing by his Ikran, away from our father wrath. Jake is once again acting like a Drill Sargent rather than a father.

You glare at the ground as Jake berates you. He’s pissed. You never cared of his constant piss show. You did what you had to do, and that’s to protect your brother, and you did. You’ll take pride to it, despite what they’ll tell you. You won’t feel guilty or small by your fathers anger.

You turn to your left feeling someone’s hands on you, seeing Kiri. She looks at your back with a grim look. She gently reaches to touch your back, you grab her hand to pull her away.

“Jesus. I let you three geniuses fly a mission and you disobey a direct orders” Jake scolds you. You once again push Kiri’s hands away when you felt her touch a tender wound.

“Kiri, can you go help your grandmother with the wounded? Please?” Jake says with a softer tone.

“My sister is wounded” Kiri points out, unamused by Jake’s behavior towards you. This isn’t new, Kiri is familiar with how Jake treats you, and she hates it.

“It’s fine, Kiri” you reassure her.

“Baby girl, please. Tuk, go with her. Go.” Jake demands softly. Tuk and Kiri leaves with huff sigh.

“Dad” you call. Jake turns and gives you a hard look. You look back with a glare. Out of all your siblings, you’re the only one who’s not afraid to fight back.

“I’m not going to apologize for this. I’ll admit I went against orders and I’ll take full responsibility for that but-“ Jake cuts you off before you can’t continue, making you clench your jaw.

“Yeah, you do. That’s right. ‘Cause you’re the oldest. You gotta act like it” Jake scolds. Your upper lips twitch with a small snarl you let out towards Jake. Jake glares, challenging you.

“Ma’Jake” Neytiri softly calls. Jake reluctantly turns away from you to look at Neytiri. “Your daughter is actually bleeding”

“I am fine, mother” you turn to glare at Jake. “Not like you care” with out being dismissed by him, you roughly bump your shoulder against his.

“Hey! We’re not done talking!” Jake yells after you, but you ignore him as you went to see Mo’at, your grandmother. Neytiri gives Jake a look as she follows close behind you, not before looking at Lo’ak with a knowing look.

“Neteyam, go with them” Jake dismisses his oldest son. Neteyam gives Lo’ak a look before following you.

Jake sighs before looking at Lo’ak, placing his hands on his military vest.

“You do understand that you almost got your sister killed” Jake lowly says.

“Yes sir” Lo’ak nods.

“You’re grounded. No flying for a month” Jake says. Lo’ak looks down, feeling disappointed. He sometimes wish he had the courage to fight back like you did. Lo’ak Unwilling accepts the punishment, not wanting to anger him.

“Now, see to the Ikran. All of em” Jake demands.

“Yes sir” Lo’ak nods.

“And get that crap off your face” Jake demands before leaving.

“Ow. Ow!” You wince as Mo’at works on your back. Spreading the mixed herbs over your wounds.

“Aww, want a kiss on the boo-boo?” Spider teases.

“Shut up” you playfully place your fingers into a bowl with mixed herbs and flick your fingers at him.

“Hey!” Spider laughs.

“Enough!” Mo’at scolds you. A few feet away from you, Kiri is doing another batch of mixed herbs, tasting it with a hum of approval.

Since the arrival of the sky people, your grandmother been teaching Kiri as well but you’re still to be the next Tsáhik and wed to Tarsem. Your grandmother says it’s for the best, but you think bullshit. You know your grandmother is against your father’s mistreatment of you, she assumed if she lays off responsibilities, it’ll give you a break. It somewhat did.

“Give her this” Kiri instructed as she hands the cup to Tuk.

“Okay”

“I would use yalna bark” Kiri mentions to you and your grandmother.

“Here drink” Tuk instructs you. You nodded softly, gratefully smiling at her before taking a sip.

“Ugh” you stick your tongue out, gelling revolted by the taste. Spider laughs at your reaction.

“Oh, you would? And who is Tsahik?” Mo’at says.

“You are, grand… move!” Kiri begins to speak before pushing Lo’ak and Neteyam out of her way. “You are, grandmother. But yalna bark is better.” Kiri argues softly.

“Ow, ow! Ow.” You wince, feeling your grandmother spread more on your back.

“She’s right, grandmother. It stings less” you mention with a wince. Kiri sighs, she hates seeing you in pain, hates seeing you always coming home with a new wound.

“My sister is a mighty warrior!” Neteyam snickers, making fun of your pain.

“Screw you” you curse at Neteyam.

“No cursing” your grandmother chastises before lightly hits your head.

“Ow”

Neytiri looks into the tent, with a disdain look on her face. This is one of many times you’ve been in the healing tent, and she hated every single one. She felt lost, she hated seeing you in so much pain, and the worst part is… you won’t even come to her for comfort like you used to. Since that argument about Spider, she had lost you. And she no one else to blame but herself, for letting her distaste of Spider her the best of her.

Neytiri glance over her shoulder, seeing Jake solely focusing on his guns, it angers Neytiri. You got hurt. Yes, you were okay, but you and your siblings are in the tent. He hardly gave glances at the tent from where he’s sitting.

“What?” Jake sighs, feeling Neytiri’s glare.

“Neteyam and Lo’ak try to live up to you. Y/n despises you” Neytiri starts. She finally turns to look at Jake. “It is very hard on them”

“I know” Jake doesn’t bother making eye contact with Neytiri.

“No. I don’t think you do…” Neytiri moves closer and knelt down close to him. “You are very hard on them. On Y/n”

“I’m their father. It’s my job.” Jake says, finally turning to look at Neytiri with a hard stare.

“This is not a squad. It is a family” Neytiri says softly/sternly. “We almost lost our daughter today”

Jake sighs, he looks away before making eye contact with Neytiri. He finally places the gun down. It’s been hard on for the last of couple years, more since the sky people arrived. He almost lost you, and he didn’t know how he would’ve felt losing you. It’s one thing acting like strangers but another when he almost lost you.

“I thought I lost them. I thought I lost Y/n” Jake whispers. His eyes big, watery and filled with so much pain. Neytiri sighs softly before reaching out for Jake’s hand

“Hey” Spider softly calls you.

You’re in your own Kelku once your grandmother finished on your wounds. You were carving an arrow when you heard Spider’s light footsteps enter.

“Hey” you smile as you place your arrow and hunting knife besides you.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to check on you” you notice how Spider fidgets with his hands. You have a feelings on what’s really bothering him. You sigh as you stood up.

“Spider… I’m fine” you tell him softly, you place your hand on his dreads.

“But you could’ve…” Spider couldn’t finish his sentence, he couldn’t bare the thought of losing you.

“Look at me” you kneel down, you grab the bottoms of his mask and gently pick his head up. Spider’s eyes were red and watery.

“Oh Spider” you pull him into your chest, hugging him. Spider instantly wraps his arms around your midsection, hugging tightly. Spider couldn’t hold back his sobs. You gently shush him.

“I promised I would be back. Didn’t I?” You try to lighten the mood, you try to pull away to look at him but Spider resists, not wanting to let you go.

“Spider. You are my heart, my soul, my world, my best friend, and my everything” you promise softly.

“I love you, Y/n” Spider muffled voice say. You softly smile as you lean down and peck his hair.

“I love you brother”

Previous | Next

[rosewaterandivy]

summer soldier, sunshine patriot

a little amuse bouche for aim low, aim true that’s been knockin’ around the ol’ dome for a while. enjoy 💜

And the guy, no older than Eddie and barely able to grow a beard, caught it in the gut before collapsing in a heap at his feet. Panicked, Eddie drags the soldier toward the cover of trees, yells out “Medic! Medic!” and tries to soothe the rattle of death as best he can even as his voice shakes: “You’re gonna be fine, pal. Help is on the way.”

In the letter sent home to his family, along with his dog tags and personal effects, the acting captain will relay his sympathies to the bereaved back home. He will write that the soldier died quickly and with honor.

This is a lie, of course. The poor bastard died screaming.

Sometimes, it’s all Eddie can see when he shuts his eyes.

Sleep never comes easy.

Men grunting and grumbling, lost in a haze heat thousands miles away from home. You sleep with one eye open, if you sleep at all. An ear to the ground for any hushed footfalls or artillery fire, a radio crackling to life.

A hand on your gun, fingering the trigger if you’re the unlucky sonovabitch on lookout duty. Even then, Eddie keeps his rifle close because some of these boys are greener than the grass he’d laid on back home, back when things weren’t so dire.

The helmet on his head shifts with a soft rattle as he seeks what little comfort there is in a hastily dug foxhole. He licks his lips and tilts his face up to see the dark sky dusted with stars.

Sometimes, if he can just close his eyes, he’ll feel the grip of your hand on his jaw. Taste the waxy floral red of your lipstick as it smears against his mouth— that vibrant pillar-box red. The smell of sweat and bodies, the faint lingering of soap, how the fading light illuminated your hungry gaze. How you looked at him easy and open.

“Jesus,” He says, running a desperate hand down his face, “Fuck.” Thunks his head on the earthen wall behind him, embarrassingly hard. Could come in a minute if he let himself think about it; less, probably.

In the distance, he hears soft popping sounds. Someone curses as something thuds into the camp. A crackle of radio static before Malone bellows:

“Fire-in-the-hole!”

_

Steve is not a religious man, but as they say, there are no atheists in foxholes.

There’s a bulletproof Bible in his chest pocket, right over his heart.

He’s never cracked the spine, save to open the cover and slot your picture inside. It doesn’t do you justice, but it’ll have to do until he’s back on American soil.

His letters home are all redacted and he couldn’t say where he was precisely if pressed. Currently, he’s somewhere in France about five kilometers due east of the target.

The jump had been fucked from the start and everyone knew it. Night missions are a crap shoot at best and a cluster at worst. The plane had sustained heavy fire to one of the turbines, only to lose it mid-flight.

And the act of jumping itself wasn’t the problem, paratroopers were trained and drilled for weeks on end for this, in addition to their combat, reconnaissance, and medical training. In fact, Steve found the brief moments mid-air before the chaos descended, to be rather freeing.

It was on the ground that things tended to go sideways.

He cuts the lead from the parachute and stuffs the slippery silk into his pack. Men drop softly in the field around him and quickly do the same. He can hear the artillery fire in the distance, can see the bright glow of fires as they burn the village to the ground.

And, for the briefest of moments, Steve wonders if this can possibly be real. How can he be in France stationed in the western theater of war, while you’re back home with his class ring on your pretty little finger? This was all clearly a catastrophic mistake, a visceral nightmare he’s sure to wake from.

”Steve,” your voice says in that husky tone he loves so much, “You come back to me, you hear?”

He thanks his lucky stars that the top brass made them write out wills and designate next of kin before shipping out. Feels like he’s spelled your name out a million times, to the secretaries with their typewriters, the doctors, and his CO; yes sir, that’s my next of kin. Lives in Hawkins, Indiana, mark her down.

The men from his company are scattered across the fields of Normandy and they need to get to rally point. Steve drags a finger along his neck feeling for the gold chain of your locket. His thumb worries against the smooth back of the heart-shaped pendant. He brings it to his lips, warmed from his heaving chest.

Kisses it once for luck, and tucks it underneath his jacket.

He loads his rifle and creeps through the tall grass as mortar shells fall softly in the early morning light.

[milkboydotnet]

Condemn and resist US-led warmongering in Asia-Pacific! Support the Filipino people’s struggle for national liberation and democracy!

Robert Reid | Chairperson FFPS

The Friends of the Filipino People in Struggle (FFPS) condemns Marcos Jr. for surrendering Philippine sovereignty and putting the Filipino people in serious danger. We strongly oppose the continued US military build-up on Philippine soil as part of its war provocations against China, threatening to engulf the entire region into war. 

The ongoing Balikatan US war exercises in the Philippines involves 16,000 troops 11,000 of which are US soldiers, making it the biggest joint military drills to date.

The exercises are part of the US government’s first island chain strategy, which aims to encircle China by creating a fortified chain of US-controlled islands. Part of the exercises will take place on the strategic Batanes islands and Palawan. The Batanes islands being close to Taiwan, allows control over the strategic Bashi Channel. Palawan on the other hand borders the contested West Philippine Sea. From these strategic islands, the US is testing its new Typhon mid-range missile systems that have the capacity to hit China. 

With such military build-up in the first island chain, the US aims to provoke China into striking first, giving the US an excuse to go to war with its imperialist rival. 

US military build-up in the region only brings suffering to the Filipino people. The current Balikatan exercises and the presence of US troops in communities are disrupting the people’s livelihoods, who cannot access their crops, coasts and seas due to increased militarization. In combination with widespread landlessness and a vicious cycle of debt through feudal relations of production, which are aggravated by the current drought El Niño, and the unwillingness of the Marcos Jr. to address the root causes of their hardships, this pushes the majority of the Filipino people into increasingly desperate situations.

Furthermore, communities are traumatised due to the constant bombardment of low flying jets, aerial bombing campaigns and artillery shelling as part of the war drills. All this suffering however would pale in comparison to the catastrophe that would befall the Filipino people in the event of a full-pledged inter-imperialist war. 

One of the biggest obstacles preventing a US-China war in the region is the revolutionary movement in the Philippines. The revolutionary struggle that has roused and mobilized millions of Filipinos in clear opposition to US imperialist oppression and exploitation, and to the despotic ruling landed and comprador bourgeoisie classes, has forced the Philippine puppet government to deploy most of the US-directed AFP forces on ‘internal defence’ instead of ‘external defence’. 

The Filipino people’s resistance to foreign domination is a thorn in the eye of the US and its strategic interests, who have ordered Marcos Jr. to finish off the entire revolutionary movement before the end of the year. However, this is already the umpteenth extension of their deadline to the Government of the Philippines (GRP), as Marcos Jr. and his counterrevolutionary forces have failed to follow through on the previous deadline to end the revolutionary movement, just like all his predecessors including his dictator father Marcos Sr.

Since the US-directed “counterinsurgency” does not try to address the root causes that push the Filipino people to fight for national and social liberation, it can only fail in ending their armed struggle. It has only resulted in a fully-fledged war against the Filipino people. There have been increases in militarizations of rural communities and other violations of International Humanitarian Law, such as increased number of abductions, killings and bombings, to try and squash the revolutionary movement and all dissent through the most vicious means. 

As FFPS we vehemently stand with the Filipino people as they resist the fascist onslaught of the US-directed Marcos Jr. regime and fully support the demand of the Filipino people to dismantle US military bases in the Philippines and end US imperialist aggression and warmongering in the region. We stand with the Philippine revolutionary movement in advancing the national democratic revolution, recognizing that the Filipino people’s revolutionary war for national liberation and democracy is a concrete and essential contribution by the Filipino people to fighting imperialist war in the region.

End US aggression in the Philippines! Stop the bombings in the Philippines!  Militant action against US imperialist war-mongering! We support the Filipino aspiration: National Liberation against US imperialism! Support the advance of the Filipino people’s war for national liberation and democracy!

[rotworld]

11: Last One Standing

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

a talented and fiercely loyal assassin, you serve as the living weapon of a daring pirate captain operating in the koronus expanse. when your skills catch the attention of his most dangerous ally, you're forced to make a seemingly unthinkable choice.

->warhammer 40k. original drukhari/reader. contains graphic descriptions of violence, gore, sadism, murder and implied torture.

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First maxim of the Vazra: I am the blade that hungers. Captain Strenger points you at prey, and you feed.

He wants an Imperial transport vessel, an unwieldy behemoth trundling slothlike and vulnerable through the black of space, so you will lay it at his feet. This isn’t something you do alone. It has naval escorts, artillery-studded and knife-prowed. Attack cruisers chase and harry while ponderous battleships obliterate anything that streaks across their path.  This is a fight for Captain Strenger’s fleet and its fearsome accomplices, thorny hunting ships that slip from their cloaking along the steel underbellies of their prey like knives in the dark. Precise sniping shots unravel voidshields and disembowel engines. Heavy artillery bursts into slow-spinning clouds of debri before they fully emerge from their ports.

Only then does Captain Strenger order all ships into the fray to pick off lingering resistance. Only then does he dart for the prize. His personal craft, the Vicious Dancer, was once an Imperial interceptor. It can mimic the signal needed to pry open the transport vessel’s hangar bay and slot itself inside, followed by its stealthy siblings and the sleek, sickle-winged predator craft of your allies. Alarms blare and emergency lights flash as heavy metal doors and barriers seal shut and the chamber pressurizes.

“I didn’t realize they’d be joining us,” Reyna mutters, watching cockpit hatches open and armored xenos slide out with unnatural grace. They are beautiful in an eerie, severe way, their features sharp and their ears pointed. Proportions stretched to lithe and willowy extremes, the drukhari never fail to unsettle Captain Strenger’s crew in their manner of fighting, moving, or simply existing. You’re not completely unfamiliar with them. They were a common sight on your homeworld of Qepek, frequent visitors and tenuous allies against the Imperium’s encroachment into the Koronus Expanse. They remind you of jungle cats; slinking lethality combined with a cruel, playful nature. You see them checking their weapons, testing the sharpness of poison-tipped daggers and calibrating splinter rifles. One catches Reyna staring and smirks, waving a claw-tipped glove.

“They have their needs and we have ours,” Captain Strenger says. He unfastens himself from the pilot’s seat, the first one out with his boots on the metal walkway of the hangar bay. You’re quick to follow, assessing your surroundings for threats. Nobody’s come to greet you yet. This strikes you as odd. No Imperial vessel would give up without a fight, however hopeless. “You know the drill. Stay behind them, let them soak up the lasfire. We need a cargo manifest and access codes.” 

“I don’t like this,” Syd hisses. He’s clutching his plasma rifle in a shaky grip. “What are they getting out of this partnership? They obviously don’t need us, so there must be something else. Just because they haven’t stabbed us in the back yet—”

“Now’s not the time,” the captain says.

Syd doesn’t take the hint. He turns on you, gesturing wildly. “You’re fine with this? They don’t look like a threat to you? You’re supposed to protect us!”

You spare him just enough attention to ensure he isn’t going to do something impulsive and foolish. “I’m supposed to protect the captain,” you say. Second maxim of the Vazra: Loyalty first to the hand that wields me.

“Don’t bother,” Reyna grumbles. “Let’s just get this over with. I hate when we have to look at them.” 

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.” A familiar drawl commands the attention of the entire hangar bay. Captain Strenger’s crew assemble as the drukhari step aside to allow a towering figure to the front. Like the others, he wears form-fitting armor that seems to bristle with spikes from head to toe, but his attire is more elaborate than the rest. An enormous crescent blade juts from one pauldron, the cape at his back lined with spotted fur that drapes over his shoulders. A red warrior’s loincloth is tied around his waist concealing the codpiece of his armor. A collection of heavy pendants dangle at his waist, each gemstone dull and cracked. You don’t have to understand the complex hierarchies of drukhari society to recognize he’s in charge here—the archon who leads this raiding force.

“Archon Erzhylak,” Captain Strenger says. 

“Strenger,” the archon coos, as though speaking to a child. “Your continued survival never ceases to amaze me. So few of you out here, so far from the charnel fetishists of your corpse king.” His gaze wanders like he’s already bored, scrutinizing your crewmates who try to avoid his gaze. He wears his hair down, one side shaved, the other long and limp over his shoulder. You can tell this is unusual just by looking at the others. High, tight ponytails that make your scalp ache to look at are the norm for those with hair long enough. You know from those tense negotiations in the courts of Qepek that Erzhylak’s appearance is casual to the point of disrespect. The long, unruly bangs hanging half in his face imply he feels unthreatened and unwilling to impress Captain Strenger’s crew.

Inevitably, his eyes find yours; deep violet and adorned with dragging black lines like a spider’s legs stretches across his skin. “He has you to thank for that, doesn’t he? It seems like a terrible waste to me. Such a precious, faithful blade in the hands of a clumsy little boy.” Erzhylak’s gaze falls to the dagger sheathed at your thigh. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disapproval. With the snap of his fingers, one of his subordinates rushes to his side and presents a bundle wrapped with luxurious red fabric. He unwraps it with a flourish, revealing a short blade with a slight, talon-like curve. “A wych knife,” he muses. “A simple but elegant weapon, favored by the traditionalists of the arena. I had this one commissioned to better suit the hands of a human. The proportions of the blade and grip have been altered, but it should be no less deadly. I can think of no one better to have this than a Vazra assassin.”  

You avert your eyes. Erzhylak’s interest in you has been unnervingly persistent ever since Captain Strenger first struck a deal of mutual benefit. “I can’t accept it,” you say.

“Truly?” Erzhylak asks, feigning great disappointment. He picks up the knife, almost comically small in his long-fingered hands, stroking his thumb against the curve of the blade. “Ah, you mean your wielder would not allow it. What a shame. You’re more puritanical than I realized, Strenger, denying yourself the advantages of superior weaponry simply because your stagnant empire did not create it.” He pauses and you can feel his eyes burning into you. “If you served me,” he purrs, “you could have anything your heart desires. Only the best for my faithful blades.” 

Captain Strenger steps forward, putting himself between you and Erzhylak. It makes the archon smile, sharp and cold. “We’d better get on with it,” he says brusquely. “The longer we wait, the more time we give the transport crew to build barricades. I don’t think either of us wants this to take longer than it has to.” 

“You’re not particularly good at reading the room, are you?” Erzhylak drawls. He tucks the wych knife back into its velvet wrapping and hands it off to someone else. “Very well. As you say—let’s get on with it.” He waves his hand dismissively and his forces begin filing out into the corridor leading further into the transport vessel. “The agreement is the same as always. Everything alive on this ship belongs to me. I care not what happens to the rest.” 

“Fine with me,” the captain says tersely. 

Erzhylak glances at you again, his expression deceptively calm. You’ve learned to be wary when the drukhari look at ease—it simply means they’re considering how best to catch you off guard. “I’ve been to Qepek, you know. A refreshingly sensible place, for a mon-keigh world. The strong rule and the weak are trampled underfoot.” He saunters closer. 

Captain Strenger is tense beside you, hand resting on the holster of his laspistol. “That’s close enough,” he says.

Erzhylak calls his bluff. He looms over both of you but he pays no attention to the captain, his attention solely on you. “Remind me,” he murmurs. “What is the sixth maxim of the Vazra?” 

A jungle cat isn’t the only apt comparison. He’s like the titanic serpents of your homeworld’s forests—the venomous, lunging sort, and also the slower, more sinister constrictors. It’s said they mesmerize their prey, swaying in a hypnotic dance that leaves small mammals entranced until the moment they’re devoured whole. 

You swallow hard. “Should the hand that wields me tremble, it is my right to seek another,” you recite. 

“That’s right.” The archon affords Captain Strenger a moment of attention, a smug glance in the corner of his eye. “Does he tremble, faithful blade? Do you feel dulled and wasted in his hand?” 

“Do you have something to say to me?” Captain Strenger asks. 

Erzhylak laughs. He raises his hands in a pacifying gesture and backs away one slow, deliberate step at a time. “No, no. I think I’ve said everything I care to say. Except, maybe, to tell you that you should have listened to your men.” 

The moment he takes one last step and joins his soldiers in the corridor, a metal grate drops in the open doorway, cutting you off from the rest of the ship. The lights in the hangar bay flicker, dim and finally die with a burst of glass, leaving only the menacing red of the emergency lights. Someone opens fire on the drukhari and manages to aim through the bars, but their shots fizzle out on the translucent, shimmering walls of a forcefield. You stay close to Captain Strenger, guarding his back, but nothing comes for you. The drukhari locked themselves on the other side. They watch your crew descend into fear and panic with satisfied expressions.

“Wow, what a surprise! They double-crossed us,” Syd hisses. “None of us expected that to happen.”

“What’s this about, Erzhylak?” the captain says. 

The archon shrugs. “I’m bored of you, Strenger. This arrangement has been an amusing diversion but you’ve wrung all the fun out of it with your baffling and unearned overconfidence. You didn’t find it suspicious to have such exact coordinates for when and where this vessel would appear? It didn’t strike you as strange that they were subdued so easily?”

The captain frowns tightly. He hadn’t found it suspicious, but the others had. They’d confronted in him in the days leading up to this raid, begged him to listen to reason, and he’d ignored them. It was good intel, he’d insisted. More importantly, the potential haul—a shipment of luxuries bound for a newly established pleasure world—was too good to pass up.

You’d said nothing. It wasn’t your place to question your wielder.

“You’ve had a mutiny brewing for a little while now, did you know that?” Erzhylak presses. “Of course you didn’t. Too busy believing you’re indestructible. I set this stage with help from one of your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Captain Strenger isn’t paying attention. He doesn’t see how tense Reyna just became, the wide eyes and hard swallow as she slowly, subtly reaches for the weapon at her hip. 

But you do, and you don’t hesitate. 

It’s a single stroke. The crew probably doesn’t even see it as anything more than a blur. You unsheathe your dagger and slit her throat in the same lightning quick motion. She pitches forward, both hands clutching at the gaping red maw in her neck, gushing blood slicking her fingers. The others scatter with startled shouts but Captain Strenger simply looks back and nods appreciatively. 

“Marvelous,” Erzhylak sighs. The look he’s giving you, the desire, the hunger, makes a shiver run down your spine. “This is what I want. Perhaps you can still entertain me after all.” He spreads his arms in a grand gesture, smiling broadly. “I have a proposition for you,” he declares. “Kill each other. Whoever is left gets to leave here alive.” 

Stunned silence fills the hangar bay. Someone starts to hyperventilate. Reyna shudders and chokes on her own blood with arrhythmic wet wheezes. “You’re not serious,” Captain Strenger says. 

Erzhylak regards him with exasperated impatience. “Do you need encouragement? I suppose we could kill you ourselves. But if I’m being honest, Strenger, this isn’t just about you. It takes more than one person to stage a mutiny.”

They go for you first. They have to. The first is nervous, too slow lining up his aim. You’re on him long before he knows what’s happened. One stroke and his fingers are gone, plopping uselessly to the ground like pebbles. You don’t have time to close the distance before the rest throw themselves at you, brass knuckles and knives and firing wildly with no care for whoever else they might hit. It’s not even close. They’re stressed, exhausted, overworked and underfed. At best, they’re deserters, ex-Imperial Guard who vaguely recall their close quarters training. 

You were born and raised for this. Your dagger paints a scarlet streak through flesh and air. You dance and leap and stay in the thick of them so they do half of the work for you, stray shots and clumsy strikes dislocating limbs and splattering skulls. Bodies unravel and entrails spill in your wake. You feel eyes on you. Captain Strenger watches with cool confidence, knowing this isn’t a fight you can lose.

The archon is watching, too. You can feel him all the way across the room, the weight and the heat of his eyes drinking in the sight of your artistry. It should only be your wielder whose attention emboldens you. It should only be your wielder who guides your steps. That doesn’t make you any less aware of his presence. 

What’s left of the crew realizes the tide has shifted. They run, or at least they try. One sprints for the Vicious Dancer but he never makes it. You tug his head back by the hair and don’t waste more than a moment opening his throat, but a moment is all the other one needs. She’s steadier, a much better shot, but nothing moves as fast as a Vazra assassin when their wielder is watching. You spin with the choking man in your grasp and he takes the brunt of every shot, riddled with smoking, cauterized wounds by the time you reach her. “Fucking knew you were trouble,” she spits, the last thing she ever says. You have time and the prickling thrill of your wielder’s eyes on your back so you are thorough, meticulous, sawing and hacking through old scar tissue, shredding flesh until the last slash severs head from body. 

You grasp it by the hair. The ragged neck wound oozes and drips across the floor. You turn to present it to your wielder and find him much closer now.

The muzzle of his laspistol is cold against your forehead. You drop the head and it splats wetly, rolls onto its side. 

“It’s you,” he says, quiet horror dawning on him. “You’re what he wants.” 

You stare back at him, uncomprehending. Behind him, the barrier lifts with a clatter of steel. 

“All those raids he helped us with. All the intel he gave us. All this time, stirring up discontent behind my back.” Captain Strenger’s voice quivers with fear and rage. His finger curls around the trigger but his hand is shaking, his aim jittering around in the air. He doesn’t want to shoot you but he’s afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t. “Just so we’d tear each other apart and he could take you from me.”

“So he does have a brain,” Erzhylak muses. “What else could I have possibly wanted from you? You didn’t think we really needed the help, did we? I’ve been raiding since long before you were born.” His footsteps grow slowly closer. “What I want,” he says, “is loyalty. Nothing is harder to come by in Commorragh. Nothing is more priceless. And here you are, squandering it.” 

“They won’t go with you.” The captain tries to steady himself. He takes deep breaths. You clutch your dagger, your heart aching. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. You did everything he wanted. You went where he pointed you, fed on the prey laid in your path. “They won’t abandon me. I won’t let them.” 

Erzhylak is right behind him now. His shadow falls over both of you. His smile is wide and his gaze is expectant. Waiting. Wanting. He’s wanted you from the start. “The sixth maxim,” he reminds you. You look at him. You look at Captain Strenger. You know the captain sees the answer in your eyes because he lets out a frightened sound and pulls the trigger. 

Too late. Nothing is faster than a Vazra assassin in the gaze of their wielder, even if that gaze is fearful and betrayed. You slap his wrist and the shot goes wide, and then you’re on him, knocking him to the ground and straddling his waist. You freeze, realizing where you are and what you’re about to do. He looks at you with tears in his eyes. This is your wielder. You clutch your dagger harder. Erzhylak’s spiked boots step into view and he kneels beside you, an eerie, spider-like hand settling on your shoulder. He leans in, his breath warming the shell of your ear. 

“Does he tremble?” he whispers. 

He does more than tremble. Captain Strenger sobs and thrashes and begs for his life. More than pity, you feel revulsion. 

Erzhylak wraps you in his arms. His armor is sharp, the edges and spines painful where they dig into your body. His hands, clad in black, claw-tipped gauntlets, slide down your arms in a sensual caress. He plucks the dagger from your hands. In its place, he sets the wych knife, closing your fingers around it in soft reverence. “Then it is your right. Isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” you say. You test the weight of the knife in your hand. The feel of the metal, the curve of it against your palm. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs, pressed against your side. “I’m here. I will sharpen you to the most perfect edge and I will wield you as he never could.” He wraps a hand around yours, easily engulfing it. He moves your aim higher, the tip of the knife poised right above one of Captain Strenger’s wide, watery eyes. He inhales deeply and sighs with a delighted shudder, feeding on the endless waves of despair pouring from the man beneath you both. “Slowly,” he urges. “Carefully. Take your time. Leave him alive as long as possible.” It goes against your instincts to avoid a killing strike but you’ll try. You’ll learn. It’s what your wielder desires. 

Captain Strenger begs, and then he weeps, and then he begins to scream. Erzhylak laughs and you feel his joy as your own.

You are the blade that hungers.

[mariacallous]

On 2 February 2022, the Russian navy was to begin an exercise in Irish waters. The Irish government had pleaded with the Kremlin not to go ahead, but in vain. Only when Irish fishermen intervened did the Kremlin decide to abandon the exercise. Any day now, Russian warships will return to Irish waters for another exercise, and the Dublin government can’t count on Irish fishermen to once again solve its predicament. Now that the neutral country needs to defend itself and its waters, it can only hope and plead.

‘Defence Forces “hyper aware” as Russian navy expected to conduct drills,’ the Irish Examiner reported on 17 September. The Irish Defence Forces are still hyper aware, for the Russian navy can arrive in Ireland’s Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) at any time. After a few embarrassing mishaps in the Black Sea at the hands of Ukraine, it is trying to prove its worth. Earlier this month, Russia conducted the massive Ocean 2024 exercise with the navy of China’s People’s Liberation Army and People’s Liberation Army air force. The mostly Russian exercise involved 400 warships, submarines and support vessels, more than 120 naval aircraft and more than 90,000 personnel.

Ireland’s waters weren’t part of Ocean 2024, but in recent years the Russian navy has shown considerable interest in Ireland. In May last year, for example, several Russian navy ships entered Ireland’s EEZ south of the country  –  and stayed put. ‘[The situation] is carefully monitored by Ireland and by others and that is an ongoing scenario where people track what’s happening within international waters and, indeed, within the Irish exclusive economic zone, which is quite large in itself,’ Tanaiste (Foreign Minister) Micheal Martin said after the ships arrived, adding that ‘I don’t see it as a threat, but it’s something we are very conscious of and we keep a very close eye on.’ It was not the first time Russian naval and merchant ships had mysteriously parked themselves off Ireland’s southern coast, which just happens to be home to an extraordinary concentration of undersea internet cables.

Indeed, some time in late 2021 or early 2022 the Russian navy decided to conduct an exercise in the EEZ. The exercise was to begin on 3 February 2022. The Irish government sought to prevent it from happening by pleading with the Kremlin and calling the exercise ‘unwelcome and unwanted’, but to no avail. Russia’s ambassador to Ireland, Yuri Filatov, declared that ‘there is nothing to be disturbed, concerned, or anguished about and I have extensively explained that to our Irish colleagues’.

The Irish government was powerless to make the exercise go away. In late January, it issued a statement advising Irish fishermen that the exercise would begin on 3 February and that vessels should be aware of ‘serious safety risks’ in the area and avoid entering it. Russia had indicated the exercises would involve naval artillery and rocket launches, the advisory explained. The fishermen were outraged. ‘This is the livelihoods of fishermen and fishing families all around the coastline here,’ Patrick Murphy, the chief executive of the Irish South and West Fish Producers Organisation, told RTE radio. ‘It’s our waters. Can you imagine if the Russians were applying to go onto the mainland of Ireland to go launching rockets, how far would they get with that?’

The fishermen took action. ‘Our boats will be going out to that area on the first of February to go fishing,’ Murphy told Politico on 25 January. ‘When one boat needs to return to port, another will head out so there is a continuous presence on the water. If that is in proximity to where the exercise is going, we are expecting that the Russian naval services abide by the anti-collision regulations.’ It was a clever move. By fielding a constant presence of fishing boats in the planned exercise waters, the fishermen would prevent the Russian navy from carrying out the exercise. The Kremlin backed down. Now the Irish fishermen’s showdown with the Kremlin is headed for the big screen: well-deserved fame for the West’s most unexpected national security strategists.

The Irish government can’t count on Murphy and his men to bail it out once again. Russia is prepared, and fishermen should not have to improvise national-security fixes. The Irish government is on its own, and that means having to face off the Russian navy and other prospective intruders with the means of the Irish Defence Forces. That’s a total of two army brigades, an army training centre, 17 aircraft (including helicopters) and six patrol vessels, some of which seem to be regularly in poor repair.

It’s not much with which to deter an intruder, even one merely wanting to frighten Ireland by loitering on top of the undersea cables connecting the world. No wonder Irish ministers firmly declare that the Irish Defence Forces are ‘hyper aware’ and that the government is ‘keeping a close eye’ on potential intruders: the country can do little more than be hyper aware.

Indeed, Ireland – which was so skillfully on trend during globalisation’s exuberant years and has so richly capitalised on globalised business – has thoroughly failed to spot the deteriorating situation around it. Other European countries are beefing up their armed forces, which, for the most part, were far larger than the Irish Defence Forces to begin with. Sweden and Finland, for so long neutral and then militarily non-aligned, have joined NATO. Neutral Ireland, by contrast, seems frozen in globalisation time – and even if it decided to shore up its defence now, this wouldn’t yield results any time soon.

That makes the many companies that have set up their European headquarters in Ireland (and depend on undersea cables to do business) highly vulnerable. Will they start leaving the island? We can’t know. What’s clear is that Ireland, a nation that bet everything on globalisation, is riding straight into a security dilemma.