#is to get arrested. to be illegal and disruptive and in the way until they arrest you. and so the org is supposed to have a bail fund.

[newstfionline]

Monday, September 25, 2023

Fears grow that overseas targeted killing by states is on the rise (Washington Post) The allegation that India was involved in the assassination of a Canadian citizen and Sikh activist on Canadian soil moves the world’s most populous nation onto a dubious list of countries suspected of carrying out targeted killings beyond their borders. If confirmed, India would join Russia, Saudi Arabia, Iran and other countries credibly accused of plotting lethal attacks overseas against perceived adversaries, including their own citizens, in recent years, according to Western security officials and experts. Those states are among an even broader group including China that are widely suspected of employing their security services to engage in surveillance operations, intimidation campaigns and even abductions on other countries’ territory. The United States’ muted response so far to Canada’s allegations against India reflect Washington’s conflicted position on the issue, having launched its own unilateral strikes on terrorist leaders and been widely perceived as taking a harder line against alleged abuses of adversaries such as Russia than countries including India and Israel, which are considered allies. In a measure of the perceived proliferation of such extrajudicial and extraterritorial operations, international organizations and human rights groups have adopted a term—“transnational repression”—to capture its various forms as well as the intent of governments involved.

Prospect of government shutdown poses a new threat to U.S. economy (Washington Post) The looming federal shutdown poses a new threat to American households, whose budgets are already facing pressure from higher gas prices, imminent student loan payments and depleting pandemic savings. Although any of those shocks on their own wouldn’t be enough to sink the economy, economists say a pileup of disruptions—including the ongoing autoworkers’ strike, rising borrowing costs and a drop-off in child-care funding—is likely to strain family budgets at a time when things are already slowing. Economists now expect growth to dip considerably in last three months of the year, as a confluence of challenges chip away at household and business spending.

One Day on the Border: 8,900 Migrants Arrested, and More on the Way (NYT) They come from Brazil, Burkina Faso, Uzbekistan, India and dozens of other countries, a moving global village of hundreds of thousands of people crossing the Rio Grande and slipping through gaps in the border wall at a pace of nearly 9,000 people a day, one of the highest rates of unlawful crossings in months. Despite new border barriers and thickets of razor wire, risk of deportation and pleas for patience, a resurgent tide of men, women and children is not waiting. Driven by desperation, families and individuals are pushing across the southern border and past new efforts by the Biden administration to keep migrants waiting until they secure hard-to-get appointments to enter the nation with permission. The influx is creating a humanitarian and political crisis that stretches from packed migrant processing facilities in border states to major American cities struggling to house and educate the new families. Though many get through, thousands are being sent back across the border or on flights to their home countries. But from Texas to California, more than two dozen migrants who have entered illegally in recent days said they could not afford to wait. “If you don’t take risks, you cannot win,” said Daniel Soto, 35, who crossed with his mother on Tuesday after they sold their car, restaurant and house in Lima, Peru, betting their entire fortune of $25,000 on a weeklong journey to the border near Tijuana.

Venezuela regaining prison control after seizing Tocoron jail (Reuters) Venezuela has completed the first phase of regaining control of its prison system, Interior Minister Remigio Ceballos said on Saturday, speaking at the Aragua jail near Tocoron, just days after security forces seized the prison that was infamously run by prisoners. The jail had restaurants, bars and even outdoor swimming pools, among other luxuries, and it was the operating center for feared criminal gang Tren de Aragua, according to Venezuela’s government. The jail housed 1,600 inmates, Ceballos said, adding that most have already been relocated to other prisons across the country.

Western officials press Ukraine to hold elections despite war (Washington Post) Despite Russia’s war in Ukraine and a nationwide state of martial law, some Western politicians are pushing the government in Kyiv to hold parliamentary and presidential elections—a prospect that has left many Ukrainian officials scratching their heads. The proposal—initially floated by Tiny Cox, the Dutch head of the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly—was also pressed by Sen. Lindsey O. Graham (R-S.C.), during a visit to Kyiv last month with Senators Richard Blumenthal (D-Conn.) and Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.), which otherwise focused on solidifying U.S. assistance and bipartisan support for Ukraine. Holding free and fair elections in wartime is virtually impossible and also ill-advised, according to Ukrainian officials, election experts and democracy advocates. Roughly one-fifth of Ukraine’s territory is now occupied by Russian forces. Millions of Ukrainians are displaced and many are living outside the country. Tens of thousands of soldiers are deployed to the front. The pressure to hold elections, despite such obstacles, highlights the constant demand by some in the West that Ukraine prove its commitment to democracy. Ukrainian officials say that in order to hold a major vote during wartime, considerable financial, logistical and legal hurdles must be overcome. In private, some say that the prospect is outright impossible.

Budget Drones Prove Their Value in a Billion-Dollar War (NYT) They are made of plastic or plastic foam, weigh only a few pounds and are often launched simply by having a soldier throw them into the air, as if tossing a javelin. In a slow-moving counteroffensive against Russian forces that has been reliant at times on the smallest advantages, a fleet of cheap, mostly off-the-shelf drones is providing one for the Ukrainians. The drones have begun to make a difference in one corner of a stagnant war, soldiers, commanders and pilots said in interviews, because their different materials and variable frequencies can evade enemy jamming systems. That has allowed them to venture farther in searches for enemy artillery positions and multimillion-dollar air defense systems, all while risking aircraft worth only a few thousand dollars apiece. Along one of their two main Ukrainian lines of advance in the south, they say, the Russian Army has been forced to move its howitzers out of range of Ukraine’s guns, as drone pilots have adapted well enough to regularly evade Russian electronic jamming systems that had been spotting them reliably earlier in the war. Drones made of plastic foam or plastic are harder to find on radar, reconnaissance teams said. Ukraine buys them from commercial suppliers who also sell to aerial photographers or hobbyists around the world, along with parts such as radios, cameras, antennas and motors. The drone units mix and match parts until they find combinations that can fly past sophisticated Russian air defenses.

Fears and Chaos Grow in Nagorno-Karabakh After Takeover (NYT) Along the serpentine highway linking Armenia with Nagorno-Karabakh, a breakaway Armenian enclave, Norik Grigoryan strained to catch a glimpse of his village just a few miles away. His wife and son are stuck there, he said, after Azerbaijan reclaimed the region this week in a swift military operation. But the passage was blocked, and communications were intermittent at best. Two days after the Azerbaijani military brushed aside Russian peacekeepers and routed a vastly outgunned group of fighters defending the Armenians in the enclave, concerns mounted about the tens of thousands of Armenians who were now stranded there under their new Azerbaijani rulers. Artak Beglaryan, a former high-ranking official in the pro-Armenian government, described a dire humanitarian situation, with different parts of the region cut off from one another and the Azerbaijani military blockading internal roads. Electricity supply has been erratic, he said, making it impossible for many residents to charge their phones, and people have been spotted cooking on open fires. “Another urgent problem is hunger; there is a serious shortage of food,” he said, adding that thousands of people had been displaced and relocated in various communities and Russian peacekeepers’ bases. Russia has acknowledged taking thousands of people into its bases. In the absence of hard information, rumors abounded among the Armenian population. The Azerbaijani government has tried to calm the fears, promising to recognize the rights, security and freedom of Armenians in the region.

Syrians feel growing pressure from Turkey's anti-migrant political wave (Reuters) Anti-migrant sentiment, economic woes and political pressures are leading some of the 3.3 millions Syrians living in Turkey to plan a return to Syria or seek shelter in Europe, according to migrants interviewed by Reuters. They are concerned that rhetoric against migrants may rear up in campaigning for March local elections, echoing efforts to tap into nationalist sentiments during May's general elections. Many of those now living in Istanbul face a more immediate worry: authorities' Sept. 24 deadline for them to leave the city if they are registered in other Turkish provinces. One 32-year-old Syrian said he is saving up to pay smugglers and plans to go to Belgium. Hardship caused by Turkey's rampant inflation and anti-migrant rhetoric motivated his decision. "We are blamed and scapegoated for the worsening economy. Discrimination is rising. It is becoming impossible for us to live here," he told Reuters, declining to give his name for security reasons.

Blasting Bullhorns and Water Cannons, Chinese Ships Wall Off the Sea (NYT) The Chinese military base on Mischief Reef, off the Philippine island of Palawan, loomed in front of our boat, obvious even in the predawn dark. Radar domes, used for military surveillance, floated like nimbus clouds. Lights pointed to a runway made for fighter jets, backed by warehouses perfect for surface-to-air missiles. More than 900 miles from the Chinese mainland, in an area of the South China Sea that an international tribunal has unequivocally determined does not belong to China, cellphones pinged with a message: “Welcome to China.” The world’s most brazen maritime militarization is gaining muscle in waters through which one-third of global ocean trade passes. Here, on underwater reefs that are known as the Dangerous Ground, the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, or P.L.A., has fortified an archipelago of forward operating bases that have branded these waters as China’s despite having no international legal grounding. China’s coast guard, navy and a fleet of fishing trawlers harnessed into a militia are confronting other vessels, civilian and military alike. The mounting Chinese military presence in waters that were long dominated by the U.S. fleet is sharpening the possibility of a showdown between superpowers at a moment when relations between them have greatly worsened. And as Beijing challenges a Western-driven security order that stood for nearly eight decades, regional countries are increasingly questioning the strength of the American commitment to the Pacific. While the United States makes no territorial claims to the South China Sea, it maintains defense pacts with Asian partners, including the Philippines, that could compel American soldiers to these waters. Just as anxiety over nearby Taiwan has focused attention on the deteriorating relations between Washington and Beijing, the South China Sea provides yet another stage for a contest in which neither side wants to betray weakness.

How China’s ‘broke ghosts’ are keeping up appearances during straitened times (Washington Post) The waitress set a pot of boiling broth in the middle of the table and arranged the small dishes of snacks that come free with any meal here at Haidilao, one of China’s best-known hot pot restaurant chains. It was just before midnight. “I can bring you a blanket and a pillow,” she said, “but you’ll have to be out at 7 a.m.” This offer—to sleep in a booth and get a night’s rest in central Shanghai for the price of dinner—is one that scores of young people have recently taken her up on, the waitress said. All manner of partygoers and late-night diners were gathered around plumes of chili-laced steam on a recent night, the restaurant the hottest spot in a shopping mall that was otherwise closed. Many of them would be catching some shut-eye under the Haidilao’s greasy tables, and freshening up with the free mouthwash and hair spray in its well-stocked bathroom. It’s not an obvious place to refresh for another day in China’s capital of culture and fashion. But crashing in the restaurant allows people, whether from the suburbs or out of town, to stay in the city for cheap. Calling themselves “broke ghosts” and “ruthless money-saving fiends,” they’re part of a generation of young people in China who are trying to stretch their dollars amid China’s economic slowdown, the first of their lives. They endured the country’s cutthroat education system with the promise that their future wages would buy them a lifestyle better than their parents and grandparents. They’ve graduated to find that, as China’s economic woes pile up, their futures are much less certain.

#headlines #news

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers Part 1: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: As a Kitsune, you're tasked with sniffing out the illegal activities of the underground and reporting them back to the Civic Service Bureau. You'll be partnered with a Leviathan, who is the muscle to carry out the arrests, but can you handle what he brings to the table?

wc: 2.1k

tw: none

masterlist

“Chins up, kitsune! Leave your confidence at the door, and become one with your fear. For the first time in your lives, you will come to stare death in the face. And, unlike at that rubbish academy you were at for the last four years of your life, this is the real deal.”

You look at the man pacing in front of you, his blonde hair slicked back and eyes covered with a pair of peculiar glasses. He’s wearing the standard grey uniform for the upper ranked kitsune with a spotted tie, which would normally be out of uniform, but he’s the head of communications in the Civic Service Bureau, so it doesn’t matter.

“There’s only one thing separating you from a Leviathan in this world. You there, tell me what it is!” Nanami Kento points to the pink-haired boy beside you and Yuji Itadori gulps.

“Uh… cool haircuts and tattoos?”

You groan internally, wondering how he made it through the four years of training without dropping out. “Incorrect. Y/n, tell me what separates you from a Leviathan in the Civic Service Bureau.”

“Our lifespan.”

“That’s right. On average, a kitsune will live ten to twelve years longer than their headstrong and combative partner, hence why there are more of them than there are of us. But that doesn’t mean be reckless. The entire bureau relies on the intel, insight, and reports you bring back from the field. Now, if you think this isn’t the desk job you were promised, you are free to leave. You were only invited here based on your ability to spy and not be caught. But if you’re ready to serve your nation in the most honorable way, stay here.” Not a single person out of the four of you shifts their movements. “Perfect,” Nanami murmurs, eyeing you all carefully. When his eyes rest on you, you notice the different assessment he gives you. It’s the one thing everyone does the first time you meet:

Is she as good as her parents were?

You’re here not only to answer that question but to exceed it. Your parents raised you for this moment - to take on any task thrown at you, spy as well as they did when they were in the Kitsune. You would do all of that and more, then when it came time for you to settle down, you would marry a fellow Kitsune and live in the Grand Sun District with your peers. The trajectory of your life looks like an arrow, shooting straight for the stars and never coming down until your own star wanes into the night. But by then, there would be a legacy tied to your name, and no one would be able to besmirch your reputation. Ever.

“Alright, you will all be paired with your Leviathan after dinner. Go and freshen up; you have a long night ahead of you.”

“Sir!” You all salute the man with fervor, then you’re ushered to your temporary dressing quarters where you’re instructed to shower until you’re thoroughly cleaned, then to dress in the standard Kitsune uniform - a light grey shirt and grey pants, with a grey jacket. As you stand in the shower and wash, you remember your parents’ words:

“You’re the reason there’s still good in this world. As a Kitsune, you give balance to the chaos of the universe.”

They always made the job seem like a superhero’s task, but you learned much more about the types of jobs you would take on when you went to the academy. But you’d risen to each and every challenge, no matter what, and graduated second in your class, behind Nobara Kugisaki.

As you slide on the pants provided to you, you wonder who they’ll pair you with. In the past, each Leviathan was paired with their equal Kitsune, which meant you would be paired with the second-ranked in the incoming group. But they changed that rule when Gojo Satoru switched from being first in the Kitsune to being first in the Leviathans a year ago, disrupting the entire ranking system. Ranks from the Academy were just a formality now, thanks to him.

“Fall in line!” You toss your jacket on, then join the other three in the main room, coming face to face with Yuki, the head of the Kitsune and Reconnaissance.

“You all look like a spry bunch. But I hate to say that the Leviathans you’ll be paired with are tougher than last year’s group. Excluding Gojo, of course.” You all hold your breath, but she smiles, turning to Nanami. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

_____________________________________________________________

The cafeteria is silent with Yuji, Nobara, Maki, and you eating as quickly as you can, trying your best to scarf down the tasteless meal before introducing your partners. Finally, once you swallow down your water, you stand, grunting.

“Alright, I’m done.”

“Hey, hotshot,” Nobara huffs. “We don’t meet them until they’re ready. And you know how Leviathans are.”

“Slow, lazy, quick to anger,” Yuji groans and Maki nods, shrugging.

You sit back down, tapping your fingers on the table. “Perhaps they could speed it up.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Yui wonders innocently, pulling apart his bread roll.

“I want to get to work,” you admit, cracking your knuckles. “I’m itching to sniff out and dismantle some organizations.”

“Just because your parents took down the Motivir Group doesn’t mean you have to live up to their reputation.”

“Doesn’t mean I can slack off, either,” you grumble just as the doors to the cafeteria slide open. Yuki walks through, her brow raised curiously.

“It seems that they’re ready. Are you all set?”

The walk to the auditorium seems longer than it actually is as you pass by endless barracks, one of which would end up being where you stay in an adjoining room to your Leviathan. As your shoes clang on the metal rafters connecting the barracks to the main building, your heart beats feverishly in your chest. Of course, your Leviathan will be impressed that you’re the daughter of two prominent Kitsune, but would they expect you to--

“Watch your step.” You descend the staircase to the lobby of the auditorium and wait patiently for the doors to open. When they do, they reveal the hundreds of waiting Civic Service Bureau members, including the head of communication (Nanami Kento), head of surveillance (Mei Mei), head of foreign affairs (Yuta Okkotsu), Gojo Satoru, and of course, head of the Leviathans, Toji Fushiguro.

He sits in front of his group on the right side of the stage, elbows on his knees as he watches you all parade to the left side where the other Kitsune are seated. A scowl is painted on his face as he eyes each of you, and the Leviathans behind him look equally as bored, whispering to each other and snickering. You analyze the group, taking in their all-black attire and various haircuts, piercings, and tattoos.

When you look over to the Kitsune, they all look polished - hair slicked back, arms and legs free of any visible markings, and light grey attire. The only piercing you see among the crowd of your peers is in the ears, and even those are easily hidden. It wasn’t that you all were prudes or traditional, but to blend in, you had to be a blank slate, mentally and physically; adult tabula rasa.

“Is this thing on?” Toji groans, tapping the microphone just handed to him. You take your seat as he begins to speak, grumbling his words without enthusiasm. “Right. As you all know, today is the day when our newest members are paired with their partners and sent off on initial missions for an assessment of compatibility, blah, blah, blah. I’m going to skip the bullshit and get straight to the fun part.” Yuki mutters a string of curses as she gets up and snatches the mic from him, pushing her partner off to the side.

“Apologies, you all. We do have to read the pledge of the Civic Service Bureau before we continue.” You all stand, tapping two fingers to space between your brow and then to your heart, where they rest as you chant:

“I pledge allegiance to the Civic Service Bureau and to keeping the nation safe with authority, strength, and boldness.” The words echo in the auditorium, and then you all retake your seats.

“And now, a memorial to our fallen Kitsune and Leviathans.” The lights dim as the hologrammed faces of various Leviathans appear above the crowd. In addition to the many faces, there are two outlined in gold: Kitsune.

“Did you hear about the Leviathan that got his Kitsune killed while on a mission last year?” Maki whispers to Yuji, and you frown, turning in your seat.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Yuji answers. “I heard the Leviathan didn’t execute the raid properly, and the Kitsune was murdered by--”

“Shh!” Nobara hisses, turning back to watch the faces fade into the light, and the lights come back up as Yuki brings the mic back up to her lips.

“Alright, now I’ll pass it back to Toji so he can… do his job.” Yuki glares at the man and passes him the mic as he grins at her lazily.

“Thanks, Yuki. Such a riveting presentation. Let me start off by saying this year’s Leviathans have the grit and determination that moved even the Grand Council.” The Leviathans roar in response to this admission, acknowledging the head members of the Civic Service Bureau, who were conveniently not present. “Now, at the head of this year’s class, we have my own son, Megumi Fushiguro.” The black-haired, green-eyed man comes up to the stage, forgoing anything other than a blank look as Toji clasps his arm in solidarity. “He will be partnered with Nobara Kugisaki, as directed by the Grand Council.” Everyone claps as they should.

Nobara and Megumi shake hands, then move to the back of the stage to stand together.

“Next, we have Noritoshi Kamo,” Another blank-faced black-haired man. “And he will be paired with…” You anticipate your name being called second, thinking maybe they’ve reinstated the rank pairs rule. “Maki Zen’in.” You watch her walk up to Noritoshi and shake his hand, then join Nobara and Toji’s son. “Next, Choso Kamo and Yuji Itadori.” The two men forgo the traditional handshake and instead perform their own special handshake, no doubt practiced for this very moment. You look up to the elder Fushiguro, wondering who in the world was left for the daughter of heroes.

“This year, as we mourn the tragic loss of first-year Kitsune Yu Haibara, the Grand Council has moved to reassign his Leviathan in a show of forgiveness. So, for the second time - and for the first time in history - Geto Suguru will be paired with Y/n, as directed by special order from the Grand Council.” You don’t move from your seat as the massive man walks up to the stage, his black eyes roaming the crowd for his partner - you.

“Go,” Yuki urges you, but you can’t move.

There has to be a mistake.

“Y/n, please come up to the stage….” Toji rumbles. “Before I lose my patience.”

No. There’s something wrong.

“Get up there.” Yuki grabs your arm and lifts you out of your seat, pushing you toward the stage unceremoniously. When you finally stand in front of Geto Suguru, you look into his eyes and see… nothing. He stares at you, his silver nose ring shining in the lights, just like his long, black hair. But you don’t even shake his hand, opting to walk to the back and stand there, dumbfounded with crossed arms. Geto joins you, looking equally as miffed.

“Okay, great. So, that’s over, and now I can take a nap. Go have some light desserts, talk, get to know each other, and then go to your barracks.” Once everyone files out, you follow, searching for Gojo and Nanami. When you find them conversing at the chocolate fountain, you interrupt their conversation, temper flaring.

“Who chose that failure to be my partner?” you growl, pointing your finger at the man who lingers by himself at the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest as he observes the others.

“Whoa,” Gojo holds up his hands, taking a step back. “That’s a Grand Council question.”

“Partners can't be reassigned except in extreme circumstances,” Nanami reminds you. “This seems like an extreme circumstance, y/n.”

“He let his Kitsune get killed!” you yell, catching the attention of a few others nearby. “If you think my parents will allow this to--”

“Your parents are still under the directives of the Grand Council,” Yuki mentions, walking up to you. “They can’t get you reassigned even if they tried.”

“We’ll see about that,” you hiss, striding out of the lobby and to your assigned barrack before closing yourself off.

#geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen #getou x reader #getou suguru #yuji itadori #nobara kugisaki #maki zenin #nanami kento #gojo satoru

[30secondstoanime]

The Birthday Present

pairing: Pro!Hero Midoriya x Fem!Reader

genre/warnings: Reader Insert, Birthday Sex

Kinky Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Gets Out of His Comfort Zone, That's Not How You're Supposed to Use Your Quirk, Porn With Plot, praise kink?, very smutty, Rough Sex, role-playing, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Light Choking, Doggy Style, Fluff and Smut, after sex cuddles

word count: 7,467

→ summary: Your birthday is around the corner. What better gift than your boyfriend, the #1 Hero Deku, finally giving you what you want the way you want it: rough and kinky. But first plot!

a/n: Sorry about the crap summary and title, I'm working on that lol. So this is my first fic for the bnha fandom and first attempt at writing very explicit sex scenes and venturing into kinks/BDSM, so please be kind, but also I’d love feedback! This was supposed to be a cute four-page oneshot but turned into a sixteen-page, 7k+ word behemoth, hence the self-indulgent tag ‘cause I couldn't stop writing. I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labor ;)

In a few days, you’ll be turning twenty-four. Your birthday has always been an odd day you think for someone with your quirk because age really was just a number. That’s not to say you weren’t planning to do something fun, at least if you could figure out what you’d like to do. Okay, so that was a lie. You knew exactly what or should you say who you wanted to do and that it involved getting your back blown out. As soon as the thought pops into your head, your epiglottis forgets its job, and you choke on the sip of UCC coffee, you had tried to swallow. You cough to clear your airway, gasping when air finally expands your lungs. You tap your pen nervously against your desk, eyes scanning the other pro heroes’ faces in your agency. It seems your sudden outburst hadn’t disrupted the comfortable silence of the natural lull of the workday. A beep from your hero pager pulls your attention away from people watching in the office. Coordinates flash in five consecutive seconds before the transmission ends. You stand grabbing your toolbelt and strapping it across your hips; you make your way to the front. As you near the exit, you hear your hero name being called. You turn and see Yaomomo briskly walking towards you.

“Hey Creati, you got the page too?”

“I did, sounds like they’ve made a bit of a mess of things.” You scoff good-naturedly.

“When do they ever not. Were they really like this during your time at U.A.?” She giggles and nods her head. You wonder if you’ll ever stop cleaning up after the nation’s top three heroes.

“Better get going then, we both know they share a singular brain cell, so there’s no telling how much time we have to fix things.”

“Atomic!” You laugh at Yaomomo’s weak attempt to scold you — the amusement in her black eyes softens the tone.

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“Oh my.”

You blow out a low whistle. Ice and scorch marks are scattered across the street and surrounding buildings. Explosive ash is still gently falling from the sky, and black tendrils are haphazardly keeping electric poles, exposed building foundation, and an abundance of wrecked vehicles from collapsing.

“Creati, check the building foundations. Create new beams and weld them together if necessary. I’ll get started on the pole, we can’t have a live electric wire falling.” She nods, and you split off. The work is slow and arduous, but the orderly nature of reorganizing and coaxing atomic particles back into place helps the time pass quickly. You’ve just finished rearranging the anatomical structure of a car hanging from a, thankfully, undamaged light pole, so that it falls to the ground weightlessly. You touch the damaged side, pull it back together, and return the car to its original density. You give the car a quick tap with the toe of your foot to test the structural integrity, satisfied you step back taking in your handiwork. What had a few hours ago looked like a DEFCON 3 military mission gone awry is now back to looking like an ordinary Japanese street. Well, as normal as you and Yaomomo could reconstruct — you weren’t miracle workers, and Ground Zero’s explosive residue was hard to get rid of. Instead, the way it collected and hung in the atmosphere made it difficult for your quirk to erase without condensing the air. That was out of the question unless you wanted to suffocate Yaomomo. Which you didn’t, so the employees of these buildings would be dealing with the smell for at least a week. Sighing, you tuck your hands in your pockets and make your way over to Creati. Her welding mask obscures her face, but you know it’s in deep concentration. After she cuts the torch and pushes the protective gear up, she gives you a smile.

“All done?”

“Just about.”

“I’ll page H.Q. Might even lodge a formal complaint against those three bird brains while I’m at it.”

“(Y/N), you can’t be serious.” She shoots you an incredulous look.

“They make this huge ass mess and don’t even bother to wait for us to arrive before dipping. Total dick move.”

“Ah-huh.” You don’t like the teasing note in her voice.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You cross your arms defensively.

“Spit it out, Yaoyorozu.”

“You sure your foul attitude has nothing to do with not seeing Deku?” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll see him at home like I do every day. So no, I’m not upset about not seeing him.”

“If you say so.” She gives you a look, and you let out an exasperated puff of air.

“You cannot still be stuck on that!”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” She bats her eyes at you innocently while creating a duffle bag to transport the welding equipment.

“That God awful theory you and Ashido have about me having a hero kink for Izuku." You begin to walk side by side back to the agency. You hand her an energy bar from your utility belt.

“I mean, you do get very flushed whenever you see him on patrol. Like, if it were a hentai video, you’d definitely be drooling with your tongue lolling out of your mouth.”

“Ugh!” You shove her with your shoulder. “That is so gross.” Both of you laugh, and after a small lapse into silence, you give.

“Okay fine. I might get instahorny whenever I see Izuku in costume, but I can’t help it. He just looks so good, and it’s heightened because I know what he looks like out of costume, and then all I want to do is jump his bones, but of course, I don’t because propriety. So I’m left with all this pent up sexual frustration!”

“So, are you going to ever mention this to him? Your birthday is in a few days and if I may be so bold —”

“It’s never stopped you.” You mumble under your breath with a smile.

“I’d suggest you request it be your birthday present.”

“Pfft. Yaomomo, we’ve been together almost a year and a half, and while our sex life is fucking phenomenal, I’m talking multiple orgasms almost every time, amazing — it’s been very strictly vanilla. Not from any lack of trying on my end, but every time I’ve tried to spice things up, he gets as close as humanly possible to spontaneous combustion. Don’t even get me started on the one time I tried to get him to choke me while I —”

“(Y/N)! Stop, goodness, I do not need the play by play of your and Izuku’s sex life. I just,” she massages her temples, “wanted to make a suggestion. While I’m relieved you feel so secure in our friendship to be so open, please remember I went to high school with him. He’s like a little brother.”

“Oh, Yaomomo, there’s nothing little about him.” Her face pales, and you can’t stifle your cackle. It quickly becomes a full-blown laugh that rattles through your body.

“I went a little too far with that last comment, gomen. On a serious note, though, how would I even go about asking him? ‘Hey babe, it’s my birthday so I want you to fuck me until my knees are jello while in your hero costume because it gets me all hot and bothered oh and since I’m risking it all I’d love it if you tied me up and maybe choked me too.’”

You glance over your shoulder, a look of profound regret is plastered over Yaomomo’s face. You give her an impish grin.

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue does it.”

“Oh (Y/N).” Your friend shakes her head. When you finally turn the corner onto the street, your hero agency is housed, you catch sight of a mop of green hair. You pick up your pace, a mischievous grin on your face. Using your quirk, you redistribute your mass, so your footfall’s noise against the pavement is silenced. Izuku is talking with someone, his back turned to you. The goods were on display. When he’s in reach, you stretch out your arms, hands cupping his butt you feel him stiffen as you whisper against his ear.

“You’re under arrest for transporting illegal buns of steel.” You watch the blush creep up from his neck before capturing his entire face. He turns his neck, trying to get a good look at you.

“Wh-what!” You begrudgingly let go of his ass, and he turns his body to face you, his freckles standing out against the pink hue of his flustered expression.

“Sorry hun, I don’t make the rules.” You shrug your shoulders.

“I- I, (Y/N) that’s not even a legal penal code! A-and there’s no way I could transport enough steel on my person to warrant a body search.”

“Ooh Deku,” you loosen up the state of your atoms, allowing them to vibrate in mock arousal, “I love it when you talk legal code at me. Repeat it: penal.”

He flounders for a reply, mouth agape at a total loss for words. You giggle at his expression, a total deer in headlights. The person he’d been talking to finally makes themselves known.

“Atomic, you’re still teasing the living soul out of Deku per usual. Glad to know things haven’t changed ‘round here.” His shark tooth smile pulls an equally toothy smile from you.

“Eijiro! When did you get back? I’ve missed you.” You rush to the redhead, and he reciprocates your hug, holding you tight.

“Man, I’ve missed you too (Y/N). The States were cool, but there’s no manlier place than home sweet home.” You pull back and take him in. He looks the exact same if not a little bit more tanned.

“Damn straight.” Yaoyorozu arrives at the end of your reunion. Her excitement at seeing her old friend is nearly palatable. They catch up enthusiastically, and you saddle up next to your boyfriend, who’s finally gotten his blush under control.

“Hey, babe.” You give his cheek a chaste kiss, and he smiles.

“Hey, love,” Izuku gives your hand a squeeze, “How was your day?”

“It was pretty run of the mill except for the utter shitstorm Yaomomo and I had to clean up in Minato City.” You glance down and watch his feet shuffle from side to side.

“Huh, sounds pretty epic.”

“Not the first, second, or even the third word I’d use, but we’re all entitled to our opinions. And don’t you try acting coy with me, Izuku! That blonde ticking time grenade, the confused weather pattern, and your quirk were all over that place.” Izuku gulps.

“I expended a lot of energy cleaning up after you and your friends baka. As compensation, you’ve gotta cook me curry rice. Deal?”

He kisses your cheek in assent.

“Great!” You beam. “I’m gonna go change, be back in fifteen.” You disappear through the agency’s massive double doors. Yaomomo watches until you’re out of view before she walks over to Midoriya.

“So about (Y/N) ’s birthday . . .”

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

When you come out, you find a peculiar scene waiting for you. Yaoyorozu has crafted a fan for, you presume, Izuku, who is so red you could almost see the light refraction from his face’s heat and sweating by what looks like the gallon. Eijiro is by his side, trying to calm him down. You heighten the sensitivity of your cochlea to pick up the tail end of their conversation.

“It’ll be super manly, dude!”

“Bu-but I’ve never . . .” Your boyfriend seems tongue-tied.

“You’ve definitely got it in you,” Eijiro slaps Izuku on the back, “Plus Ultra!”

Izuku echoes Eijiro, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it.

You return to your average level of hearing and walk up to the trio.

“Everything good?” They all look at you with expressions that clearly scream, ‘No, everything is not good dumbass.’

“Riiight, foolish question. Izuku, babe, do you need me to help you?” He squeaks, and that stops you dead in your tracks. The last time he had squeaked in your presence was when he’d asked you out on your first date, and you think it was mostly because you had bluntly told him you had every intention of having sex with him if not after your first then for sure after your second date. He didn’t even squawk when you made good on your declaration, and you had been positive he was going to. Your assurance cost you a ¥2,000 bet with Ochako and Shoto. Whatever had transpired while you were changing had him spooked.

You crouch down and gently take his face between your hands. His cheeks are unnaturally warm. Closing your eyes, you reach out with your quirk to scan his vitals. What the actual fuck? Izuku’s pregenual anterior cingulate cortex is enormous. Your boyfriend is next level embarrassed. His heart rate is in the 200bpm range, which should have been impossible because it only ever got that high when he was exercising, and you were quite familiar with getting it there.

You’re honestly shocked his heart hasn’t started to palpitate with the sky-high levels of cortisol in his blood and high heart rate. Taking a deep breath, you begin to gently persuade the firing neurons near his PACC to chill, its size slowly decreases. You travel down to his hypothalamus and rearrange some of its chemical balance, so it stops producing corticotropin-releasing hormone, creating a negative feedback loop that would lead to his body to drop its cortisol production. You vasoconstrict a handful of the blood vessels in his face for good measure, hoping to cool it down. Your eyes flutter open, and the ruddiness is gone, and his cheeks feel cool against your palms. He gives you a weak smile and gosh that smile, these freckles, those lively emerald eyes. You lean your forehead against his, taking a moment to collect yourself. You kiss the tip of his nose before pulling yourself up, stretching once you’re fully upright.

“Well damn, I’m starving now. I know I said you had to cook for me, but I don’t think I’ll last. What do you say, Number 1. Hero, care to take me out to eat?”

Izuku gets to his feet, with a bit of help from Eijiro, who keeps a hand wrapped around his waist to keep him from stumbling.

“Yeah, of course, love. Just tell me where you want to eat.”

You grin in delight. Before making a decision, you turn to your two other companions. You’re not sure when Yaomomo had time to change, but she’s no longer in her hero costume.

“Would y’all like to join us? Izuku’s treat.” Your cinnamon roll’s protest is drowned out by their loud acceptance.

“I mean, if my bro is gonna treat us, then how could I say no?”

“How gracious Izuku, I’d love to share a meal with everyone.”

“Let’s get going then!” You grab Izuku’s hand and turn around, heading in the direction of the train stop. The walk will give you time to decide where you want to eat.

              −−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“Hold on one sec, almost got it.” You pace next to Izuku; the pressure on your bladder almost debilitating. At the click of your front door unlocking and seeing Izuku push it open, you rush through over the threshold. You kick the heels off your feet, your slippers abandoned at the entryway as you make a break for the bathroom. You can’t get your underwear off quick enough. The relief is almost pleasurable. You’d forgotten what it felt like to pee while exceedingly inebriated. Typically when you go out drinking, you elevate your liver’s production of alcohol dehydrogenase so you can avoid getting drunk, but tonight was your birthday celebration, and you wanted to get shitfaced, so you dialed it back. Now that you’re home and not interested in a hangover, you make the necessary adjustments to your liver. The night out had been a pleasant surprise. More people had shown up than you’d been led to believe would, most importantly, your younger siblings had stopped by — you hadn’t seen them since moving to Musutafu to pursue your hero career. You finish reminiscing over the night’s events. Quickly wiping, you flush the toilet and wash your hands. When you open the door, you find your slippers are there waiting. He was a total sweetheart.

You slide your sore feet in and sigh at the fluffiness. You make your way to your bedroom, surprised to find it empty. Where had Izuku gone? You take off your earrings, dropping them into your jewelry box. Making your way to the main bathroom connected to your room, you’ve just finished wiping away your makeup when you hear the door open. You walk to the bathroom door to peek and gasp as soon as you spot the figure closing the door behind them. Now you’d be the first to admit you are a horny bitch, but never have you felt your pussy throb with such a deep longing the way it was throbbing now. You stand still dumbfounded at seeing Izuku in his hero costume in your bedroom.

“Babe?” You try to suppress the quiver in your voice.

“Ma’am,” He tilts his head in greeting, “I got reports of a villain in the vicinity. I’m Deku, and I’m here to take care of you.”

Why the fuck did he just introduce himself? And a villain? You reach out with your quirk but don’t feel an unknown presence nearby. You start to walk towards him but stop at the foot of your bed. He meets you there, and you don’t know what to expect, but it definitely was not him pushing you onto your back. You fall with a muffled thud against the comforter. You stare up at him at a complete loss. You then become hyper-aware of what you’re wearing. The sparkling strappy mini dress leaves little to the imagination, and you’re positive that from his angle, Izuku can see your panties and the growing evidence of your arousal.

“Apologies, ma’am, but I’ll be using my quirk to restrain you as a precautionary measure.” Your mouth goes dry as you watch Blackwhip manifest wrapping around your wrists, pulling your arms above your head, and adhering to your shared bed’s headboard. You have to scoot yourself back a few inches to ease the tension in your shoulders. Holy shit. He just tied you up. This whole time he’s been standing at the end of the bed taking you in. You know your face is flushed, and you can feel your nipples brushing against the material of your dress now that you’re so turned on. Izuku’s hands come into view, and that somehow gets your mouth to work again.

“What are you going to do?” You arch an eyebrow and part your lips to let your tongue dart out and wet them. Fuck Yaomomo wasn’t off the mark with her comment.

“I’ll need to do a full-body search to ensure you’re not concealing anything illegal on your person.” You don’t have time to respond before his gloved hands caress down your pinned arms, across where your neck and shoulders meet. Leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You groan as the sensation travels down, pooling between your legs. He moves down your sides, slowly over your exposed thighs sticking strictly to the outside of your legs until he reaches mid-calf. You feel his hands move, and suddenly their inching closer to your aching cunt. Using his right hand Izuku runs a finger teasingly up between your clothed slit and your hips give an involuntary buck. He removes his finger and tuts at you, that pisses you off.

“What the fuck Izu —�� You stop yourself when you see another tendril of black materialize near your face.

“Don’t make me gag you. My name is Deku, and you will address me as Deku-sama.” There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. You’re torn between being really fucking aroused and very vexed at this role reversal. You’d always been on top, literally and figuratively, and now here he was, your cinnamon roll, threatening to gag you and not even blushing about it. He takes your silence as understanding and begins to hike up the bottom of your dress. With your midriff exposed, he finally settles between your legs, his toned abdomen flush against you. He places an open-mouthed kiss just above your belly button, his tongue flicks out to taste your skin. Izuku’s lips continue to roam over every inch of your exposed abdomen, sucking and biting. He’s going to leave love marks all over your stomach, you’re sure. His hands travel up under your dress, coming to rest just below your breasts. You feel the flat of his tongue working its way towards his hands. When you can feel his breath tickling you already hard nipples, he pulls his face away. You squirm and pull against your restraint — you feel them tighten.

“What is it you want, villain?” Fuuuck. The word falls from his lips wrapped in sinful promise sending another steady pulse of need through your body. Your nervous system was on fire.

“I want you to touch me.” You try to taper down the pleading in your voice, but the mildly amused expression on Izuku’s face says you failed.

“Like this?” His hand runs down your neck, over your dress and through the valley of your cleavage, past your naval stopping at the band of your panties. It dawns on you that he was teasing you.

“Or like this?” You’re not sure when his gloves came off or how he managed it, but one second you’re covered by the flimsy dress material next, the straps keeping it up are torn, and the dress pulled down. You hiss at the shock of the sudden temperature change, but quickly warm up as calloused fingers massage your breasts. A greedy moan is the only answer you can manage as you arch your back into his touch. He leans closer, breath warm against your neck, and moves a hand down to grip your ass,

“Let’s see if these are illegal buns of steel.” Even with how incredibly husky his voice is, you almost laugh at his remark’s absolute absurdity. Still, having maybe foreseen your reaction Izuku wraps one of your nipples between his lips before you can utter a sound.

“Deku-sama.” You inhale sharply coming completely unwound as his tongue flicks and swirls. His mouth sucks and pulls playfully. When his teeth graze your nipple, you contemplate making your hands boneless to escape the restraints just so you could tangle your hands in his hair; even with the undercut, you knew you could make him moan. The idea is quickly dashed as Izuku releases your now overly sensitive bud with a resounding pop that sends the ache in your pussy into a frenzy. Good god , he hasn’t even gotten inside of you yet. He treats your other nipple with much the same attention. However, this time, he lets his teeth give it a gentle nibble, and the shock of the feeling causes your skin to prickle. You feel him grin at your reaction before giving your nipple a farewell lick. He captures your lips, shoving his hips down against your own, as his hands’ ghost over your neck. You hook a leg around his hip, pulling him closer, trying to create as much friction as possible as you roll your hips upward. He lets out a breathy chuckle, as his mouth moves to replace his hands. He kisses up your neck, his breath tickles your ear, and you stutter out a needy whimper.

“Someone’s eager.” You groan in frustration as he pulls back. His hands grab hold of what’s left of your dress, and you help him get you out of it. He runs a finger up your stomach, stopping just below your sternum. The tip of his index finger traces a lazy circle before leaving a trail of goosebumps back down to your hip. The pressure of his finger is replaced by his mouth, biting the flesh of your hip crease hungrily. He kisses his away across to your opposite hip, traces of his kisses wet against your skin. You feel his fingers toying with the lacy hem of your panties before he hooks them in the elastic, pulling them down. You lift your hips as they pass over the curve of your ass, and you wriggle in anticipation. Izuku braces his left forearm against your right thigh, pushing your legs wider. His index finger explores your wet folds, dipping briefly into your slit, before brushing against your swollen clitoris.

“Deku-sama, please .” You don’t care how desperate you sound, the ache in your pussy is becoming unbearable. The slow burn was killing you.

“Since you said, please.” He slips a thick finger inside of you, curling it just so it massages the soft and spongy spot that makes your toes curl and lewd obscenities fall from your parted lips.

“Aah, fuck. Fuck, yes, there, right there. More. Izuku give me more.” A second finger is roughly inserted. You cry out as a jolt of ecstasy consumes every inch of you. He begins to scissor his fingers back and forth, “It’s De-ku sa-ma,” each thrust emphasizing the syllables of his declaration. You rock your hips up, trying to get his fingers deeper because you are close. You can feel the dam getting ready to burst. When his thumb circles your clit, you feel yourself clench around his fingers. He inhales sharply. You bite back a moan as stars begin to dance across your vision. The rhythm of his fingers picks up, and the pressure on your clit begins to be too much.

“You’re about to cum.” It’s not a question, but you manage to pant a yes, and it becomes your undoing. Tongue replaces fingers before you can bemoan feeling empty, hands wrap under your thighs, keeping you exposed when they instinctively try to shut. His fingers dig into soft flesh, and the pain leaves you dizzy for more. He unhooks his left arm from your thigh, again using his forearm to keep your leg down. Two fingers spread you open, and his breath is warm, and you screw your eyes shut because fucking hell, you feel ready to erupt. You feel the warmth of his tongue as it slips inside you and starts to lick around. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps up your wetness. When he takes your clitoris in his mouth, you feel yourself at the edge of a precipice.

“Y-your fin-fingers. Deku-sama.” You frantically tug against your binds as you arch your hips rutting into his face. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You feel yourself drowning in pleasure when his fingers join back in the fray. You’re full, and his tongue is everywhere. Inside you along with his fingers, pressing in all the right places. There’s no room to be embarrassed by your body’s wet sounds as you thrust against his fingers or the sounds he’s eliciting from you — loud, throaty, and gluttonous. He laps up the juices wherever they end up, on your thighs, in your folds, the space between your pussy and ass. At your clit he teases with nibbles, quick flicks of his tongue, and long flat strokes. He was treating you like you were his favorite meal. Coming back for seconds, thirds, fourths. You lose track of time. The air crackles with electricity, Izuku, the electromagnet to your copper coils. It sparks against your skin. Were you doing that? You couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter because something was building. You feel it in your core, your quirk causing your atoms to buzz in excitement. He lets you hook your legs around his back, locking your ankles. You make a strangled noise when a particularly aggressive thrust combined with the head-splitting euphoria of Izuku’s tongue on your clit brings your Earth stuttering on its axis.

“Oh fuck, oh kami. Shit, Deku-sama!”

You flicker in and out. One second howling Izuku’s name like a prayer to the Gods, hips rolling up to meet his mouth. The next, you find yourself weightless in a void no longer in a corporeal form. What the fuck? It lasts no longer than a second before you return to your body and the sound of him cooing against your aching cunt.

“That’s it, cum villain. Cum for me.” And cum, you do. Waves of fiery ecstasy set your body aflame. You clench your fists and use your legs to pull Izuku’s face further flush against you. When you think you can catch your breath, Izuku surprises you by coaxing you into another smaller orgasm. You don’t know how he did it, but you really can’t complain, you’re feeling blissful as fuck. The bed creaks as he shifts back onto his knees, unwrapping your legs from around him. Blachwip is deactivated, and your arms fall uselessly to your sides. You feel your legs quiver from exertion, and you watch your chest rise in fall sporadically as your breathing levels off. You prop yourself up on your elbow to give Izuku a once over. He’s got a bit of sweat on his forehead, you can see the outline of his erection against the front of his hero costume, and your cum glistens on his nose, mouth, and chin. Not sure how you manage it, with your body feeling so close to putty, but you scoot back, pulling yourself up into a seated position, and rock forward onto your knees so you’re facing him.

You move closer, so your knees brush against his. Now that you’re close enough, you can see how blown his pupils are. They almost wholly eclipse the dark shamrock of his irises. He had it bad for you. You could fix that. You grab his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting it down to your lips so you can lick it clean. When your tongue traces the outline of his mouth, a low moan rumbles in the back of his throat. You get his mouth open with a hard nip to his bottom lip. Tasting yourself in his mouth and on his tongue makes you squeeze your thighs together briefly before you let your free hand wander between your legs to stroke your clit and moistening labia. You give the tip of his nose a cutesy peck that almost brings a blush to his freckled face, but he remains in character, so you palm his cock with your damp hand grinning devilishly when he stutters an exhale.

“I want you, hero.”

Izuku’s chuckle is rich, and you can feel it reverberate against where your chests connect. You start to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, the short buzz of his undercut tickles your fingertips. Sliding your hand up, you finally get to tangle your fist in his hair, your grip tightens, and you pull his head back, exposing his neck. Your tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to just below his earlobe, all the while your hand strokes him into fully hardening.

“I’m not fucking around, Deku.” Your voice is thick and your tone dark, dangerous. He grabs the wrist of the hand that’s between his legs and growls,

“Neither am I villain slut.” You swallow hard at his inflection on the word slut. You’d never been called a slut during sex, and under any other circumstance, you’re sure it wouldn’t have sent a thrill of arousal pulsing from your fingertips down to your toes. He brings the hand up above your head, reaching behind his head to grab your second hand. You give him a feral grin, and his eyes flash before he sends you to your back. You’re about to stretch out your legs when he commands you to flip over onto your hands and knees. You do as you’re told, biting your lip as warmth begins to once again pool between your legs. You wish you could help him out of his costume, but it sounds like your help wasn’t needed. His dick grazes against the back of your thighs. A finger follows the curve of your spine. You arch into the touch and moan when it dips at your hip to tap your clitoris.

“You’re so wet already. You villains really know nothing about bedroom decorum.” He skims a hand over your stomach, stopping to grope and tease your hardened nipples.

“Oh? Keeping a woman in suspense isn’t exactly proper in my book De-ku sa-ma.” You look over your shoulder with a smirk.

“You’re,” he thrust into you without warning, quickly turning the grin on your face into an open-mouthed ‘oh,’ “not,” he pulls out, so the tip of his head just barely touches your cunt, “a woman.” He pushes into you, swearing under his breath as you push your hips back to meet his momentum. A ragged breath escapes your lips as you adjust to him, filling you. Shit, the boy is thick. His nails dig into your hip as he continues to fuck you at a painfully slow pace. Fingers tweak your nipples, and you feel your whole body flush with pleasure. You clutch the bedsheets in two tight fists when he starts to quicken his thrusts. His chest is slick with sweat against your back, his tongue tracing circles into your shoulder. An aggressive stroke sends the head of his cock rubbing up against your G-spot, and you feel your walls squeeze around him.

“Shit, shit, fuck Deku. That’s it. Just keep putting pressure on that spot.” You feel your elbows buckle, and you expect to crash into the bed. Instead, black tendrils wrap around your arms to keep you upright. This is definitely not how Lariat intended Blackwhip’s tendrils to be used. The thought makes you giggle. It seems that this was not a sound Izuku wanted to hear coming from you. He bites down on the spot of your shoulder he’d been suckling, making his displeasure known. You feel him adjust himself behind you, perhaps too quickly, because he slips out of you, and you protest immediately with a loud whine.

“I’ll give you something to whine about.” He thrust back into you, your knees go weak, and your pussy’s stimulation begins to pull the taught rope of your impending orgasm closer to snapping. One of his hands grabs the hair at the base of your neck, tugging with just enough force to tease a guttural mewl from you.

“That’s more like it.” You’re so overstimulated, with the rhythm of his dick coming in and out of you. The attention he’s paying to your clit, you scarcely have the headspace to be shocked by the personality change. Izuku doesn’t release his hold on your hair; instead, he deactivates Blackwhip and uses the grip to guide you, so your back is flush against his chest. You can smell the muskiness of his sweat with him so close. It mingles in the air with the scent of your arousal. Sex, the whole room smelled heavily of your fucking. He brushes a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down gently. You open your mouth, taking it in, holding it gently between your teeth, your lips acting as a cushion. You suck on Izuku’s thumb, letting your tongue swirl over the tip treating it how you would if you were instead sucking on the head of his cock. You hollow out your cheek and release his thumb with a satisfying pop. Your reward is the sound of Izuku’s heated gasp. The sound tightens the coil in your groin. You feel his right hand lightly trailing up your side. You expect him to stop to cup your breast, but a tingle runs up your spine when he skips it entirely. His thumb rests a few inches under your right ear, the fleshy part of his palm rests against your trachea, the remaining four fingers occupy the same spot under the opposite ear. You can’t hide your excitement as he begins to apply light pressure to your neck. It’s amplified when he whispers in your ear,

“Whose slut are you, villain?”

“I’m yours. All yours.” He squeezes a little tighter, and you squirm, gripping his left hip for stability.

“Yours, Deku-sama. I’m all yours.” You choke over the words while he loosens his grip satisfied with your correction. The brief bout of intoxicating lightheadedness dissipates quickly, but he keeps his hand around your neck.

You feel him, hard and slick, throbbing inside you, and you know he’s close. You prepare to ride out the coming crescendo that you’ll set off with your silver tongue.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you, hero? I can feel your cock pulsing.” He squeezes your neck tighter than he has before reminding you who was in charge. You dig your nails into his hip and bite your lip. Was he turning into a masochist, or were you?

“I want you to cum in me. Make me your bona fide villain bitch — think you’re up for it, big boy?” You were being so bold, goading him. It does the trick. He releases his hold on your neck, you’re a little sad, but are swiftly distracted by a sudden burst of heat and green energy crackling, the telltale sign of Full Cowl being activated. What the hell was he up to? Your answer comes moments later when his hands push your bent legs further apart, hooking his arms under your thighs to lift them up. You feel weightless, free, and so very wanton. Then like being dosed with ice-cold water, you come back to your senses; you’ve always been terrified of being picked up during sex. Your arms flail, searching for anything to grab hold of. They settle awkwardly at Izuku’s neck. Your breathing is a little erratic.

“You’re not scared of heights, are you?” Oh, he was being a total ass.

“Absolutely not.” You bite back.

“Heh.”

Sensing your discomfort, he places you back down on your knees, his hand returning to your neck — where it belonged. Shit, it was you, you’re the masochist. You feel him throb inside you, the head of his penis gets a little bigger and his cock harder. His movements become more sporadic. You take his free hand and lead it to your clit, you’d be damned if he cums before you. His groans become music to your ears, loud and ravenous as you roll your hips to meet his thrusts. Soon that’s all you can feel, like tunnel vision nothing else matters, there are no other options, but his cock burying itself deeper and deeper inside you as his fingers dance around your clit. He flicks and pulls, rubs circles, and you savor every second of it. Everything cumulates into a blinding flash of white-hot light as if you’re staring directly at burning magnesium. You hear him crying out your name, and it mixes with your carnal pleas into a cacophonous soundtrack to your mutual climax. He finishes inside you, the thick viscous liquid of his orgasm, filling you with more warmth than you anticipated. As you ride out your orgasm, you don’t stop gyrating your hips until you feel Izuku become soft. You let out a shaky breath as you come to a stop to catch your breath. You’re thankful that he doesn’t seem eager to pull out quite yet while you bask in the quiet exhilaration of having orgasmed three times this night.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay?”

You nod your head slightly, words out of reach with your euphoria’s hum still clouding your mind. Cum trickles down between your thighs, the sensation almost ticklish, but far more erotic. With nothing connecting you to Izuku, your body gives in to its exhaustion, falling forward unceremoniously. He wraps an arm around your waist, setting you gently down on your stomach. Rolling onto your back, you shimmy up onto a pillow to support your head. You glance up at Izuku and sigh in content. Hair stuck to his head, abs contracting as he slows his breathing (his heart rate close to 180bpm), and his left-hand traces the scars on his right arm absently. Even in such a worn-out state, he looked otherworldly. You lock eyes, and you pat his side of the bed next to you.

“Cuddle with me.” At hearing those three words, he sheds his façade, his eyes soften, his jaw loosens, and he eagerly obliges your request. He rests his head on your chest, your fingers playing with his hair as he gently brushes your side. You stay like this for a few minutes until he starts out of your arms like someone’s lit a fire under his ass. He sits up, you follow suit intrigued by what’s got him so worked up. You watch him reach across towards his nightstand. He pulls out a notebook and a pencil. You have to suppress your snort as he begins scribbling furiously. You couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, catching bits and pieces of his muttering.

“. . . dominated . . . choking . . . loud . . . buns of steel. . .” You can’t stifle the laugh that escapes you. He glances up and gives you a sheepish grin, his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“You fucked me into another dimension, jot that down in your sex notebook.” A blush erupts across his face.

“I-I what? Seriously?”

“Mhmm, as seriously as my orgasm.” Embarrassment flickers momentarily in his eyes, quickly replaced by intense curiosity. You dare say you see a little triumphant gleam too.

“What happened, tell me everything, love.” You recount what he’d been doing with his tongue and fingers. The feeling leading up to it and what it looked like in this other dimension.

“Sounds like you’ve unlocked another facet of your quirk.”

“Looks like it, but it’s not really useful.” He gives you an inquiring look; you roll your eyes. He could be so dense sometimes.

“I can’t exactly have you eating me out in public every time I want to astral project now, can I?” His blush returns full force.

“Maybe there’s another way.”

“Possibly, but I’m beat. My legs feel like jello, and I’m starting to feel sore.” You massage your neck, glancing at your exposed breasts and the marks that speckle them. Izuku looks at you with worry.

“You can’t fix it with your quirk?”

“I can, but where’s the fun in that? One of my favorite parts of sex is feeling it the next day. I’m definitely going to tomorrow and maybe the day after thanks to you.” You give him a wink and admire as he fumbles with his words.

“Oh! Well, I mean. Yeah. No problem. I think?” He was definitely back to being your cinnamon roll. You giggle quietly.

“Before I go clean up, I’ve gotta know. How did you do that.” You motion with your hand, hoping he picks up what you’re putting down. He does.

“Simple, lots of research.” You squint at him, touching the pulse at his neck. It was slightly elevated.

“Ah-huh, and what else?”

“No-nothing!” The pulse quickens a little more.

“Did you role play with someone?” The idea sounds absolutely preposterous, but when he pushes your hand away from his neck and gets up off the bed, you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“You’re using your quirk, that’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war. So, who was it with? Shoto? Eiji? Or was it Katsuki ?” The light hue of pink that creeps up his neck is all the confirmation you need.

“Ah,” you bob your head sagely, “it makes sense, babe, he gives off a total masochist vibe. I’d have practiced with him too. What was it like? Would he be open to a threesome? Or would it be a foursome since he’s got that not, so secret thing going with Eiji? Could I even handle the three of you?” You wonder out loud.

“(Y/N)!” Izuku rushes into the bathroom, adamantly trying to end this conversation. You weren’t letting this go, oh no siree, so you get out of bed and walk to the bathroom where Izuku’s turned on the shower and is standing under its current.

“Nice try. You’re giving me the details.” He sighs defeatedly.

“Can it wait until we’re in the bath.” You cross your arms in a huff, pouting.

“I guess.” Izuku grabs you, pulling you into the shower with him. You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. He gives the top of your head a kiss.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N).”

Happy fucking birthday to me. You smile to yourself.

#bnha x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya smut #midoriya izuku #midoriya fic #reader is female #reader insert #midoriya fluff #the gift that keeps on giving

[thecheesiestcheese23]

a place that feels like home.

Trust was not so easily given, and Philza Minceraft knew this.

Hell, he raised four children that held their own trust issues. He spent years cracking away at them for them to finally feel safe enough to sleep in the same room with him and to turn their backs to him.

So why did he throw away the bond with two, kill the other, but live with the fourth? He knew very well why he did, he played favorites. He didn’t try to of course, but there was just something about Techno that drew Phil to be with him more than the others. Maybe it was the saying that 'Technoblade Never Dies' that he could relate to as ‘The Angel of Death’. Perhaps it was how their childhoods were so similar, where they were taken away from their families and thrown into The Pit, an illegal fight club that wanted to watch blood spill. The most likely thing though, was that they were both fighters.

Wilbur was never a fighter while he lived under Phil's roof, always wanting to hold a pen to write stories than to pick up a sword to spill blood. He was a lovely singer too and could spin melodies from simply plucking the strings of a guitar. Even when he left to make a country and was thrust into an unjust war, he refused to raise his bow unless it was dire.

It was only when his sanity started to deteriorate did he start to raise his sword instead of his guitar. And when Phil heard the words of "Kill me Phil -" after he blew up his own country that he shredded blood, sweat, and tears for, did he know his son was truly gone, replaced with this shell of a human.

Tubbo was like a bluebird; innocent and a hard-worker.

Like Wilbur, he never wanted to harm anyone, which was different from his birth father, Schlatt. He would rather spend his time with the bees in the backyard and play with his bee plushie that he was left with in  the box. He loved to spend time in the garden and nurture the flowers that grew alongside the food.

Tommy was a different case from the other two. While yes, he was a fighter, and a feisty one, he wasn’t the best. He was always so brash and loud, letting the enemy know he was coming from miles away. Techno was much more reserved and quiet and was deadly and to the point in his attacks. Phil saw him at the wars though, and he saw how much his youngest grew in his fighting.

Phil knew that he was too young to be thrust into these wars, too young to have met the face of Death multiple times by now, and too young to have been betrayed by nearly everyone he knew.

But, Phil sighed, there was nothing he could do about it now. The bonds he once had were shattered beyond repair and the three probably hated him by now. The only thing he could do now was to ask Ranboo if he needed a place to stay.

He had given Ranboo one of his feathers days after Techno’s execution, a way of communication that wasn’t able to be tracked by Dream. Phil had seen how the boy had been unwilling to pull the lever and was even hesitant to place Phil under house arrest.

He quickly searched through his satchel looking for the feather that was the main cell. Once he did, he quickly double-tapped the circle that rested at the top and scrolled through the contacts list. There were people from the Antarctic Empire, Ranboo, and then there was his family, Tubbo, Tommy, Fundy, Wilbur, and Techno.

Phil could only hope that Ranboo hadn’t left the feather in his house as the explosions fell down into what once was L’manburg.

With tense shoulders, he pressed the call button.

---

The dripping of water was the only thing that could be heard within the obsidian room beside the shaky breaths of a curled figure who was in one of the back corners.

A cat, Enderchest, meowed, disrupting the silence and rubbing against the leg of their owner in an attempt of comfort. Ranboo could only stare at his memory book as the feather in his hand hovered over the names of the people who were once his friends.

“I . . . I don’t have anyone left . . .” The book was shut with a slam, the title shinning against the lighting that the crying obsidian gave off.

“But,” a shaky sigh escaped through his lips. “I can’t forget them, otherwise I’m just giving up, and if I give up. . .” He stood abruptly which only succeeded in him collapsing down once more due to his unsteady legs.

“Then I’m just weak.”

The feather in his hand crackled to life, startling him before a familiar voice could be heard echoing around the small room. “Hey, Ranboo!”

“Hi, Phil.” The unshed tears in his eyes shone brighter as his voice wavered.

“Did you make it out okay?” Phil sounded concerned for him, for some reason that Ranboo could not fathom.

“Yeah, I’m still alive.” The smell of smoke was strong, even when he was far away from L’manburg. Some part of Ranboo’s mind wondered how long it would last.

“Good, good, where are you right now?”

“Uhm, I’m gonna be in L’manburg soon.” All Ranboo needed to do now was to pull himself out of this funk.

“Okay, good.” The rustling of a wing could be heard. “Do you need a place to stay or are you good?” Ranboo was caught off-guard by this question as images of his destroyed home flashed through his head.

“I- I think I do need a place to stay.” Ranboo sheepishly admitted, pulling himself up from the floor and balancing himself.

“Yeah? What’s been going on with you, by the way? ‘Cause like, we haven’t spoken in a bit, and I- I know that book was very precious to you, but I- I didn’t know exactly why.”

“Oh, it uh, keeps who my friends are in it, so I don’t forget, cause you know I have very bad memory issues.” His armor was put back on in a couple of seconds and he traveled back outside. “So, uh, I keep all of my friendships in the book, which is - has, changed quite a bit from today so I might need to update it.” The Panic Room was covered up once more. “I’ll be in L’manburg in a second- or what used to be. I’ll be in the big hole in a second.”

“I can get there, I can get there. Give me time, give me time.”

Silence fell between the two as they both traveled to the same destination and Ranboo wondered who was going to be the one to break it.

“So where did you go? Were you still around? ‘Cause it was hectic.”

“Yeah, I had a wither chasing me the entire time, so I kinda couldn’t just leave.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Yeah, sorry about that-”

“Oh, it’s okay-” Laughter could be heard from the two males.

“Are you in L’manburg now, by the way?” Phil asked.

Ranboo looked around, confirming his whereabouts. “Oh, uh, yeah, I’m next to the staircase that leads up to the Prime Path.”

“Alright, let me see if I can aim this. It might be off though.” A whoosh of the trident, ad Phil was standing right in front of him, his damaged wing tucked safely against his back. Ranboo hadn’t heard the full story, but from the information he gathered, one of his wings was singed beyond repair and was just dead weight on his back from protecting Wilbur from the heat of the blast. “Oh, this staircase has seen better days.”

That elicited a chuckle out of the taller male. “A lot of this place has seen better days, in case you didn’t realize.” They traversed up the pathway, twisting and turning through the multitude of wooden slabs beneath their feet.

“It’s fine, we needed a change. It had to be done.” Phil waved it off.

“Yeah, actually. I kind of understand why.”

“You got everything you need?” Ranboo skimmed through his inventory.

“Yeah, actually. I had all of my mending books in a secret barrel in my house but I guess I’m not getting those.” Ranboo grimaced at the thought.

They conversed for a while longer, traveling through the Nether before arriving at and entering into Techno’s and Phil’s home.

“Yeah, so you can stay here until we can start working on your house.” Phil gestured to the couch. “I was thinking of building it next to the mountain that’s behind the house, so it would be somewhat ingrained into the mountain but not fully.”

Ranboo could only just nod, not able to fully express his gratitude besides a simple “Thank you.”

Phil smiled at Ranboo. “It’s not a problem mate. It’s the least I could do after destroying your only house. Get some rest, yeah? I should also tell Techno you’re here so he won’t immediately kill you as soon as he sees you.”

Ranboo chuckled nervously. “Oh yeah, that sounds good.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get going, you’ll be okay on your own, right?” Phil stopped his shuffling to look at Ranboo, and to his relief, avoided eye contact. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thank you, again.” Ranboo shited where he stood, opting to stare at the floor.

“As I’ve said before, it’s not a problem mate. I’ll be out for a while, and Techno should be back before I will, bye Ranboo!”

“Bye Phil!”

---

Techno trudged into his house, closing the door behind him before he collapsed against it, the roughed up edges of his armor digging into the wood. His sword rested limply in his hand as he let his body relax. He would definitely have to wash his sword from the blood that stained it.

He pushed away from the door with a groan. The satchels of potions landed on the floors and counters with a thump. He looked around before he spotted a lump laying down on the couch. Techno immediately tensed up, the grip on his blade tightening.

He swiftly but silently went over, his guard never slipping. His sword was raised, ready to be brought down on the intruder, but Techno then saw his face.

It was Ranboo, the kid that Phil had a soft spot for. He blinked a few times before he checked the feather that was clasped to a gold chain and that hung around his neck. He scrolled through a couple of messages, seeing some from Ghostbur, spam from Tommy, and one from both Fundy and Phil.

He clicked on the notification and read what laid before him.

<Ph1lZa whispered to you: I’m letting Ranboo stay with us for the next few days until we can get a new house built for him. I hope that isn’t too much of a hassle. Talk to you soon Tech!>

Techno huffed in response, but put down his sword and slid it back into it’s seath. The feather was then nestled back to where it once was before, and as he was doing that, Techno saw that Ranboo was shivering.

The couch could barely hold him and the blankets he had didn’t seem to be doing much for him. Techno grumbled as he made up his decision. He swiftly picked Ranboo up and brought him up the ladder, careful not to awaken him or disturb him as they made the trip upstairs.

Ranboo was softly placed on the older’s bed, the red cloak that once rested upon Techno’s shoulders was instead acting as a makesift blanket for the taller.

E

Technosoft!

/rainbowchat

Caringblade

Technosoft

mic muted!

Technosoft

Technosoft

E

E

Technosoft

Technosoft

“Shut up Chat, I am not going soft for this kid.” Techno grumbled.

E

Throw him out! He’s only gonna hurt us like Tommy did!

Tsundereblade!

Tsundereblade!

Blood!

Techno only sighed in response before he went back downstairs, ignoring Chat as he headed over to the couch and placed his sword next to him.

“Goodnight Chat.”

Night!

Gnight!

goodnight !

E

Techno shut his eyes, and let his body rest.

#philza #technoblade #ranbooo #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tubbo #fundy #sleepy bois inc #dreamsmp #minecraft #mcyt

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley chapter 10

“So,” said Ochako.  “Do we open the door, or…?”

The door was unassuming and bland.  Very… doorlike.  It was also the only way forward unless they wanted to backtrack several hundred feet.

Incidentally, no one was standing directly in front of the door. Ochako wondered if that was a coincidence, or if they were all just that wary of things after these past few hours.

Aizawa sighed heavily and hauled open the door.  It was dark inside, with a single spotlight illuminating a small sign that said, ‘This way to 5.’

“That’s suspicious!” said Iida.  

“So it is,” agreed Aizawa, squinting into the dark.  “I’ll go.”

Walked to the sign, and the rest of them tensed, ready to jump in to help at any sign of danger.  The lights suddenly turned on, and music began to blare.  A large television screen played a video of a dancing man.  

“A rickroll,” said Todoroki, reverently.  

If Aizawa’s sigh had been any heavier, it would have had its own gravitational pull.  

“Yeah,” said Six, voice as emotionless as ever.  “Great job, everyone, you got here.”

“Was that really necessary?”

“What?” asked Six.  

“The music,” said Aizawa.  

“Consider it a practical demonstration,” said Six.  “The farther in you go, the older we are, and the more experience we have with this kind of landscape.”  He ran his hand over the sign, and Ochako gasped as patterns and colors followed his fingers.

“You’re younger than Skyrunner or All Might, though,” said Ochako.  “You’re the same age as Aizawa-sensei.”

“Well, yes, but actually no,” said Six.  “I was here before they were.  I’m older.”

Ochako’s senses, honed by months living in a building with nineteen other teenagers, detected an opportunity for teasing.  She pressed her hand to her lips and put on her slyest smile. “Are you?  Reaaaally?”

“Memes,” said Todoroki, nodding gravely.  

“I can see why Nine likes you so much.”

.

Six grabbed Aizawa’s sleeve preventing him from moving on with the others.  

“If you’re trying to keep me away from my kids, I suggest you don’t.”

Six raised an eyebrow.  “Your kids, huh?  You know, we had a bet running about that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Anyway, I wanted you to hear this, first.  You can decide if you want to tell them, after, but they are Nine’s friends.  I don’t want to be responsible for them running off on their own without your knowledge.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me something that could help Midoriya but will be incredibly dangerous.”

“Are you sure your secondary quirk isn’t precognition?”

“I am saving my crisis about that until we get out of here. This waste of time is illogical.”

“Right.  So.  Remember when I said that Nine didn’t get to choose who we were?”  He gestured at himself.  

“Yes,” said Aizawa, already hating where this was going.

“There’s someone who we don’t count as one of our number.”

Now Aizawa really didn’t like where this was going.  “You mean, you’ll count terrorists, but not… this person.”

“Yeah.  Usually, we keep him locked away, but with all this disruption…”

“He’s gotten out.”

“Not yet.  What I’m telling you now may not be relevant at all.  But if that door does open, I want you to have this option.  Not all the others agree the risk is worth it, but I think that should be up to you, since you’d be the one taking it.”

“What option?”

“That person, he took something from Nine, back when his quirk first manifested.  You know all the guys you ran into back when you were in his mind space?  He took one of those.  I think, and most of the others agree, that it would be beneficial if he got it back.”

“He took part of Midoriya’s personality.”

“Yes, you can think about it that way.”

“That part wouldn’t happen to be something like self-preservation, common sense, or grudge-holding, would it?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

“When you reach One, if you want to try to get it back for Nine, ask One if the vault it open.”

“Exactly how dangerous would this be.”

“Horribly.  But you probably wouldn’t die.  This quirk comes with a time limit.  Otherwise, we wouldn’t ask at all.”  Six let go of Aizawa’s sleeve.  “Your students are waiting for you.  You should go.”

Aizawa stepped into the dark.  A battle strobed against the darkness.  No, two.  One with Six and a man who must be Five, and another with Six and Shimura Nana.  Both battles were against a darkness whose silhouette resembled the monster of Kamino Ward far too much for Aizawa’s comfort.

“You’re next!” shouted two overlapping voices.  

Aizawa blinked.  He was in a well-lit street, looking at what could only be the so-called Five.

.

Izuku woke up slowly.  Being asleep had kept some of the pain at arm’s length, but now it returned with a vengeance, along with an oddly comforting pressure.  

Oh, Toshinori had fallen asleep wrapped around him.  That was nice.  They really should start moving again, though.  

The ground rumbled, and Izuku realized what had woken him up.  

“Toshinori,” he said, shaking him the best he could from his position.  “Wake up. There’s an earthquake.”

Toshinori blinked awake.  “Did you call me Dad?”

“No?”

“Back in the city?”

“Um.  Earthquake. What do we… uh, do?”  He didn’t know what the earthquake drill for the middle of the forest was.  Four had, but Izuku was having trouble understanding him over the pounding in his head.  

“It isn’t shaking anymore,” observed Toshinori.  “We should probably still go.”  He rubbed his eyes.  “Let’s get you patched up first.  I can’t believe I fell asleep without making sure you were alright…”

“I’m fine,” protested Izuku, trying to stand up.  He could just keep using Blackwhip to stabilize—

The space behind his eyes turned white.  When it became clear again, he found himself pressed against Toshinori’s shirt.  

“Toshinori,” he whined, because he couldn’t help it, and, oh, no, he was such a burden he shouldn’t be making Toshinori hold his weight, he was a lot heavier than he looked, but his head was pounding and his eyes felt like they were bleeding and his skin felt like sandpaper, “it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” said Toshinori.  “Let me take care of you, please?”

Toshinori lowered him back to the log and started to remove medical supplies from the pockets of his coat.  

“What are we going to do after this?” asked Izuku, voice as quiet as he could make it without whispering.  

“That is an excellent question, my boy,” said Toshinori in an imitation of his usual heartiness.  “As you might imagine, I’ve acquired a number of contacts over the years. Some of them are comfortable with, ah, less than legal escapades.”

“I didn’t think you had any friends other than Detective Tsukauchi and Mr. Shield.  And maybe Gran.”

Toshinori hunched his shoulders.  Izuku immediately felt bad.  

“Well, you aren’t wrong.  Contacts and friends are in two different categories, I’m afraid.  In any case, I’m hoping to eventually reach one of them, and then…”  He trailed off, and Izuku got the sense that Toshinori was bracing himself for Izuku being upset.  “I am hoping to arrange passage to I-Island.”

“We’re leaving Japan?”

“Just until we get this cleared up,” said Toshinori.  

Izuku rubbed his eyes.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.  “What about Shigaraki and All for One?”

“Not your responsibility,” said Toshinori.  

“It kind of is.”

“It really isn’t.”

“It’s our family.”

“I know.  At least, I know now.  Goodness. I don’t think I’ve wrapped my head around it, yet.”  Toshinori rubbed his temples with his wrists, keeping his dirty fingers well away from his eyes.  

“What about before that?” asked Izuku, guiltily changing his line of questioning.  

“I have a few other safe houses around here.  Funny story about one of them.  Completely abandoned building on public land.  Was being used by some anti-mutant cult.  No one ever came to check it out after the initial arrest.  So. Finders keepers.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“All Might,” said Izuku, suppressing a giggle despite the seriousness of the situation, “that’s illegal.”

“I have done a surprisingly large number of illegal things in my life.  Comes from fighting with a centuries-old monster the government doesn’t want to acknowledge as existing.”

“They’ve acknowledged him now,” observed Izuku.  

“Hasn’t seemed to help much, has it?  Anyway, that one shouldn’t be too far from here. Probably.  It will still be quite a walk.  We’ll stay there, for a while.  Until I can reach one of my contacts.”  Toshinori sighed.  “I think the one in Deika will be out best bet.  He works in the shipping industry.  I’ll have to introduce you, just in case we end up separated.”

Izuku pretended the last sentence didn’t send him into a spiral of panic.  

Of course, this spiral of panic was interrupted by an entirely different panic, because the ground started to shake again.  

“I can Float us—”

“Don’t, you’ll hurt yourself,” said Toshinori, keeping a tight grip around Izuku’s bicep.  

Toshinori’s hands were extremely large.  A tree crashed to the ground in the distance.  Accompanying that sound was a roar too loud and animal to be completely human, but too coherent to not be human.  

Toshinori went pale.  

“Someone you know?” asked Izuku, covering his ears to keep the sound from battering his brain any further.  

“We need to go,” said Toshinori, bundling up all the supplies he’d taken out.  “We need to go right now.”

“All for One?” whispered Izuku, getting to his feet.  “A gigantification quirk?”

“One of his subordinates,” said Toshinori.  “One I never managed to find.  I’d hoped—Of all the luck—” He started cursing under his breath in English.  

Maybe Izuku really did have a villain-attracting quirk.

The shaking of the ground grew stronger.  “Run,” said Toshinori.  “Don’t look back for me.”  Toshinori had to know that wouldn’t fly (or float) with Izuku, because a second later his face twisted up in something like resignation.  

Izuku grabbed Toshinori’s wrist.  He could Float them both out of here.  

Blinding pain lanced through his brain again.  

Okay, maybe he couldn’t.  

The ground in front of them erupted.  A craggy giant burst up from below.  

“Little Lord!” the giant shouted, voice more than loud enough to hurt.  A massive hand picked Izuku up, holding him gently but extremely firmly.  “I’m SO HAPPY to see you again!”

Something clicked in the back of Izuku’s head.  A memory he didn’t know he had resurfaced.  

“H-Hi, Machia,” he said.  

“Did this bald man kidnap you?!  He smells like All Might!  But All Might is yellow.  Should I kill him?”

“No,” said Izuku.  “He’s definitely not All Might.  He’s, uh, a friend.”

“HELLO LITTLE LORD’S FRIEND.”

“Hello,” said Toshinori, waving a little, clearly in shock.  

Machia shifted to wave at Toshinori and Izuku hissed as the movement jostled his injuries.  His minor injuries.  His very minor injuries that weren’t bothering him at all.  

Who do you think you’re kidding, kiddo?

Not helping, Grandma.  

“Little Lord!  Are you hurt?”  Machia sniffed him.  “You smell like blood!  I have to bring you to the doctor!”

“The what?” asked Izuku, alarmed.

“Don’t worry, Little Lord!  He is a very good doctor!  We must go!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Izuku, before Machia could get more than three humongous steps away from Toshinori.  “It isn’t my blood, it’s the blood of my enemies!”

“Lord tried that one, too, Little Lord!”

“But—”

“Oh!  I forgot your friend!”  Machia turned around.  “Sorry, Little Lord’s friend!”  He picked up an increasingly distressed Toshinori and continued stomping through the forest.  

Izuku realized that Machia was headed back towards town.

“Wait!” he shouted, despite not having a plan for what to do next.

“Wait?” repeated Machia, balancing on one foot.  

Thankfully, Izuku’s brain churned out a plan.  “My friend here,” said Izuku, gesturing at Toshinori, “has a house nearby.  It would be better if we went there, and then the doctor can come to us.”

Machia grinned, which was honestly an unsettling sight.  “You’re just like Lord, Little Lord!  Always making plans.”  He brought Izuku up to his face, close enough that Izuku could feel his (oddly minty-fresh) breath and bonked the top of his head with his nose.

“Do you brush your teeth, or do you have a quirk for that?” asked Izuku before he could think better of it.  

“Lord gave me a tooth-brushing quirk!  He said he was tired of smelling my morning breath.  I do not know why he said that, because it was night.  But he gave this quirk to me!  It was very generous of Lord.” said Machia, delighted.  “How did you know?”

Izuku decided not to go down the rabbit-hole of his reasoning and shrugged.  “Lucky guess?”

Machia laughed.  “Lord says that, too, sometimes!  I am very glad to see you, Little Lord.  I have missed my Lord very much, and you are just like him!”

Seven vaguely annoyed and insulted ghosts buzzed in the back of Izuku’s head.  

“I am also glad that you did not grow up to be as big as me! You would be much harder to carry if you did.”

Apparently Izuku was not the only one with a propensity for rabbit-hole thoughts, because he could not imagine a scenario where it would be reasonable to expect him to grow to be as big as Machia.

“So,” he said, “you’ll take us to my friend’s house?”

“Yes, Little Lord!  And then we can call the doctor, and he will take care of you!”

Izuku didn’t think Machia meant to be ominous, and yet.  

.

“So,” said Aizawa, surveying the man up and down.  “You’re the one that decided the best place for my student to develop an unstable, highly dangerous, and painful quirk was the middle of a high-adrenaline training exercise full of other students.”

“Hey,” said the man, scratching the back of his head, “no one got hurt, and when you’ve been dead as long as I have, you start looking for entertainment wherever you can get it.  Besides, you’re the one that let the training exercise keep going.”

“According to your compatriot back there,” Aizawa said, hooking a finger over his shoulder, “you haven’t been dead at all.”

Five jolted and ran his knuckles over his bandoleer.  “Yeah, it’s easy to forget.”

It was great to know that Five was trash at lying.  True, he’d been told up front that Six’s explanation would be at least partially false, but still.  

Aizawa sighed.  

Five, who’d also introduced himself as Lariat and Banjo Daigoro, appeared to be a fairly typical hero for his era.  Minimal hero costume repurposed from military gear, worn with just a bit of flair, indicating that the celebrity status of heroes probably hadn’t fully set in yet.  Ammunition for a sidearm, although the sidearm itself was well hidden.  The gun was probably bulky, but if Aizawa didn’t miss his mark, those were stun rounds.  Eye protection, but not head protection.  Not that Aizawa could complain about that, considering.

“Anyhow, if you’re all here, let’s go.”  The man clapped his hands together, activated his quirk, and proceeded to fling Aizawa and his students through the air, without warning.

“Sorry ‘bout this!” said Five.  “But we don’t have time for the whole history lesson!  Just the highlights!”

Brief battles flared to life around them as Five dashed sideways along skyscraper walls and swung from building to building.  

“I always thought of myself as a sort of Spider Man, y’know?”

“I don’t know that hero, sir!” shouted Iida over the whistling wind.  

“Pre-quirk comic book character,” explained Five.  “Most of ‘em got censored after the first quirk boom. Didn’t want to give anyone ideas. But by my time, with the pro hero scene starting up, they came back in a big way!”  Five landed in front of a large convention center.  “This’s where they held the first Modern Comic Convention in Japan.  Or ModiComiCon for short.”

“And we couldn’t walk here, because?” asked Aizawa, suppressing an increasing urge to commit murder.  

“I thought my way was more fun,” said Five.  “Haven’t you always wanted to travel like that?”

Aizawa tugged on his scarf.  “I do.  Frequently. Under my own power.”

“Another Aizawa-sensei,” decided Todoroki, quiet but decisive.  “Aizawa-sensei, but… funkier.”

That did it.  Once this was over, he was expelling all the problem children and taking a vacation. The Rat God could find a sub.

“This is where I met Four the first time,” said Five, pushing the doors open.  The auditorium was filled with rows upon rows of booths.  All empty of people of course.

Aizawa, grudgingly, followed.  

First contact.  

Those voices…  Something about them…  The number.  

“Those are your voices,” said Aizawa.  

“Yep!” said Five.  “It’s a special moment, you know?”

Aizawa frowned.  At this point, he highly doubted that these ‘vestiges’ were simply based on real people. The vestiges themselves had to have reason to suspect that they were at least remnants of real people to give themselves a name like that, and with All Might thrown into the mix…  

Add to that the repeated themes, the oddly ritualistic components (First contact and you’re next), Midoriya’s closeness with All Might, and Aizawa got—

Honestly, he had no idea.  The fact that All Might was still alive tended to rule out the ‘Midoriya’s quirk is that he’s haunted’ theory, which, admittedly, was rather flimsy to begin with.  Perhaps it was a legacy-dependent quirk, reaching back from student to teacher? He would be skeptical—Most quirks had some kind of logic to them, and there was no way to extrapolate entire people from contact with their successor—but Vlad King had a student whose head was a manga speech bubble and other abstract quirks existed.  So.  

It still didn’t feel right.  Surely, Midoriya would have figured out his quirk before he was fourteen in that case.  Unless All Might had to be involved for some reason.  

Also, the fact that they called Midoriya Nine.  Six’s explanation for that didn’t even make a little bit of sense.  

Not to even mention the hints that All for One actually was involved in this somehow.  

“Banjo-san,” said Aizawa, “there’s no truth in the commission’s accusations, is there?”  He could have asked Six, but logically, Six would be the best liar, if he was the one chosen to relay the lie.  Banjo Daigoro seemed rather less adept at deception.  

The world seemed to gray out a bit.  “Are you kidding me?  What part?” asked Five, his eyebrows disappearing under his goggles.

“Yeah, sensei, there’s no way Izuku-k—”

“I’m not asking about Midoriya.  I’m asking about you.  How are you connected to All for One?”

Five opened his mouth, lips drawing back to reveal his teeth. He looked unspeakably offended.  “You don’t think we actually work for that bastard—”

“Excuse me, sir!” interrupted Iida after Five had tacked on several rather fouler epithets.  “There are minors present!”

“Oops,” said Five.  “Anyway, we do not work for All for One,” he continued, failing to answer the question Aizawa had asked.  

“That isn’t what he asked,” said Todoroki.  

Alright.  Maybe Todoroki wasn’t all bad.  He was still on thin ice.  

“Excuse me, is this a bad time?”

Aizawa nearly jumped out of his skin as a terrifyingly tall man in a hero costume appeared at the edge of his peripheral vision.  He was taller than Yagi.  

Actually, wait.  Aizawa’s expert eyes roamed over the man’s hero costume.  That was cosplay, not professionally done.  The man was standing there, in Midoriya’s head, in front of two professional heroes, wearing cosplay.  It looked like it had been hand-sewn.  

It also looked like it had been used.  And inexpertly reinforced.  Even for a vigilante.

Somehow, in retrospect, this made Midoriya’s choice to wear a costume his mother had made for him for his first training session make much more sense.  

Of course, Midoriya would have someone as ridiculous as he was in his head.  Of course, he would have several people as ridiculous as he was in his head.

“Four, I presume.”

“I prefer Shimura, actually.”

“Oh!” said Uraraka.  “Are you related to Skyrunner?”

“She’s my adopted sister’s descendant,” said Shimura/Four.

“Hey, hey, I thought we weren’t telling them this stuff,” said Five.  

Shimura blinked.  “My apologies.”  He paused. “However, considering the structure of my mental domain, it is likely that they would have discovered my chosen name in short order.”

“Who do you think he’s based on?” asked Iida, leaning towards Todoroki.  

“I can’t put my finger on it,” said Todoroki, “but he does feel familiar.”

“And why is that?” asked Aizawa, pretending he couldn’t hear his students.  

“I have a lot of unresolved trauma relating to my biological parents and also my quirk.”

“Ohhhh,” said Todoroki.  “He’s based on me.”

Wow.  Another horrible thing Aizawa would have to deal with when he woke up.  

“Isn’t your quirk Danger Sense?”

“That’s what Five-chan calls it.”

There was something extremely disturbing about this tall, intimidating, eyebrowless man calling another muscular intimidating adult man chan.  

“But I call it—”

“Please don’t—” interjected Five.

“—super anxiety.”

“Why?” cried Five.  “Danger Sense is a much better name!  It’s like Spidey Sense!  Like Spider Man!  You like Spider Man.”

“Yes,” said Shimura, “but I am not Spider Man.  However, that reminds me.”  He turned his unblinking gaze towards Todoroki.  “Nine-chan has several plans for removing your father. I believe only about half of them are workable, but it’s the thought that counts.  At least, that’s what Yagi-chan says.”

“You mean All Might?” asked Aizawa.  If his soul hadn’t already left his body, it would now be preparing to do so.

“No, my wife.”

“Yeah, don’t think about it too hard,” said Five.  “He’s always been like this.  I mean, he came up to me in the middle of this convention to tell me about a bunch of underworld deals going on out of town.  I thought he was, like, some especially serious cosplayer, but then he showed up at my apartment, too.”  The surroundings briefly shimmered into something that might have been the mentioned apartment before resolving themselves back into the comic convention.

“I apologize, I did not realize that was inappropriate.”

“I’m this little baby hero, just a couple years out of training, no name for myself, and this guy shows up like he’s in the middle of one of those old video games.  Like, ‘here, take this old legend and defeat the demon king, you level one peasant.’”

“I didn’t expect you to fight him right away,” said Four, looking both vaguely offended and confused, and now, yeah, okay, Aizawa could see a vague resemblance to Todoroki.  

“I’m still not entirely sure why you picked me, of all people.  There had to be a dozen others with the right, uh, requirements.”

“Requirements, huh?” asked Aizawa, having finally managed to shove the part of his brain screaming about the ‘wife’ comment into a tiny, locked box in the back of his brain.

“Yes.  As my other adoptive sister said, one must possess a strong will, an indomitable spirit, a sharp mind, a pure heart, and a ceaseless drive to save others, both body and soul.”  He paused for a moment.  “She also said something about being ‘just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing,’ but I believe that was a reference to the book she was reading at the time. Her parentage was certainly known at that point.”

“Y’see?  I can never tell if this guy is serious or just pulling my leg.”

“Why would I pull your leg?  Do you need to pop it?”

“I’m beggin’ you, man, learn some idioms.”

“WAIT!” shouted Todoroki.  “Are you related to All Might?  Is he your secret love child?”

The silence stretched between them.  

“I don’t know what that is,” said Four.  “You keep asking Nine if he’s one of those.  What does it mean?  Is it a good thing?”

“ANYWAY,” said Five, loudly.  He attempted to prop his elbow on Four’s shoulder, but the height difference defeated him.  “Four and I had lots of semi-legal adventures—”

“No, we didn’t,” said Four.

“Became best friends—”

“My wife is my best friend.”

“Let me have this.”

“Have what?”

Five sighed.  “Okay, whatever.  Fine. Can you cross them over here?”

“I think I’ll need the other one, unfortunately.”

“Why are you different, by the way?” asked Uraraka.  “The ones before stayed in their own mindscapes, it seemed.”

“Oh,” said Four.  “I’m having flashbacks.  Because of…” He trailed off, then sighed.  “Flashbacks.”

Right.  Wonderful. “We’re going to have to deal with your flashbacks, aren’t we?” Aizawa asked.  

“Unfortunately, yes,” Four said.  “I apologize for my habit of oversharing.”

“This and that are two completely different things.”

“They seem like the same thing to me,” said Todoroki.  

“I am inclined to agree.  I also apologize for the things you may see.  I will attempt to keep you away from the more disturbing sections.”

“Great,” said Aizawa.  “Can we stop wasting time?”

“We aren’t really wasting time,” said Four.  “At the moment, dream time is compressed.  We’ve only been talking for…”  He tilted his head to the side.  “Perhaps a second, in terms of real-world time.”

“He’s right,” said Five, crossing his arms and nodding.

“Seconds are still time,” said Aizawa, hoping they’d get the hint.

“I suppose—Oh.  You’re frustrated.  Apologies. Neither of us have interacted with anyone but the others in…  Quite some time.  I fear our sense of hurry has been damaged.  Especially with how distracted we all are.”

“Why are you distracted, if you don’t mind us asking?” asked Iida.  

“Another unwanted guest is trying to get in and Nine and Ei—Nine managed to run into someone extremely dangerous.”

Eight.  These people had a ‘live’ connection to All Might, too, damn it, and the blond idiot was wherever Midoriya was.  Maybe that should have reassured him, somewhat, because even if All Might was retired, he was still All Might, but, by some dark magic, when All Might and Midoriya were placed in proximity to one another, they gained the ability to spawn problems that Aizawa had never even heard of before.  

Like this one.

“Our final meeting, then?”

“I believe that would be appropriate.”

Black tentacles exploded from Five, covering the space around them.  When they receded, they were in a different place.  Underground, if Aizawa didn’t miss his guess.  A safe house of some kind?

Flickering doppelgangers of Four and Five occupied the space.  

“Why didn’t you transport us like that before?” asked Todoroki.

“Had to take the long way the first time,” said Five.  “That lady’s quirk changed some of the rules. You ready, Four?”

“Let it play out,” said Four, gazing at the static figures.

“Your choice,” said Five, shrugging.  

The ‘real’ Five and Four abruptly vanished, and the doubles started moving.  

“I suspect this is the last time we will meet,” said an older Four to a younger Five.

“Huh?  Why’s that?” said Five, twisting in his chair so that his arms rested on the top of the back.

Four stared blankly at a wall.  “Everything is coming to a head, now.  I’ve chosen to put my faith in you and the new laws.”

“Huh?”

“The last push of the old era…  My big sister would scold me for trusting you.”

“Dude, you’re not making any sense.”

“My apologies.”  Four turned to look more directly at Five.  “The new quirk laws and the establishment of the Hero Commission are steps in the right direction, as evidenced by your existence.”

“Yeaaah, sure,” said Five.  “But what does that have to do with not seeing each other again?”

“They’re not enough,” said Four.  “Even now, certain existences cannot cry out for help.  What do you do, when you can’t turn off your quirk?”

“You’re not going to go terrorist on me here, are you?” asked Five, nervously.

“No.  I just want you to be aware,” said Four.  He tilted his head to the side.  “Whenever I go home, now, there’s danger on the horizon, and I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

“Is it him?”

“No.  I don’t believe so.”  He sighed. “I suspect it’s the Special Task Force, to be honest.”

“They were disbanded,” said Five.  “Any one of ‘em that didn’t get absorbed by the Hero Commission got let go.  Or, er, what’s the term?  Discharged.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Four.  “Perhaps this is simply paranoia.  I would certainly like it to be.”

“Look,” said Five.  “Maybe I can help.  You’ve never told me where y’all live, and—”

“Absolutely not.  I am quite certain that he is still monitoring me to some extent.  You do not want to be on his radar, Daigoro-chan.”

“Dude.  Why do you keep calling me that?”

“You haven’t told me to stop.”

Five sighed.  “I get it, I get it.  Just… let me know if there’s anything I can do.  I’m a hero for a reason.”

Four smiled faintly.  “I know,” he said.  “After all, I chose you.  Good luck, Daigoro-chan.  I think you’ll be able to do it.”  He started walking away, towards the door.

“You, too, old man.  Souma.”

Four stopped with his hand on the door.  

“I believe we will see each other again,” continued Five.  “Count on it!”

“In this life or the next,” agreed Four.  He opened the door.

.

As they crossed over from Five’s domain into Four’s, the dream around them did not shift seamlessly, staying in the same general location with only the details changing like it had for the others, but dissolved into something not quite like static and then blank whiteness before fading back in.

They were standing in the middle of a battlefield, a ruined landscape.

Not the ruins of a city, though, which made this only more jarring.  For all that Shouto was only a teen, he’d seen his fill of city battles.  He was used to villain fights.  

The only time he’d seen this kind of devastation in a place like this had been at the forest training camp last summer.  He swallowed, eyes rolling over uprooted and burning trees, huge craters and ruts in the soil, and the rare bit of roofing and wall. He realized, belatedly, that this must be the remains of a small, rural village.  

He stiffened at the sound of someone crying.  

“Over there,” said Uraraka, pointing.  

Shouto turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit hunched over one of corpses.  His face was shrouded in smoke.  

As he watched, he realized he wasn’t crying over a corpse. The other man was still breathing, his eyes were still open.  

(It was hard to recognize Four’s face under all those injuries.)

He stepped forward, wondering if he should help, if he even could help.  His hand passed through the man’s shoulder with no resistance.  

“Shigaraki…” said the uninjured man.  “Shigaraki Hibiki, you foolish child…”  

Shouto wasn’t the only one to gasp.

“’S not my name an’more,” rasped the injured man, Four, Shouto realized now.  “’N they gottaway, din’ they?  ‘Sworth it…”

“What do you mean, it’s not your name?  Of course it’s your name.  It’s the one I gave you.  The one you should have been born with.  It’s your name.”

“M’name’s…”  The man on the ground panted.  

“Shh, shh, don’t talk, don’t talk Hibiki, I’m sorry I snapped. Don’t worry, Daddy’s going to make it all better, son.  A healing quirk…”

“Name’s…” slurred the man.  “Shimura… Souma…  You…” He took a deep, rattling breath. “You don’t… own… me.  I’m…”  He made a sound that might have been a laugh.  “Free.”  

The scene began to go dark.  Before the last of the light was gone, the uninjured man spoke again. “Shimura,” he hissed, voice promising violence, “was it?”

.

Yagi Toshinori was having the most surreal experience of his entire life.  Considering his life included that awful college party in America, the one where he learned that One for All did not mesh well with psilocybin, that was saying a lot.

Here he was, riding on the shoulders of a man who had tried to kill him on the behalf of his worst enemy multiple times, alongside his student and successor, who was being called ‘Little Lord’ by the man carrying them. They were having an admittedly fascinating conversation about the man’s quirks, multiple, one that Toshinori was only barely keeping up with.  Two of them were being actively hunted by the government.  

That is, Toshinori, the retired professional hero, and Izuku, the licensed hero student, were on the run from the government.  Not Gigantomachia, the mass-murdering minion of All for One, who was quite possibly the evilest man alive.

(And also, possibly Izuku’s father.  But no one wanted to think about that.)

(Not to mention all the things going on in their heads.)

(This level of connection to One for All was thrilling, but also incredibly strange.)

Oh.  And they were going to one of Toshinori’s safehouses.  With Gigantomachia.  True, Toshinori hadn’t been to this one in a while, but it was still a place that was supposed to be safe, hence safehouse, and Gigantomachia was decidedly not safe.

He was also going to be difficult to get rid of, because he had a sense enhancement quirk that let him track down individuals he was familiar with from miles away.  Toshinori knew this, because Gigantomachia was currently happily telling Izuku all about it.

Surreal.  

Izuku reached over and patted him on the shoulder.  

Ah, yes, this was only made more surreal by the fact that Toshinori could feel how much pain Izuku was in, but the boy hardly showed any of it.  It made him wonder.  How often was Izuku in pain and Toshinori did not see?

Izuku patted his shoulder again, this time in a way that suggested he really wanted a hug but couldn’t give him one because he was holding onto Gigantomachia and the logistics didn’t work out.

Oh, and there was the safehouse.  

Gigantomachia let them down a short distance from the building (he claimed not to want to get to close, because he’d accidentally knocked down buildings in the past, which Toshinori could easily believe).  

The building was in better repair than Toshinori had expected after his long absence.  He fished the spare key from its hiding spot and opened the door.  

The back entry was full of people wearing black robes and skull masks, all of whom were scrubbing at bloodstains on the floors and walls.  

Izuku fixed him with a disappointed stare.  “I thought you got rid of the cultists.”

Yes, he had thought so, too.  He had, in fact, worked quite hard at getting rid of them.

“You!” shouted a cultist, pointing.  “You’re with that filthy League of Villains!”

“You killed our brothers!”

“Mutant-lovers!”

“Run?” suggested Izuku.

“Run,” agreed Toshinori.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #long night in the valley #fic #fanfiction #my writing

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 6 – The Extraction

(Mando x f!reader)

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Summary: The auction leads you to the child but the empire’s hot on your tail. With all hope lost you make a choice.

Notes: None (feel free to interact im unemployed and bored)!!!

Tw: (very brief) mentions of drugs/sex/alcohol/addiction, swearing

Words: 3.9 k

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

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You walk through the damp street, you don’t know what this dress is made of but the dirt and grime caused by the recent rain seemed to simply bounce off it. The streets were jam-packed, somehow even busier than they were the night prior and as the two of you make your way towards the auction hall Din’s visor scans the crowd, making sure nothing seems out of place. He takes care to never be more than a few inches away from you, convincing himself it's in order to maintain appearances. After all he knew you were more than capable of handling yourself, and why else would he feel the need to be so close to you.

“You lost beautiful?” A youthful looking Falleen asks as she appears out of the shadows

“No.” Din replies, making himself visible at your side when she moves into the light.

“Well I’m sure you're very beautiful under that armour Mando, but I was talking to your friend here.The names Isi and I make a living helping people around the city” Din’s about to respond again when you interject.

“Actually Isi we do seem to have gotten ourselves a bit lost, we're here for the auction.”

“I’ve heard of it,” she says, staring down at her manicure. You look up at Din motioning for him to pay her which he does begrudgingly. Taking the credits she leads you through the city, stopping outside a building covered completely in reflective mirrors.

“Best of luck” Isi, says offering you her hand

“Thank you, for your discretion” taking it you slide her a few more credits and she leans back against the wall of the building watching as the two of you enter. Two men in tailored suits open the inner doors granting you access to a small closed off foyer, also covered in the one way glass. You hand your invitation to the man on the right, parting your lips ever so slightly and gaze up at him batting your eyelids ever so slightly. In your experience a touch of flirting went a long way, especially when it came to moving through security.

He smiles and looks from you, up to the Mandalorian then back down. Turning his head to look at his partner he chuckles slightly.

“He your boyfriend, or something?”

“Bodyguard” you emphasize.

“Makes sense” he murmurs loud enough for the two of you to hear.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the modulated voice asks obviously aggravated.

“Never mind him, he’s just sensitive about the... you know ” you mime the outline of a helmet. The guard nods and lets you pass through placing his hand on the small of your back as you do causing you to cringe internally. Nothing worse than a stranger's hand where you didn’t want it. You glare back at the Mandalorian hoping your eyes would convey a message of ‘be cool’. A task he was about to accomplish when the second guard places a firm hand on his arm.“Leave the blaster Mando, there’s no weapons allowed.”

“He has no weapons” you interject, de-escalating the scene that was about to play out caused by the tremendous amount of male energy that was currently taking up the entire room.

“You’re right sorry ma’am, enjoy your evening” he says letting go of the Mandalorians arm allowing him to pass.

“Way to keep your cool, let’s try and get through the night without creating a scene” you say, slightly annoyed by whatever the hell he thought that display was going to achieve. Your anger disappears as you turn to an enormous room filled with people dressed to the nines in the finest the galaxy had to offer. Chandeliers dripping in diamonds hung down from the high ceilings illuminating the room like a sky full of stars and casting a rose gold hue across the occupants moving about the ballroom floor which seemed to sparkle underneath the high heels.

Servers moved seamlessly throughout the crowd; they were all dressed in lavish costumes, depicting various fashions from across space and time. The trays they carry are filled with multicolor foods and gem-coloured drinks. You’d never seen anything so opulent in your entire life. You’d noticed that servers would pair off with guests and disappear returning later with a look that could only be chalked up to exceptional sex or spice, both of which resulted in a similar glazed over and dewy look. A Darthomorian in a low cut red dress approaches you offering you a drink, you smile and thank them.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” The modulator speaks up, as you bring the drink to your lips.

“Why? I might as well enjoy the lifestyles of the rich and dangerous while I’m here” you snap, apparently you were still upset at him.

“It has love wallop in it, makes the drinker more suggestible to certain propositions usually sent over by someone who wants to.” His voice trails off.

“Ew” you say pulling a face before dumping it in a nearby plant. “Guess I’m safer going to the bar.” You swirl your new, drug free, drink around and rest your elbows down on a nearby table, hoping the auction would begin shortly.

“How did you know what was in that drink.” You ask in an attempt to help pass the time.

“They show up at these kinds of things, so does spice and other illegal substances.”

“Once again how do you know about this? You spent a lot of time around illegal substances? I didn’t think it would be your scene.” you say taking a sip of the ruby coloured drink you had ordered.

“I’ve brought a lot of dealers over the years. It also crossed my path in my...” He pauses before continuing reluctantly “ wilder days.”

“Wilder days hey? Love to hear about those sometimes. You sample the product?” you probe, he gives you an unmistakable look of disappointment “Maybe you should, might help chill you out a bit.” You joke.

“That would go against my creed and fundamental belief system. Spice is...”

“Highly addictive, ya I know , it was a joke.” You say shaking your head, why did he have to be so high and mighty all the time.

“You’ve had it?” he seems surprised by this news, you hoped it wouldn’t change his opinion of you, the two of you had been getting on pretty well of late and you’d hate to jeopardize that.

“You gonna arrest me?” you joke nervously, hoping he didn’t notice how much his response mattered to you.

“No, just… how the hell did you stop? Are you okay to even be here, it's everywhere” was it disappointment or concern you picked up in his voice, you couldn’t quite discern between the two.

“I’ll be fine just tell me if it’s in anything I’m about to put into my body. And knock me out if you see me going for it” Diverting from the conversation you lift up a piece of food and show it to the Mandalorian who lets you know it’s safe to eat.

“Holy shit this is good!” you exclaim, looking around for where the waitress had gone

“Can you feel him?.” Din asks drawing your attention back to the reason why you were here in the first place.

“Too many people, I’ve already disrupted the force once I don’t want to do it again so quickly someone might notice. We’ll have to wait for the first item and follow whoever brings it out.” Just then a woman in a slinky red dress appears with some kind of an egg on a pillow and steps up onto the stage where an Ishi Tib drones out the rules and regulations for bidding.

“Is that an Kadri’Ra egg.” you ask in amazement.

“Looks like it”

“I thought they were extinct” you say still in awe

“Guess not” he replies, his shortness had become increasingly apparent over the course of the evening.

“We’ll get the kid soon, don’t worry, he has to be here.” You reassure, looking up at him causing him to look away. As the woman passes back through the crowd the two of you turn in tandem and follow her until you reach the back of the room. You stop and place your back against the wall, craning your neck you look to see which hallway the woman had disappeared down. You turn back quickly as another woman in similar garb appears out the largest of the hallways, carrying a cape made from an ice dragon pelt. As she moves towards the stage the two of you enter where she had exited. You move through the wide hallway until you reach the end, where a large metal door prevents you from moving any further.

“Should have about 15 minutes before the next one comes out.” You say stopping a few feet from the door. “you think anyone’s in...” you're almost done your sentence when you hear footsteps approaching from behind you.

Before you can make sense of what's happening the Mandalorian has pulled you into a thin hallway off shoot by the nook of your elbow. You’re now face to face with his chest and suddenly very aware of how tall he was.

“Where’s the other half of the item, seriously were two in and I’m looking like a fool up there!” an Arkanian, who you assume must be the collector and the host of the party, exclaims. You see them do a double take to where you're currently hiding, and watch as they begin to move towards the hallway.

“Can you pick me up?” you whisper urgently,

“Yes, but…”

“do it now” he complies with your order, as he does you wrap your legs around the armour covering his hips and prop your back against the wall, draping your arms loosely over his shoulders before burying your head in the part of his neck bare from armour, hoping that the compromising position would be enough to deter the collector rom asking any question. Out of the corner of your eye you watch as the presenter takes note of the two of you. Raising their eyebrows they turn and move back to the door.

“Yes that’s it, get it out there now so the bidding can begin, gods it’s hard to find good help these days.” they exclaim turning and following behind the presenter with the newly acquired artifact. You let out a sigh of relief removing your face from his neck quickly realizing that your nose is just millimetres away from his helmet.

“You can put me down now” you whisper breathlessly, for a reason you couldn’t quite explain. You take note of the slight hesitation that precedes him dropping you. Gathering yourself you exit the hallway and reposition yourself in front of the large metal door. You can’t see a panel on it or a key slot, it must only be accessible from the inside looking up, you spot a window.

“Give me a boost” you say, and he obliges. You lift the hem of your outfit and step onto his interlocked hands which he uses to push you up enabling you to reach the ledge. Pulling yourself up you roll through the window and drop down onto the rooms floor alerting the person in charge of handing out the auction items. You knock him out and swipe his key card using it to open the door for Din.

“This way” you say, dragging the handler's body over to a nearby post and tying him to it. Standing up you turn to see hundreds of items up for auction varying from Millaflower to a juvenile varactyl.

“Do you see him?” you ask, picking up a vial of what you recognized as death stick placing it back down when you hear him respond.

“No” you think you hear his voice break. “Wait.” he says, walking up to another, smaller closed off room placing a gloved hand on the door. He draws his blaster aiming for the lock. You lower his hand hoping to prevent a beam bouncing around the room subsequently giving you away. You lift up the key card you’d swiped from the guy in the room and use it to open up the door. He moves towards the oval container floating in the middle of the room and drops down to one knee as you watch tentatively from the door. Pushing a button the oval opens up and a tiny green three fingered hand reaches up for him. You hear a slight gurgle as the second hand comes up making a grabbing motion. Din picks up what has to be the most adorable creature you’ve ever seen.

“Told you I’d get you back didn’t I” he chuckles, you can hear the smile in voice as he hands the kid the small silver ball. You approach cautiously until you're standing beside him.

“Well fair enough I get why you traded me in for him” you say offering the child your finger which he grabs happily, looking up at you.

“ You two know each other or something?” He asks, his helmet staring up at you.

“Must be a force thing” you say, smiling down at the little critter.

“We have to go” you say, closing the egg hoping it would buy enough time to make a swift exit. With the child wrapped neatly under his arm the two of you move swiftly through the back alleys in darkness.

“Well that went better than I…” almost as if on cue, your speech is interrupted by the sound of blasters ricocheting off the ship's metal exterior. He hands you the child and rushes up to the cockpit to prepare for take-off.

“Brace yourself” he shouts down and you grab onto the overhanging bars with one hand and secure the child with your other, pressing your thigh against a beam in an attempt to stabilize yourself. As the ship lifts off the ground you hear the sounds of even more blaster bullets hitting its side.

“Din!” you yell up from below

“I’m working on it!” he shouts back down. A few moments later he manages to get the ship out of the reach of the blasters, punching it as he exits the stratosphere. A distinct beeping sound rings throughout the ship indicating there was a problem that needed fixing sooner rather than later. You ungrip your hands from the bars and check on the child who seems completely unaware of the situation. Using your free hand you pull yourself up to the cockpit where a disgruntled Mandalorian was cursing under his breath. You place the child down in the back seat buckling him in before taking your own.

“How far can we make it without stopping.” You ask after a long enough time had elapsed for the Mandalorian to calm down

“Far enough to be safe, I hope.” Turning to the side you see the kid sleepily closing its eyes.

“Could you put him to bed? I have to deal with this.” He says gesturing to the entire dashboard which was currently lit up like a tree on life day.

“Of course” you say, you were completely taken with the child, and more than happy to spend time with it.

“Alright where does he keep your bed then.” You say opening up a few compartments until you find the sleeping quarters. Opening the doors Anya’s head looks over to you evidently having slept through the whole ordeal comfortably on the bed. It was decent sized compared to most ship beds but still small especially for someone of Dins stature. Above it was a small hammock like contraption which you assumed was where the child, who was now more awake than asleep, slept.

“You need to rest.” You say softly, but he keeps staring up at you and grabbing at your hair. “C’mon you going to get me in trouble, with the guy upstairs” you smile down at him as he coos slightly. “Well I know one thing that used to help me sleep when I was about your size” You start to sing softly to the creature stroking one of its long ears as you do until it's fallen asleep. Unbeknownst to you the Mandalorian had heard you singing and followed the sound downstairs watching you and the child from afar.

“Mesh’la” he says louder than intended, causing you to turn around.

“He’s just asleep now,” you whisper, handing him to the Mandalorian so he can put him up top. You watch as he tucks the kid in gently squeezing one of its feet before turning back to quietly return to the cockpit.

“Did you say something down there?” you ask, sitting back in the co-pilot seat.

“No,well, yes I was just wondering what the sound was. I’d never heard something like it before.”

“What a lullaby. Didn’t have many of those growing up at the convent?” you ask, always slightly surprised by any personal information the Mandalorian revealed to you.

“No, at least none I can remember. What are they used for?”

“You’ve heard songs before though.”

“Yes, I heard some on Vryssa.”

“ Well Vryssa is home to many a folk song, helps people forget where they are. A lullaby is a song, often sung to a child to help them sleep.” You explain.

“What were you singing about.” He asks

“Ones was about a hanging that happened in Vryssa, told the story of two lovers planning to meet there”

“Doesn’t seem suitable for a child”

“No but I assume he doesn't speak English and lullaby is more about the melody than the words, the second was one passed down from my grandmother about the meadows of her home planet.”

“Where was she from your grandmother?” he asks.

“She never told me a name, only descriptions.”

“Maybe you’ll get to see it one day.”

“Ya maybe, if you and this kid don’t get me killed first.” you laugh, only partially kidding.

“Grogu.”

“Bless you?”

“The kids name, it’s Grogu.” he chuckled softly glancing over at you, still thinking about the way you had looked with him in your arms, singing softly.

After a while the beeping increases to a point where landing was no longer a task that could be put off. You step out onto a stone covered surface stretching out your legs and breathing in the remarkably fresh air.

“Think we lost them” you state, bending down and placing a palm on the smooth, cool moss covered stones. You stand back up and turn around watching as the Mandalorian exits the ship with a tool kit in hand and Anya and Grogu in pursuit. The kid follows Din over to where the damage is opting to stare up at him as he works, seemingly not wanting to be apart from him ever again.

“It's just one of the stabilizers, an easy fix we should be good to go soon!” He shouts over to you

“Anything I can do to help?” You offer

“No, It's a one person job. Thank you” With that you head off curious in exploration of the planet. It's old, empty, you wonder if anyone had ever been here before you. It wasn’t very livable, no trees, no food, no water, a truly desolate place. Yet it possessed a charm unique to planets of old, untouched by the reach of the empire, the republic and everything in between. You peer back over your shoulder, Anya’s sat protectively near the child who's still watching the Mandalorian rattle around the ship. You turn your head back as he closes up, not wanting to get caught staring. He picks up Grogu and re-enters the ship with Anya following close behind. You're about to join them when you feel something approaching. You begin to walk further from the ship and closer towards the presence you were feeling, stopping in your tracks when you see a triangular ship approaching. It's large, too big to be from any crime lord.

“It’s imperial” you hear a voice yell from afar as the Mandalorian makes his way towards you.

“Well never outrun them” you whisper, your brain running through the possible scenarios.

“We have to go”

``We'll never outrun them” you say louder and firmer this time, it didn't take an android to figure out what your probability of success was.

“We don’t have time to argue about this” he grabs your arm, but you pull it free turning to face him.

“Go” The words leave your mouth before you can process what you're saying. He doesn’t move. You can hear the ship approaching inching closer.

“Take them and leave, you have to protect them, keep them safe.” he was right you didn't have time to argue about this.

“Not without you.” he says refusing to move.

“Go!” you say shoving him “Now!”

“I'm not leaving you here”

“Yes you are, the kid he’s all that matters right now, go before he’s taken again. Now!”

“Just come with us” he pleads

“We won’t make it. You know we won't. This isn’t a negotiation. Go I’ll give you as much time as I can.” You see him finally accept the fact that this was in the only way.

“Here, take this” he says, giving you his blaster before turning and starting back towards the ship. He stops turning around one last time.

“(y/n) I…”

“I know” you say, using the force to throw him back towards the ship before turning to face the imperial ship which has landed a hundred yards in front of you.

Dialing up the ship Din takes note of the imperial model hoping he’d be able to find it again. As the troopers march out he sees you look back at him nodding your head as if to say you’ll be fine.You clear your mind breathing in the cool air. Closing your eyes you kneel on the ground placing one hand on the stone and the other on the blaster at your side. You can hear the ship taking off behind you as the troopers take aim firing at them from below, but the shots rebound off the force field that you’ve created.

You hold your ground as the troopers move in towards you determined to protect those inside the ship. Din watches as the blaster shots rebound back into the crowd of troopers. With one last look he jumps the ship into hyperspeed. He moves it into auto pilot and throws his head back in frustration as he hears Grogu cry out. “I know. Well get her back, but we're going to need some help” He says, picking up the kid holding him on his lap as he punches in the coordinates of a familiar planet. You drop the force field and begin firing when you hear the ship jump into hyperspace taking out as many troopers as you can before the blaster runs out. In one last ditch effort you throw it at a stormtrooper knocking it out. Slowly raise your hands in the air. They take aim. You prepare yourself.

“Wait! Don’t shoot” a tall man, dressed in all black says as the crowd of troopers part in his wake.

“We may not need the child after all.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #star wars #not canon #alliance #chapter 6

[dixtrich]

BLAKE DIETRICH ( HE/HIM ) is a MALE, TWENTY-FIVE year old SOCIALITE/GANG MEMBER who has been living in Moorbrooke for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS. Right now, they are currently residing in ELMSETT GREEN. It has been said that they look suspiciously like NICHOLAS GALITZINE and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose WITNESS by MINDLESS SELF INDULGENCE.

Baby boy Blake was never the golden boy as much as he tried. Since he was born, he caused nothing but trouble for his mother at least; his father never paid much attention, being honest. He was born during a camping trip; Ms. Dietrich started with contractions and even bleeding while swimming in the lake. She was hurried to the hospital and because of that, he was named Blake which means Son of Lake.

He was second to an older brother named Quade: the football star in high school, the one everybody talked about and you cannot blame them! He was quite the charmer, quite the… manipulator. Blake always stood in his shadow, but he didn’t really mind, Quade was the only one who ever really paid attention to him. You see, his father was an important business man while his mother was basically a socialite back when they lived in New York before he was born. They moved to Moorbrooke because little towns were in that season. Blake’s dad kept going to NY to keep up with his office job and sometimes the mother would go with him to update her wardrobe. ( more to come on the parents later ).

The matters of normies never affected them much until there were some news about a possible gang in town and still, it was a rather unimportant thing... until they took Quade.        SPOILER: Quade is alive.

The family mourned so much for a month and afterwards, they just closed Quade’s bedroom door and kept it like that forever, ignoring the memory of their son and ignoring their pain. Blake didn’t find the truth of what happened to his brother until he was around 17 years old. Quade came to him in the shape of a beast, not quite literally, but on his window appeared the silhouette of a man with a mask. Long story short: Quade was alive, he had faked his death by hands of the gang to start anew as the new leader said gang that had been terrorizing Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Vermont. This gang was called THE PACK and their distinctive nature was the use of animal masks to hide their identities; Quade as leader, was the only one allowed to use a human skull mask.

Blake was inivited to join him and since Quade was the only one who accepted him, he said yes. Anything for his big brother. He joined The Pack under the identity of HELLHOUND. While using the mask, far from being a regular mid-twentieth boy, Blake became a strategist and a killing machine with guns and cars. He was the image of anarchy itself disrupting order and creating mayhem anywhere he stepped. Gunshots, arson, uncontrollable parties and so on. Hellhound followed the leader’s rules with eagerness as long as he could rip apart and destroy whatever or… whoever.

But nobody knew! For everyone else, he was still one to go to church every Sunday, attending cocktail parties to pass the time and getting ready to join his father’s company; although he had secretly started taking some online courses and clases of history and literature because his main goal in life was to become a poet.

A strong Gryffindor, Blake is playful and madly loyal; one to pull at your hair during mass but one to follow the rules when he is under Quade’s orders. Bad Boy ‘til the end, he has a reputation for getting in trouble, but nothing ever too damaging to actually get arrested. Not a favorite of the cops most likely. Secretly sweet and with a secret knack to bake and write, but these are not hardcore so people don’t really know about them. Loves attention, used to get in trouble at school so his parents paid attention to him.

I am sure I missed a bunch of stuff but I wanted to get this out asdlkf. Will be updating!

Fun facts:

Is actually really good with kids!

Loves bubbles smh.

With the mask on, he is a whole different person and can act more feral.

Sadistic tendencies.

He loves playing pretend and being a good boy at important rich people’s parties.

Out of the mask he is teasing and even kinda immature, he will stick his tongue out to you and everything if he finds out that annoys you.

You can see him competing in illegal racing at least three times a week!

The Pack is mainly into weapon trafficking and doing just anything that pays good enough.

Is good, but being good never brought him any good. Very street smart and of quick thinking, but Quade manipulates him just too much.

Aesthetic:

A BIG SPECTRAL BLACK DOG THAT STARES FROM YOUR BACKGROUND

ABSOLUTE ANARCHY.

AN IMPROPER COMMENTARY DROPPED QUIETLY AT CHURCH THAT MADE THE PRISTINE CHOIR GIRL GIGGLE.

SECRETLY PLAYING ROBIN HOOD BECAUSE IF SOMEBODY KNEW YOU ARE HELPING YOU WOULD BE DEAD, OH SO DEAD.

THE THIN LINE BETWEEN REBELLIOUS HEROISM AND BRUTAL ANTAGONISM.

NEON LIGHTS GLOWING THROUGH THE WINDOW AS YOU MAKE OUT IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE CAR.

THE SMELL OF SULFUR SHORT BEFORE CLOAKED FIGURES SURROUND YOU OMINOUSLY.

Connections:

Someone attacked by the gang maybe.

Members of the gang ofc!!!

Fwb, exes, crushes that go either way. GIMME THE ANGST.

Childhood friends/acquaintances

Someone that knows he is part of The Pack.

Good influence

Bad influence

Tbh just anything pls!

Pinterest board!

#mbintro #i havent written blake in a hot second so lets see how this goes!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 17, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

A year ago tonight, Georgia Representative John Lewis passed away from pancreatic cancer at 80 years old. As a young adult, Lewis was a “troublemaker,” breaking the laws of his state: the laws upholding racial segregation. He organized voting registration drives and in 1960 was one of the thirteen original Freedom Riders, white and Black students traveling together from Washington, D.C., to New Orleans to challenge segregation. “It was very violent. I thought I was going to die. I was left lying at the Greyhound bus station in Montgomery unconscious,” Lewis later recalled.

An adherent of the philosophy of nonviolence, Lewis was beaten by mobs and arrested 24 times. As chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC—pronounced “snick”), he helped to organize the 1963 March on Washington where the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., told more than 200,000 people gathered at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial that he had a dream. Just 23 years old, Lewis spoke at the march. Two years later, as Lewis and 600 marchers hoping to register African American voters in Alabama stopped to pray at the end of the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, mounted police troopers charged the marchers, beating them with clubs and bullwhips. They fractured Lewis’s skull.

To observers in 1965 reading the newspapers, Lewis was simply one of the lawbreaking protesters who were disrupting the “peace” of the South. But what seemed to be fruitless and dangerous protests were, in fact, changing minds. Shortly after the attack in Selma, President Lyndon Baines Johnson honored those changing ideas when he went on TV to support the marchers and call for Congress to pass a national voting rights bill. On August 6, 1965, Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act authorizing federal supervision of voter registration in districts where African Americans were historically underrepresented.

When Congress passed the Voting Rights Act, just 6.7 percent of Black voters in Mississippi were registered to vote. Two years later, almost 60% of them were. In 1986, those new Black voters helped to elect Lewis to Congress. He held the seat until he died, winning reelection 16 times.

Now, just a year after Representative Lewis’s death, the voting rights for which he fought are under greater threat than they have been since 1965. After the 2013 Shelby County v. Holder decision of the Supreme Court gutted the Voting Rights Act by taking away Department of Justice supervision of election changes in states with a history of racial discrimination, Republican-dominated state legislatures began to enact measures that would cut down on minority voting.

At Representative Lewis’s funeral, former President Barack Obama called for renewing the Voting Rights Act. "You want to honor John?” he said. “Let's honor him by revitalizing the law that he was willing to die for.” Instead, after the 2020 election, Republican-dominated legislatures ramped up their effort to skew the vote in their favor by limiting access to the ballot. As of mid-June 2021, 17 states had passed 28 laws making it harder to vote, while more bills continue to move forward.

Then, on July 1, by a 6-3 vote, the Supreme Court handed down Brnovich v. Democratic National Committee, saying that the state of Arizona did not violate the 1965 Voting Rights Act when it passed laws that limited ballot delivery to voters, family members, or caregivers, or when it required election officials to throw out ballots that voters had cast in the wrong precincts by accident.

The fact that voting restrictions affect racial or ethnic groups differently does not make them illegal, Justice Samuel Alito wrote. “The mere fact that there is some disparity in impact does not necessarily mean that a system is not equally open or that it does not give everyone an equal opportunity to vote.”

Justice Elena Kagan wrote a blistering dissent, in which Justices Stephen Breyer and Sonia Sotomayor joined. “If a single statute represents the best of America, it is the Voting Rights Act,” Kagan wrote, “It marries two great ideals: democracy and racial equality. And it dedicates our country to carrying them out.” She explained, “The Voting Rights Act is ambitious, in both goal and scope. When President Lyndon Johnson sent the bill to Congress, ten days after John Lewis led marchers across the Edmund Pettus Bridge, he explained that it was “carefully drafted to meet its objective—the end of discrimination in voting in America.” It gave every citizen “the right to an equal opportunity to vote.”

“Much of the Voting Rights Act’s success lay in its capacity to meet ever-new forms of discrimination,” Kagan wrote. Those interested in suppressing the vote have always offered “a non-racial rationalization” even for laws that were purposefully discriminatory. Poll taxes, elaborate registration regulations, and early poll closings were all designed to limit who could vote but were defended as ways to prevent fraud and corruption, even when there was no evidence that fraud or corruption was a problem. Kagan noted that the Arizona law permitting the state to throw out ballots cast in the wrong precinct invalidated twice as many ballots cast by Indigenous Americans, Black Americans, and Hispanic Americans as by whites.

“The majority’s opinion mostly inhabits a law-free zone,” she wrote.

Congress has been slow to protect voting rights. Although it renewed the Voting Rights Act by an overwhelming majority in 2006, that impulse has disappeared. In March 2021, the House of Representatives passed the For the People Act on which Representative Lewis had worked, a sweeping measure that protects the right to vote, removes dark money from politics, and ends partisan gerrymandering. Republicans in the Senate killed the bill, and Democrats were unwilling to break the filibuster to pass it alone.

An attempt simply to restore the provision of the Voting Rights Act gutted in 2013 has not yet been introduced, although it has been named: the John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act. Only one Republican, Alaska senator Lisa Murkowski, has signed on to the bill.  

Yesterday, the chair of the Congressional Black Caucus, Representative Joyce Beatty (D-OH), was arrested with eight other protesters in the Hart Senate Office Building for demanding legislation to protect voting rights.

After her arrest, Beatty tweeted: “You can arrest me. You can’t stop me. You can’t silence me.”

Last June, Representative Lewis told Washington Post columnist Jonathan Capehart that he was “inspired” by last summer’s peaceful protests in America and around the world against police violence. “It was so moving and so gratifying to see people from all over America and all over the world saying through their action, ‘I can do something. I can say something,’” Lewis told Capehart. “And they said something by marching and by speaking up and speaking out.”

Capehart asked Lewis “what he would say to people who feel as though they have already been giving it their all but nothing seems to change.” Lewis answered: “You must be able and prepared to give until you cannot give any more. We must use our time and our space on this little planet that we call Earth to make a lasting contribution, to leave it a little better than we found it, and now that need is greater than ever before.”

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair,” Lewis tweeted almost exactly a year before his death. “Do not become bitter or hostile. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble. We will find a way to make a way out of no way.”

—-

Notes:

Capehart: https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2020/06/10/john-lewis-black-lives-matter-protesters-give-until-you-cannot-give-any-more/

https://www.usnews.com/news/best-states/articles/2021-07-02/17-states-have-passed-restrictive-voting-laws-this-year-report-says

https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/20pdf/19-1257_g204.pdf

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#political #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #John Lewis #voter rights #history #racial equality

[creepingsharia]

Two Muslims in U.S. Charged with Moving U.S. Currency to Iran

Apparently the defendants used Twitter, Facebook, Youtube and various other sources to collect funds for the jihad being waged in Sudan via an organization called Islamic Pulse.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE Wednesday, August 19, 2020

A complaint was unsealed today, charging two U.S. citizens with federal crimes related to Iran.  Muzzamil Zaidi, 36, a U.S. citizen who resides in Qom, Iran, was charged with acting in the United States as an agent of the government of Iran without first notifying the Attorney General.  Zaidi, Asim Naqvi, 36, a U.S. citizen who lives in Houston, Texas, and Ali Chawla, 36, a Pakistani national who lives in Qom, Iran, were all charged with violations of the International Emergency Economic Powers Act.  The complaint alleges that both charges stem from the defendants’ campaign to transport U.S. currency from the United States to Iran on behalf of the Supreme Leader of Iran in 2018 and 2019. Both Zaidi and Naqvi were arrested in Houston yesterday, Aug. 18, 2020.

“Disrupting Iran’s ability to raise U.S. dollars is key to combating its ability to sponsor international terrorism and destabilize the Middle East, including through its military presence in Yemen,” said Assistant Attorney General for National Security John C. Demers.  “Zaidi, Naqvi, and Chawla allegedly raised money in the United States on behalf of Iran’s Supreme Leader, and illegally channeled these dollars to the government of Iran.  As a result of today’s charges, their unlawful scheme has been exposed and brought to an end.  The U.S. Department of Justice and its National Security Division are committed to holding accountable individuals who operate covert networks within the United States in order to provide support and funds to hostile foreign governments like Iran in violation of U.S. law.”

“This case is significant on many levels,” said Michael R. Sherwin, Acting United States Attorney for the District of Columbia.  “To begin, as alleged in the criminal complaint, the defendants have considerable operational links to the IRGC, which has conducted multiple terrorist operations throughout the world over the past several years.  The life-blood of these terrorist operations is cash – and the defendants played a key role in facilitating that critical component.”

“Today’s charges demonstrate our commitment to preventing agents of hostile foreign governments from having access and freedom to operate within the borders of the United States,” said James A. Dawson, acting Assistant Director in Charge of the FBI’s Washington Field Office.  “In addition to being charged with acting as an illegal agent of Iran, Zaidi allegedly operated with his co-conspirators at the behest of the Iranian government — a known sponsor of terrorism — to overtly solicit U.S. money to further Iranian causes, in violation of the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA).  This is why IEEPA was established: to prevent hostile foreign governments from leveraging the U.S. financial system in furtherance of their global destabilizing endeavors.” 

“The arrests today are the direct result of the undeterred efforts of the FBI Houston Counterterrorism investigative team,” said FBI Houston Field Office Special Agent in Charge, Perrye K. Turner.  “By engaging in around the clock collaboration with multiple Field Offices and Intelligence Community partners, our agents ensure that those who send money to terrorist regimes will ultimately be held accountable and lose their freedom.”  

As alleged in the affidavit in support of a criminal complaint, Zaidi offered his services to the Supreme Leader of Iran in or around July 2015 and said that he could serve the “Islamic Republic in the socio-political or another field.”  The complaint alleges that Zaidi traveled to Syria in or around June 2018 and that, while there, flew to an active war zone in an armed Iranian military or intelligence aircraft.  The complaint alleges that Zaidi had access to bases under the command of Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) while in that war zone, including a “Sepah Qods” (IRGC Qods Force) base.  The IRGC was designated as a terrorist organization by the U.S on April 4, 2019.  Qassem Soleimani, a major general in the IRGC, was commander of the Qods Force until he was killed in a U.S. airstrike on Jan. 3, 2020.

According to the complaint, in December 2018, Zaidi and other members of an organization known as “Islamic Pulse,” including Chawla, received the permission of the Supreme Leader of Iran to collect khums, a religious tax, on the Supreme Leader’s behalf, and to send half of that money to Yemen.  The complaint alleges that permission was formalized on or about Feb. 28, 2019, in a letter confirming the permission of the Supreme Leader of Iran and another Ayatollah to spend khums money in Yemen.

Based on the complaint, in or around July 2019, Islamic Pulse released a video soliciting donations for its purported Yemen campaign that showed money moving from the United States and other Western countries to Yemen through Iran.  The complaint alleges that Chawla replied to donors’ concerns about how the campaign was able to get money into Yemen by stating that the matter could not be discussed over email.  The complaint further alleges that Chawla sought U.S. dollars specifically, stated that Islamic Pulse could not accept electronic transfers, and admitted that Islamic Pulse was not a registered charity. 

The complaint alleges that after the United States placed sanctions on the Supreme Leader of Iran in June 2019, Zaidi told Naqvi that the action was a “straight hit on khums.”  The complaint alleges that in summer and fall 2019 Zaidi and Naqvi continued to collect U.S. currency in the United States and have it transported it to Iran, sometimes via Iraq, structured in such a way as to avoid reporting requirements.  After a group of 25 travelers carried money destined for Iran on behalf of Zaidi and Naqvi in October 2019, Zaidi and Naqvi discussed the screening the travelers underwent at the airport and Naqvi’s hope that none of the travelers would confess to authorities upon their return.

The complaint alleges that, during his current stay in the United States, which began in June 2020, Zaidi has exhibited behavior that is consistent with having received training from a foreign government or foreign intelligence service, such as the government of Iran or IRGC.  According to the complaint, that behavior includes a reluctance to discuss matters over the phone, or even over encrypted applications, because Zaidi claims that doing so could be dangerous.

#Islam #Muslim #Sharia #Jihad #Finance #Legal #Law #News #Politics #Immigration #Media #Travel #Fraud

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2 Chapter 30″

One more chapter left!!!

"Listen to me

Understand me

Listen to me

The truth is talking

The truth speaks

Children come to listen

Listen to me

A revolution is truly starting…"

Boukman Eksperyans—"Listen to Me"

Califia could hear the shaky anger coursing through Soliel's voice as she sat inside the meticulously cleaned community center. The scattered voices they heard outside the building had all the people inside jumpy and anxious.

The words coming from Soliel's mouth were harsh. It was a battle cry. They needed guidance. Elders from the Candomble community that Soliel's family was a part of came through for a short meeting. There was talk of holding a ceremony, calling down orixás, and doing the spiritual work to prepare for an earthly battle if it came down to that. There was even talk of revenge although the actual words were not used in such an open space among the spiritual elders. A Priestess prayed over them, and as the ancient words bound them as sisters in the struggle for freedom Califia held onto a new hope with N'Jobu's help.

When the followers of the orixás vacated the premises leaving the small core group of organizers behind, it all went wrong. So wrong.

Soliel shared the full names of the police who were responsible for the death of Lia and her two companions on that fateful day. Hearing who the killers were turned them into solid beings and not the whispered boogeymen Califia had been carrying around for over a year. They went to share a meal at a corner café and when they returned to the center, their private meeting was disrupted with the arrival of the police.

Stalking into the room like they owned everything, a ruddy-faced man with rubbery lips confronted Soliel with a warrant to search the premises and to also bring her in for questioning.

"For what?!" Soliel hissed.

Aujanue was right behind her staring at the warrant the man held up.

"Illegal weapons."

A slick smile plastered the policeman's lips and Califia recognized the same power trip cops had the world over. Their might alone made them right.

Soliel threw the warrant on the ground and the policeman grabbed her. That was all it took before the four other officers present started a bigger scuffle and Califia jumped right in fighting them.

Screaming.

So much screaming.

There were only six women and two men in the building there for their meeting, and the two men who supported Soliel tried their best to ward off the man-handling of the women. Califia let punches and kicks from her feet connect onto aggressive bodies that wanted them gone. All the rage she held inside for her family came out and she brutalized one officer who was shocked that she was beating his muscled ass.

She saw him reach for his gun and she sideswiped it out of his hands with a hard slice of her foot. It clattered along the floor and Soliel picked it up and aimed it at the out of breath officer.

"Soliel!" Califia yelled at her sister-cousin.

Soliel's eyes were ablaze, her right hand shook as she pointed it at the man's head.

More guns were drawn, and vicious yelling from all the officers to calm down. One of the male supporters ran away and the police circled the room trying to keep order. A female officer slid her hand up to speak into her shoulder radio calling for back up.

"Don't do anything you'll regret," Aujanue spat out to the officers.

"You do anything to us and the world will know this was retaliation for the march today," Califia said. She kept her voice even though she wanted to scream at them.

Soliel eyed a cop near the entrance.

"You are one of the men who set my sister up," Soliel said.

Soliel's eyes darted around the room. The one female supporter who was left with them stood terrified watching them all as she held her hands in the air. The cops couldn't do anything with Soleil holding down one of their men with the gun in her hand. All they needed was one excuse to blast them all. As much as she wanted them dead, Califia thought of Erik and N'Jobu. They were going to live a new life. Revenge would be better with advanced weapons and N'Jobu's skills. Justice would come but now was not the time. Not when her little boy and her husband needed her. The mother of revenge was patience, and patience is what Califia leaned into.

"Put down the gun!" an officer shouted.

"You put down your weapons first," Soleil yelled back. She cocked the gun in her hand and jammed it into the forehead of the officer to make her point.

"Alright! Alright!"

The officers backed up and placed their weapons on the ground.

"If they arrest us, they will jam us up—"

"I know," Soliel muttered.

Henrique, their only male supporter left in the room gave Califia a look. His car was parked in the back. If they could just get to the back door, they could make a run for it.

Califia turned her head so that only Soliel and Aunjanue could hear her.

"Henrique's car is in the back. We can get out of here and call your father."

Soliel's face was stone. Aunjanue's face was flushed.

Califia thought of Erik. And Marisol.

"We have to get back to our babies," she said, feeling her eyes well up. She was so tired of fighting. Over and over again. It was the same fight, just a different day on a different continent.

"We haven't done anything wrong," Soliel said with a harsh tone in her voice.

"We're good. We just need to get out of here. Let Pai call the lawyer after we contact him," Califia said.

Califia turned her eyes to Henrique and spoke to him in English.

"You have your car keys?"

Henrique nodded.

Califia saw Soliel's hand tremble.

"We got this," Califia encouraged.

"Go!" Soliel said.

Aunjanue and the others headed toward the back door with slow methodical steps.

The cop that Soliel had her gun trained on lunged for his weapon. Califia ran up and kicked him in the face, sending him back on his ass. The other cops took that distraction as an opportunity to retrieve their weapons. Califia grabbed the gun off the floor that belonged to the female cop and shot over all their heads to keep them frozen. Soliel dashed out wiping and tossing the gun she had on top of the roof of another building.

They heard sirens in the front and orders barked from a megaphone. A loud shriek of, "They're shooting inside!" was the last thing Califia heard.

Running behind Soliel, Califia kept shooting above their heads until all the bullets were gone. Jamming herself in the backseat last, Henrique gunned his green Chevrolet out of the back-parking space.

"Fuck!" Califia yelled.

Her heart raced and she looked at her hands. She still held the gun in a tight grip. Wiping it down with her shirt she realized it was futile. She already had gun powder on her skin.

"Give it to me."

Antonia, a close friend of Soliel's took the weapon from her.

"I'll get rid of it," she whispered patting Califia's hands.

"We have to split up," Soliel said.

Henrique nodded, and they made their way further away from the heart of the city with the sounds of more sirens wailing far behind them.

###

Califia found comfort lying on N'Jobu. He stroked her forehead as he listened to her.

"We didn't kill anyone, N'Jobu. They lied about that. One of the cops there must've shot that man when they fired from outside. We only shot at the ceiling to keep them from moving on us."

N'Jobu lifted her chin.

"It wouldn't matter to me if you killed any of them," he said.

"A part of me wanted to, but I wasn't in any position to do that. They arrived out of the blue and started everything. We just wanted to get out of there and be back with our kids."

"Speak of it no more. It is done," he said.

"I will tell Erik what happened," she whispered.

"Don't worry about that."

The hum of the ship was so soothing. She glanced around and still couldn't fathom that she was on a flying warship that shouldn't even exist. And all the soldiers on board kowtowing to her man? It was thrilling. And so sexy.

Telling N'Jobu everything made the fear dissipate. She could breathe so much easier. All the worry and angst about how they would get out of Brazil was moot. Her man summoned an aircraft and whisked them away from danger. She could fully embrace the idea of a revolution if this was the type of war machine he had access to all over the world. Nothing on earth from any military could compare to this.

She sat up and his eyes watched her with quiet curiosity. She stroked his face.

Fearless.

That's what she felt in her body.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight.

"I love you so much…Jobu…"

Closing her eyes, she let him rock her in his arms.

She slept for a few hours and when N'Jobu shook her awake, she glanced around for their son.

"Where's Erik?" she asked

N'Jobu took her by her hand and led her back to where Captain Yonela was piloting the ship. Erik was curled up on the floating chair that was in a horizontal position in a deep sleep.

"Good Morning, Your Highness. Lady Califia," Yonela said with a smile.

N'Jobu lifted Erik up in his arms.

"You can leave him there, Prince N'Jobu. He is not bothering me while sleeping."

"I am sure Lt. Deyi would like his station back," N'Jobu said.

"Erik has only been asleep for an hour. He wanted to see everything," Yoneli said.

Lt. Deyi stepped forward.

"Your Highness, your family may take my quarters. I have prepared the space for you."

"Thank you, Lt. Deyi," N'Jobu said.

"I will have the morning meal brought to you within the hour. Please follow me."

Califia followed along with N'Jobu as Lt. Deyi led them through the ship to his quarters located on another upper level. They rode on an elevator that was whisper-quiet and as they moved about, Califia could see the pride and deference the crew had for N'Jobu. She also noticed their slick glances turned her way and toward Erik.

"You may change the entry code," Lt. Deyi said.

N'Jobu used his thumbprint on a small sensor and a silver-blue door slid open.

The quarters were clean and tastefully decorated. It felt like a tiny studio apartment and Califia guessed they spent a lot of time flying around the earth to have a military bedroom decorated like a real home.

"Make yourselves comfortable. I'll send a reminder when your meal is on the way."

Lt Deyi gave a slight bow and left them alone. N'Jobu put Erik under the covers of a full-size bed. Califia took a seat on a small couch facing an open view panel window. She could see the sun rising and caught the twinkling lights of a city down below them. N'Jobu waved his hand on a monitor embedded in a small neat work desk.

"We are flying over Sao Luis," N'Jobu said.

He checked on Erik and walked over to her. She watched him stare out at the world.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He turned to look at her and then plopped down on the couch.

"I'm tired. More mental fatigue than physical."

She held his hand.

"They won't tell on you, will they?" she asked.

Her eyes darted over to Erik as he rolled over on the bed. She waited to see if he would wake up, but his snores told her he was still down for the count. N'Jobu watched him too.

"They will not."

"Should we tell Erik not to call you Baba?"

"Do not worry, Califia."

"I can't help it. I don't want you to get in trouble. I don't want someone here to snitch and ruin your plans—"

"Califia. Stop."

He touched her shoulder and pulled her closer to him.

"Would you like to sleep more? I can postpone our morning meal."

"I'm actually hungry," she said.

Sitting together they watched the view and Califia luxuriated in his touches on her shoulder as she leaned into him.

"Things are so different, N'Jobu. I'm feeling so many different things at once. My brain can't turn off."

"While you were asleep, I contacted your father and Andres. They know we are safe and they are spreading the word. Soliel and Aunjanue made it to a safe house. They will take Marisol there in a few days. The police are searching high and low for all of you. Andres has contacted a lawyer."

"Are they blaming us for the death?"

"Yes."

Califia closed her eyes.

"My mother will go off on my father—"

"Dante will handle it."

"Will I be safe in the States?"

"Your name has not come up yet."

Califia heard N'Jobu's name over an intercom and he stood up.

"Our food will be here soon—"

"Food?"

Erik sat up from under the covers and stared at them.

"Hungry, JaJa?" she asked.

He nodded and looked around.

"Baba brought you in here," she said when she caught the confusion on his face. He slipped out of the bed and padded over to them.

"The bathroom is over there," N'Jobu said pointing to a door in a corner.

Erik used the restroom and they heard him wash his hands.

"Cool bathroom," he said walking out and looking around the quarters.

A knock at the door alerted them that the food had arrived.

A young female soldier with close-cropped wavy brown hair entered the room pushing a silver service trolley stacked with covered trays and large metal pitchers of juice and water. The young woman looked around the room and spoke to N'Jobu in Wakandan. He pointed to a space in front of the large view screen window and she rolled the trolley next to it. Her military uniform looked crisp, the grayish-blue colors bright against her unblemished medium brown skin.

"Ngaba unayo iti?" Erik said.

The soldier stopped and regarded her son's face. A wide smile spread across her lips.

"Ewe," the soldier said. She reached down on the bottom tray and pulled up a silver container housing several different tea bags.

N'Jobu grinned.

"Mmm,…you speak my language very well," the soldier said. Her face grew a little flustered. She glanced at N'Jobu and spoke to him then watched Erik's face again.

"She wants to know what kind of tea you like. She can bring you more," N'Jobu said.

"Bomvu," Erik said.

"Bomvu. Kulungile," the soldier said.

The soldier nodded her head and left their quarters.

"Red tea," Erik said when Califia stared at him trying to understand, "Want some, Mom?"

She nodded and N'Jobu fixed them hot red tea in small fancy-looking earthen cups decorated in streaks of blue that matched the color of the tattoos inside Erik and N'Jobu's mouth.

"Wow!" Califia exclaimed when N'Jobu handed them each their own individual food tray and they lifted the protective covering.

"A feast!" Erik exclaimed digging in.

There were fruits that Califia had never seen before sliced up on a plate that she tried first. One had the texture of a mango but the color of ripe watermelon that tasted like kiwi and raspberries. Another was fried like a plantain and tasted of one too, except it was bright green like a lime. There were fried and baked bread sliced thick and sprinkled with a lump of powdery sugar, and generous cuts of grilled pork medallions with seasoned fried red potatoes and onions. A small bowl of clear savory broth with small pieces of sautéed mushrooms and leeks rounded out the meal.

"This is a typical Wakandan breakfast,' N'Jobu said.

They all tucked in and everything was delicious.

N'Jobu placed the food trolley outside of the quarters when they were finished as Erik stared at the land down below in the view screen.

"Are we invisible to them, Baba?"

N'Jobu stood next to Erik.

"Yes."

"But can't radar track us?"

"No. The vibranium protects us from that. It is woven throughout the ship."

"The uniforms too, huh?"

"Yes."

Erik seemed pleased with the knowledge.

A knock at the entrance made them all look in that direction.

"Enter," N'Jobu said.

Captain Yonela stepped in carrying more garments.

"Prince N'Jobu, hopefully, something in here fits Erik so he may shower. You can also clean your regular clothes in the hypercleaner."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Was your morning meal satisfactory?"

"It was. Thank you, Captain," Califia said.

"I am glad. Your Highness, when you have time, I would like to have a private word with you after morning muster. I have arranged for Lady Califia and Prince…Erik…I have arranged for them to be given a tour of the ship during our talk. If that is acceptable."

N'Jobu looked back at her and Califia nodded. Erik seemed excited.

"Good. Shall we meet outside in thirty minutes?" Yoneli asked.

"See you then," N'Jobu said.

Califia took the extra clothing and sent Erik to go bathe and change.

###

The battleship was massive. Six different levels with a roof that housed smaller fighter aircraft. They learned that the ship was also amphibious. Wide-eyed and full of questions, Erik talked the ear off of their guide, a kind-faced Sergeant in his mid-thirties with a full beard and tight cornrows on his scalp. The young female soldier who brought their meal joined them for the last leg of their tour as they were allowed to walk outside of the craft enveloped inside a protective gravity bubble. Standing at the front of the aircraft, they were overwhelmed at the ability to be flying so high above a country and outside of the ship.

Sergeant Funan and Airmen Sizani enjoyed Erik's enthusiasm, and their English helped Califia keep up with all the key details. There was so much to see, and Erik's eyes went even wider when he was taken to the engine room and shown the vibranium power source. Califia could only watch in awe as her son tossed out science and technical terms, his questions full of specificity. The ship was the size of five aircraft carriers stacked on top of each other but held only one thousand crewmen and women. Large, deadly, and efficient. How many of these things had flown over her city when she was growing up? How many times had she seen some weird light play in the sky and waved it off as light pollution or shooting stars?

They rejoined N'Jobu for lunch but were allowed to eat in the main mess hall with the rest of the soldiers. The moment she saw N'Jobu, he clasped her hand in his and walked her and Erik to the front of the hall. Everyone in the space stood up as they passed by. When they joined Captain Yoneli at her table, all eyes waited for N'Jobu to permit them all to be seated. He held up his hand and spoke in his language.

The lunch meal was just as tasty and filling as the morning meal. Airman Sizani became Califia and Erik's liaison. More confident in her English now that she had spent a couple of hours with them, she was able to translate the chatter around them.

The big brass at Captain Yoneli's table was attentive to Erik, and Califia knew it was because they were all curious to know about the secret Prince of Wakanda. She could feel the shock and curiosity around her. When the meal was over, Captain Yoneli addressed the mess hall, and then N'Jobu stood to speak.

"Oh," Sizani said, her eyes darting toward Califia. She seemed embarrassed by whatever N'Jobu was saying.

"What is it?" Califia asked.

"Prince N'Jobu just told our entire crew who you and Erik are," Captain Yoneli said.

Califia felt her face get warm. She stared down at her finished plate of food.

N'Jobu motioned for Erik to stand next to him as he continued speaking. She could feel eyes on her and then N'Jobu was reaching his hand toward her.

"Come here, Califia," N'Jobu said.

She felt underdressed in the soft cotton garments she wore, and she tried smoothing back her hair. N'Jobu held her hand and squeezed it. His voice was loud and strong. She kept her eyes on him, pushing away all the hundreds of eyes staring at her face. When he finished speaking, he kissed her cheek and the soldiers all stood facing them.

"Wakanda ngonaphakade!" They all shouted, their arms crossing over their chests.

"Wakanda Forever," Erik whispered.

Captain Yoneli stood up as N'Jobu led them out of the mess hall.

"Wakanda ngonaphakade!"

"N'Jobu, what did you tell them," she asked.

They boarded an elevator and zipped up to their quarters.

N'Jobu waited for Captain Yoneli to leave before he answered her.

"I told them who you are. You and Erik. I let them know what happened to you and Erik in Sao Paulo, your work, and what our mission is now that they know my most precious secret. They know the future of Wakanda is in their hands."

N'Jobu rubbed Erik's hair, and their son grabbed for his hand and held it.

"My son. Everyone aboard this battle cruiser knows you are their Prince. They have sworn themselves to you and your mother. Do you understand what that means?"

Erik nodded.

"You must carry yourself at all times like the royalty you are. You are an Udaku. We are a powerful family. You stand tall…with dignity and pride…"

Erik's eyes shone so bright as he watched his father speak. She could see his little chest puffing up as he hung on to every word his father said.

"Califia, they know you as Lady Califia. My wife. You can walk around this ship as if you were a Queen. They see you as such. Understand?"

She nodded.

"Prince N'Jobu, may I see you at the helm? It is urgent."

Captain Yoneli's voice held a bit of strain in it as it called over an intercom. The lighting inside the room changed. Califia and Erik went to the window. The calm and soothing neon blue glow that surrounded the ship had shifted into a darker more menacing blue color.

"What's happening?" Califia asked.

"Stay put. I'll be right back."

Califia grabbed his hand. They could feel the ship slowing down.

"Don't leave this room," N'Jobu said firmly.

He changed into his cleaned clothes and headed out.

Erik's fingers touched the viewscreen window and Califia stood next to him wondering what had just happened.

###

The warning lights of the ship let N'Jobu know that something outside the craft was amiss. He was followed by three soldiers that waited for him outside of his quarters.

Reaching the helm, Captain Yoneli led him to the war room. Seven of her top lead soldiers waited for her. Three women, three men, and a non-binary soldier who waved their hand across a 4D table map in the middle of the room.

"Speak," N'Jobu said to the Captain.

"We have been given a directive to stay put off the coast of Guyana. King T'Chaka has ordered battle cruisers to remain in position for a week until further notice."

"Why?"

N'Jobu studied the 4D image of the entire globe. He could see where all fifty-two battle cruisers were deployed along with the forty smaller assault ships that circulated the planet over various countries.

"The Atlanteans have threatened some assault cruisers over the Indian Ocean two hundred miles off the coast of Madagascar and also in the South Atlantic Ocean. Not too far from Argentina. No attacks on this side yet, but some warning shots were given. We are to watch the waters. We'll go amphib within the next half hour. Somehow, they have developed tech to sense our presence in the air. They aren't accurate with it, hence the missed shots. Underwater we are still better undetected by them."

"Are we at war with them?"

"No. It's a territorial dispute. We have no international treaties with them, so they have been challenging our use of open waters for training and land expansion."

"Land Expansion? King T'Chaka is really considering that?"

"There has been talk of building a new underwater city and military installation. Wakanda grows. There is only so much space where we can expand on our land, Your Highness."

N'Jobu shook his head. He wished his father had considered diplomatic ties with the Atlanteans, but they were an aggressive people, and also very little was known of their vast empire that was rumored to cross every sea and ocean.

"Prince N'Jobu, we will not be able to meet your rendezvous plan with the Royal Shadow Fighter in the time you wanted to get back into the United States. All military transports and ships are being watched carefully. It will look suspicious if aircraft don't follow alert protocols. I am sorry if this messes up your schedule."

There had been no word from Klaue yet, and N'Jobu hoped the man had gotten in and out of Wakanda by now. There would be no contact between himself and Tankiso until after N'Jobu had the cache of vibranium in his hand. And the transfer would happen in Southern California in a small desert city. As long as Klaue didn't contact him while they were stuck on the battlecruiser, they would be fine. It was probably better to be there than in Oakland while the authorities in Sao Paulo tried to track Califia and her friends.

N'Jobu hoped the Atlanteans were just flexing for show and not prepared to go to a real battle. It would be a nightmare for his small family to be caught in the middle of an ancient Wakanda and Atlantis beef.

"As soon as we have word that we can move, I will contact the Fighter and let it know that it can retrieve you and your family."

"Thank you, Captain Yoneli. If you need my assistance-"

"Trust me, Your Highness, we are happy to have your military skills available to us. For now, be with your family. We are just on high alert, and thus far there are no signs of Atlanteans near us."

"I'll return to my quarters," N'Jobu said.

A week out at sea. Safe. Together.

A blessing.

Checking his kimoyo, he sent a cryptic message to Klaue warning him of Wakanda's high alert and that he would be offline for a while. He shot off another one to Tankiso, and he also sent an email to Dante letting him know they were hiding out for a week before returning to Oakland.

Entering his quarters, he found Califia sitting on the small couch shaking. Erik poured water in a glass from a tray on the small table in front of the couch and handed it to her.

"What's wrong, my love?"

N'Jobu sat next to her and touched her shoulder.

"It's my anxiety. I don't have my meds and the noise and lights on this ship…"

"Okay, okay," N'Jobu whispered.

He helped her drink the water and then held her close to his chest. Erik rubbed her back.

"There is an issue back home with another country. Captain Yoneli was told by her commanders that we have to stay put and not move for at least a week. They are on standby in case there is trouble—"

Califia took in a deep breath. He could feel her heart beating fast. He knew it wasn't just the high alert that set her off. She was probably reliving the PTSD of shooting a gun at cops that tried to ambush her.

"Breathe, my love. Breathe. You are here with me and Erik. Safe. All safe. No one can find you here. The noises are just to protect us. The lights are part of the camouflage that keeps us hidden. Relax. Breathe deep. I have you in my arms."

She nodded her head and he felt her body shake less. He couldn't feel her heart hammering anymore.

He tapped his kimoyo bead and summoned Sizani to the room.

The young woman arrived quickly.

"Your Highness?" Sizani said in rapid-fire Wakandan. Her eyes looked beyond concerned when she saw Califia in his arms.

"Could you bring me k'sulea in powder form?"

"Yes."

Sizani left the room quickly.

"How are you feeling now, my love?"

"Better now that you are next to me."

Sizani returned ten minutes later with a small vial.

"Thank you," N'Jobu said.

"Shall I retrieve anything else?"

"No."

"I will bring your evening meal once the Captain gives word that we are in neutral alert."

"Thank you."

Sizani left and Erik gripped the armrest of the couch.

"Baba! We're going down!"

Erik ran to the view screen and they all saw and felt the rapid sinking of the ship into the ocean. He opened the vial and took a bit of the purple powder onto his index finger.

"Open your mouth."

Califia did as he asked and he rubbed the powder on her gums.

"Swallow it down."

"Shit!" she yelped.

He helped her sit back on the couch as the immediate effects of the drug took hold of her. He stroked her cheek, and her eyes dilated. She gripped his hand in hers.

"I feel like I'ma throw up—"

She slammed her eyes shut and then her body relaxed.

"Damn," she uttered, snapping her eyes back open.

Staring at his face she giggled a bit and then sat back up. Her body no longer shook. Taking deep breaths, she calmed all the way down.

"What is that stuff? I feel so smooth right now."

"It's an anxiety med that our soldiers use."

"It's better than my meds, I can tell you that!"

He smiled.

Her eyes went to the viewscreen. Bubbles floated up. Their ascent finally stopped.

"How deep do you think we are, Baba?"

"About a mile underwater. Erik, come here."

His son sauntered back over and he made him sit next to his mother.

"We will have to stay here for a week. Until it is safe to leave this area."

"Cool!" Erik said.

Califia smiled and it made N'Jobu's heart and mind ease up from worry.

"A week on a Wakandan spaceship," she said.

"Can I sleep on the couch? I want to look at the water," Erik said.

"You may sleep on the couch," N'Jobu said.

"Feeling better, Mom?"

"Yes, JaJa. The medicine helped a lot."

He ran back to the viewscreen to stare at the water. Lights from the ship made the undersea world glow with greenish-blue softness.

N'Jobu held onto Califia a little longer.

"We have been through so much," he whispered.

She leaned away from him.

"You've shown me so much," she said, "Erik is floating right now."

N'Jobu watched Erik once more. His son held his hands up against the viewscreen window and he rocked on his toes. When he looked back at them both, he had the biggest, happiest smile on his face.

###

Califia tossed and turned as N'Jobu slept next to her. The anxiety medicine calmed her nerves, but being on the ship still made her mind tangle with all the possibilities their future would now hold as a family.

She could hear Erik snoring on the couch, the remnants of a late-night sugary snack cake on the small table near him while he slept wrapped up completely under a thick blanket. Captain Yoneli and Sizani spoiled him, taking him around the ship despite the fact they were under a red alert. She worried about something happening while Erik was away from her side, but N'Jobu assured her that Erik was protected anywhere he went on the ship.

After eating a private dinner as a family in their quarters, Erik went with Captain Yoneli to sit at the helm for a watch. Califia thought Erik would be bored just sitting, but there was something about being on a floating chair that had the boy enthralled and soaking up everything he saw and heard. His Wakandan grew more fluent being around so many native speakers and she was in awe of how fast he was with the language. He soaked up every inflection and nuance. Talking to his father constantly in only Wakandan aided his speed of mastery in basic phrases. The boy also moved the way his father told him to. Califia saw the gait in his walk shift, watched him observe the crew with his arms behind his back like his father did when interacting with others. Within two days, Erik had all the mannerisms of a young Prince among his people. She found the transformation startling.

Showering and washing her hair, she enjoyed using the advanced hygiene gadgets in the bathroom, especially the hairdryer that made her hair not only dry in less than five minutes but conditioned into a soft and fluffy mass of springy curls. She gave herself two braids and when she stepped out of the bathroom, N'Jobu was lounging on the bed.

His nude body felt warm and smelled like cocoa and coffee. He made her take off the bathrobe she wore and massaged her back for her. His touch excited her.

"We have lost Erik to the helm for good I'm afraid," N'Jobu joked.

"Is everything okay?"

"So far, so good."

"Tell me this N'Jobu. How were you able to convince one thousand soldiers on a battle cruiser to follow you? Every insurrection I have studied, every revolution that has had even a small modicum of success has always had problems organizing in secrecy. Baby, even Malcolm X was betrayed by people that looked like him and came from the same place as him. But you made military soldiers who are supposed to be loyal to their country…loyal to you. Me. Erik."

Her eyes took in his. She was in awe of him. N'Jobu wrapped his arms around her.

"When I did my military stint, Captain Yoneli was my commander. I learned how to fly under her tutelage when I was a teenager. She and I had long conversations while I flew stingers, and at a young age, I knew she was itching to change things in Wakanda. When I was part of her squadron in the service, this warship was under commission to be built. She was chosen to be Captain of this cruiser. I was very fortunate that she had a huge say in who was picked to become soldiers on here. I would say eighty percent of the soldiers on board are personal selections that she knew for sure would be loyal to her no matter what happened on board. The other twenty percent she had to convert."

"What if those who didn't want to follow her chose not to."

"We were prepared to eradicate them. But Captain Yoneli is an exceptional leader. She culled the wheat from the chaff as Nana Jean's bible told us. My will runs this warship."

"You would kill your own for us?"

"Long before I came into my understanding of the world, there were others already on this path. For decades. The only thing they lacked was power at the top. I came in and moved it to the tipping point. Captain Yoneli was the first person to side with me. She led me to others who could be turned my way."

He kissed her temple.

"Ten long years, Califia. And by the end of this one, there will be a new world order."

His strong fingers pushed into her flesh once more, the muscles in her back were manipulated into losing tension and knots. She dropped her head forward and began to groan. It felt like heaven.

"JaJa has become a mini-you," she said stretching her neck muscles from side to side.

She loved the rumble in his voice as he laughed.

"I have seen him strutting around. My warriors are tickled by him."

Warriors. Under his command.

Everything still felt so surreal and she was glad that the anxiety meds he gave her worked so well on her system. Her mind didn't race too much anymore. Califia was able to sit still with the idea of a global rebellion happening. In her lifetime and under her influence. She thought of the Haitian Revolution and the Quilombos of Brazil, and the freedom fighters throughout the Caribbean, and even the rebellions in her own country. The thing they lacked in all of those efforts was the technology and weaponry to overthrow everything. N'Jobu was handing them the keys to the kingdom.

She leaned back into him and he held her breasts in his hands rubbing soft circles under their heft. His lips found her neck and he licked a wet line up to her ear where he nibbled on the tip of her earlobe. Tilting her head, she met his lips with her own. He was forceful with her mouth and had her panting within minutes. Pinching her nipples, he played with them until she heard the small grunts of pleasure huffing from his mouth.

"Lay across my lap."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and widened his thighs. His hand dropped down and fondled the weight of his dick. Her mouth watered at the sight of it. Pre-cum dribbled from his slit and he stroked the lubricant all over his erection until it was a shiny dark pulsing thickness.

She sprawled across his thighs and turned her head to look at the wall. Rubbing her ass cheeks gently at first, his hand struck her quickly, making the stinging feel of it tingle the sensitive nerve endings in her backside. He held her down and spanked her with an off-kilter rhythm that had her guessing when the next blow would come. Her legs jumped up and he pushed them back down.

"Take it!" he barked at her.

She gasped when his hand came down extra hard and she felt her pussy clench in three hard contractions. He slipped his fingers along her wet slit and twirled the digits at the entrance of her pussy.

"Not good enough. I need you wetter," he said with a gruff voice.

"I'm sorry it's not good enough for you," she pleaded.

His hand was going further back when hit her. She squirmed on his lap as harsh whimpers fell from her saliva-stained lips.

He tore her ass up even as he rubbed each round globe with loving caresses.

"Are you doing well, my love? Can you handle more? Do you need to rest?"

He said the soothing check-in words even as he inserted warm fingers into her frothy opening.

"So ready for me…" he muttered under his breath.

"I can take more-"

The hard palm came down on her before she finished speaking, and when he pinched her left butt cheek, his signal for her to open her legs wider, she felt the biting slaps of his fingers on her engorged vulva. He moved into the not fucking around stage of their spanking session.

When he inserted his fingers into the hot creamy tunnel her pussy had become, she bit her lips and her body grew stiff to try and ward off an orgasm before he gave her permission to have one. His index finger traced the fat bud of her clit and she openly wept, fat juicy tears falling from her lids as she fought the betrayal of her body.

"I'm trying not to cum…"

His probing fingers went deeper and the squelching from her pussy let her know she was beyond wet. She was an ocean gushing all over his thigh. Califia thought she had survived the tortuous touches, even exhaled a strong gust of air from her mouth until he cupped her vulva and pressed into her mound.

She cried out in pleasure and disappointment as her pussy spasmed all over his hand. A thick stream of her internal juices flowed out and coated his fingers. The orgasm was so deep that she peed a little from the intensity. Her pussy continued to twitch uncontrollably. She had to make up for her failure to please him.

"Stand up," she demanded.

"Why?"

His voice was thick with anger, that nasty kind of anger he had when she broke the rules of spanking and edging and cum play. It was a good kind of anger, but what she desired at that moment was to love her man as the royalty he was.

She made him stand up in front of her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

Lifting his penis in her hand, she kissed it and slowly licked it all over. It plumped up even more with her lips wrapped around it, and she kept her eyes on his face. Being on the ship made her so aroused. There was safety there. Everywhere N'Jobu walked, the deference toward him made her clit jump. That sexy way he walked, how his voice dipped and soared speaking his mother tongue.

Stiff beyond reason in her mouth, N'Jobu rested his right hand behind her neck to support it while he fucked her face. Opening her mouth wide, she let him thrust as far back as he wanted, her saliva falling onto her chin and dripping all over his dick. An uninhibited Gwak-Gwak-Gwak sound from her throat had her eyes tearing up again.

He pulled out and tapped his erection on her eager hot tongue.

"Making me feel so good," he said.

"Don't," she said with wanton desire laced in her voice, " don't talk to me in English."

She spread her legs and fingered her sticky pussy lips.

"You used to tell me stories about how the royalty in your family used to have concubines and mistresses. I want to fuck you like I'm not your wife. Fuck me the way you fucked your women in Wakanda."

She couldn't believe what she was saying so openly. It must've been the wine she drank at dinner. She had a lot because it was so good. Potent.

N'Jobu's eyes seemed to darken, especially when they both could hear the loud vulgar sounds of her pussy. She was a fucking waterfall.

"Fuck me, Your Highness."

He stuffed his dick down her throat and squeezed her right breast. His words to her were guttural and she groaned as she sucked his juicy dick. He had used Wakandan words on her before when they made love, but to have him speak nothing but that made her dizzy. She also noticed a difference in his treatment of her. There was a haughty disdain in how he fucked her mouth. It turned her on even more. He had completely slipped into his natural role as a Prince. She had become a vessel for his pleasure.

Licking and sucking his fat sack, he cursed her out. Gripping her chin and lips, he squeezed them tight, while glaring at her. He even slapped her face when she whined over him taking his dick out of her mouth when she wasn't ready for it to be gone. The slap shocked her, but his eyes were on fire. He was in the zone. She was just his mistress. She was there to serve him and nothing more. It wound her up in a tight ball of heat and lust and total abandonment.

N'Jobu bent down and inserted two fingers inside of her and she gasped at the roughness in his fingers. His voice was saying things that made her walls clench tighter. He fucked her mouth again and cursed at her. Her lips were wrapped snug around his tip, and as he stared down at her, he slapped her again. The sting of it made her eyes wet and she whimpered when her clit kept thumping because of it.

Both of his hands held her head and he went deep into her throat. She gagged and tried pulling back, but that made him angrier, and the bass in his voice forced her to roll her tongue under the base of his dick as he shouted her name several times.

Gripping his dick, he pulled out suddenly and held her face still with his other hand as cum splashed all over her face. He stepped back from her and stared at the mess he made. Grabbing her by the throat, he lifted her up and then threw her back down on the bed. Beating his still erect dick in his hand, he forced her legs open and thrust into her. Her back jack-knifed up with his hard thrusts and he made her scream his name. Whatever words he shouted to her made her body react. Her pussy was snug around his thickness. N'Jobu held her ankles by her ears and the pounding he gave her had her weeping harder. Jesus fucking Christ. No wonder past Udaku men had to have so many different women to cater to them. Her man was beating the shit out of her pussy. That dick was hitting the sides of her walls hard to the point where she couldn't breathe in a steady flow.

Forcing her onto her stomach, N'Jobu made her lie flat on the bed, her thighs wide as he took her from behind in that position. His left hand held her neck down as he daddy long-stroked her pussy. Cussing another blue streak, his moans made her beg him to cum inside of her. He yanked on her hair forcing her head up, and he fucked her with his full weight pressed down on her.

"Jobu…too much…"

The hard slaps of his groin against her ass and the cursing he did in her ear made her lose control. How did those women handle this shit? It was a brutal ecstasy. She wanted it to go on and she wanted it to stop at the same time.

"God!"

She came so hard on him and bit the sheets on the bed. Her fingers were tangled up in the blanket and her toes were full of cramps.

He pulled up off of her soaking wet body and slapped her ass. He told her to get up in Wakandan as he sprawled out on his back. He held his dick firmly in his hand and fisted it, commanding her to sit on him. She wiped sweat from her face and stared at him. He gestured for her to get on his dick.

"Jobu…"

He tilted his head. His eyes looked hot. He asked her a question that she didn't understand. His eyes went even darker.

She crawled over to him. He didn't help her as she mounted him, his eyes closing as his voice hissed with pleasure.

"Jobu…baby…"

Mere slits, his eyes took in her breasts as they jiggled when she wound her hips on him. She leaned forward so he could suck on her nipples and play with her tits. Eventually, his hands relaxed at his sides and he just watched her move up and down.

Thick and firm inside her pussy, she rode his dick, wiggling her hips in wide circles as he panted from her exertion.

Lush Wakandan fell from his lips, the demand explicit in his tone. She was to fuck him as a good mistress should. She leaned forward and shifted her weight and pace. It made him groan aloud and ball up his fists. He refused to touch her. She was to please him without any effort from him.

"Prince N'Jobu, do I please you?"

"Ohhhh…."

"Do I make you happy, Your Highness?"

He grit his teeth and the back of his head dropped back onto his pillow.

"Look at my pussy."

His eyes drifted to her folds. She squeezed her walls around his shaft as she went up and down and his mouth fell open watching her take his dick like a skilled royal mistress.

"My Prince…"

She leaned back as her hips swiveled even slower in an erotic dance. Her breasts dangled near his mouth. His hands shot up to palm her titties, and when he squeezed them, his erection grew fatter and he shouted his orgasm, releasing inside of her. His cumming flowed in four waves of hard spurts and when he drained his balls into her, she lifted up so he could see how much he filled her pussy. There was so much semen. She rubbed her clit allowing his cum to coat all of her folds. His face grew rigid watching her play with herself.

"I'm cumming…" she gasped.

The tight pulses in her pussy made him groan, especially when more of his ejaculate pooled out.

"I'll want you again later," he said.

"That was a lot, baby."

"You can't handle being my mistress?"

His voice teased her. She slapped his face gently across the cheek.

N'Jobu took her again in the shower, shoving her back against the wall as he lifted her legs and thrust into her.

"My Prince…my Prince…"

She panted endearments in his ear and dropped to her knees for him so he could ejaculate on her face once more. He washed her when he was done and put her to bed sated and sleepy.

The next morning it felt like the mood had shifted on the warship. N'Jobu had an early meeting with Captain Yoneli, so she and Erik had breakfast together in the quarters before heading to the gym to use stationary bikes together. Sizani stayed by their side.

They visited the onboard barbershop and Erik had his hair cut, and for some reason, Califia decided to cut all her hair off again.

"You look so cool Mom," Erik said.

"We’re heading into something new, JaJa," she said touching her scalp. 

The barber was very reverential with her. She took a piece of paper and a pen and drew some lines on it. Showing it to the barber, he nodded his head and switched out blades in his clippers. She had the barber put the same designs on her head, and when they were finished there, she held Erik's hand as they walked around the more relaxed ship.

N'Jobu caught up with them for lunch in their quarters. He touched her shorn scalp along the designs cut into it. She could tell he liked it.

"No sign of any adversaries. We're going to yellow alert. The ship will still stay here for another five days. I was able to send another message to your father and let him know we are well. We'll be going back up to the surface in an hour. The plan is to stay above the surface during the day, and stay under at night."

Califia was happy to hear that they were going to be fine. She didn't ask too many questions about their enemy. She had to admit that she was getting quite comfortable staying there. All of their needs were met. Was this how it would be in Wakanda? She and Erik freely doing as they pleased while N'Jobu made the world go round?

They stood as a family on a mid-level deck viewscreen window as the warship traveled back up to the surface. Once the ship was secured above water, the yellow alert dropped back down to stand-by orders.

N'Jobu was in a good mood. Eyes bright, he looked at Califia and Erik with a grin on his face.

"How would you two like to go swimming?"

"In the open ocean?" Califia said with an incredulous look on her face.

N'Jobu tapped the borrowed kimoyo bead from Captain Yoneli on his wrist.

"I would like three submersible suits brought to my quarters and a pilot boat made ready for my family," he said into the bead.

Returning to their room, Sizani and another male soldier arrived promptly with blue-black suits made from a skin-like material that became accurate body gloves around them.

"All you have to do is tap the suit here and the protective headgear will surround your face. You can breathe like normal and the suit will keep your core temperature normal."

He rubbed Califia's shoulder.

"Don't be scared. I've done this a lot myself."

"The sea is so big, N'Jobu—"

"Mom! C'mon, this is awesome!"

Erik pressed his suit and his head was suddenly enveloped in a soft helmet.

"Sweet!" he said.

###

The sea was calm, and skies across the placid ocean were cloud-free.

N'Jobu tried his best to reassure Califia that swimming in the open waters was safe. She spoke of sharks and rogue waves and so many scary things that the soldiers that were there to protect them giggled at her.

They climbed down a low ramp that led them to the small pilot boat that he moved only two hundred feet from the warship. Erik and Califia's eyes stared at the massive battleship as they moved away from it and when he stopped the hum of the smooth-sounding motor, they watched the warship disappear before their eyes.

He hopped into the water first and eased Erik out. It took a few minutes to coax Califia out, but once they were all in the water, they frolicked and splashed water on one another. Diving under, he showed them how easy it was to maneuver underwater and to communicate with their suits.

"Erik, stay close," N'Jobu said as he watched his son dive down further away from them. Califia stayed under the pilot boat, and her eyes told him to stay near Erik to ease her fears. He had to remind himself that he was raised in wonder and they were not.

When Califia seemed a little too nervous with Erik exploring, N'Jobu guided their son back up to the surface. By then, Califia had relaxed. He helped her get back onto the pilot boat.

"We can have lunch on the boat and sunbathe if you want, my love," N'Jobu said.

"I would like that."

"Adjust the temperature inside your suit—"

"Baba!"

N'Jobu turned quickly at the sound of his son's agitated voice automatically cloaking them in a protective shield.

His eyes scanned the water and once he saw what made his son shout, N'Jobu felt a grace descend on him.

A humpback whale breached the surface, the leviathan's body rising above them so close that N'Jobu reached out to hold Erik against him in the water. The massive body kept rising, barely fifty feet away from them.

"Oh my God, N'Jobu! Look at that!" Califia said.

"Mom, look!"

Erik pointed excitedly at the rest of the pod following the lead humpback.

"They are migrating with their young," N'Jobu said.

"Erik!" Califia shouted.

Their son dove under the water. Califia jumped out of the boat and N'Jobu followed her chasing after Erik.

"Erik come back. Baby, it's not safe!" Califia yelled.

N'Jobu tapped his suit and the small jet propulsion motors in his suit shot him swiftly through the water. He grabbed ahold of Erik's leg and stopped him.

"Be still, my son," N'Jobu whispered.

"N'Jobu!"

"I have him, Califia."

"Baba."

"I know. I see them."

N'Jobu felt Califia's hand on his arm and he pulled her in close.

"So many," Erik said.

They watched the whales move in smooth harmony through the ocean, the blue-green waters were broken up with the streaks of sunlight slicing through.

"They are attracted to the vibranium," N'Jobu said.

"N'Jobu!"

Califia gripped his arm tight as another humpback swam above them close enough to touch.

"Be still, my love. You are safe."

Erik reached up and his covered fingers touched the majestic animal. He laughed and the sound of his voice was music to N'Jobu's ears.

"Mom, touch it before it goes away!"

Califia reached up and N'Jobu touched the creature with her. She was overwhelmed. They stayed put until all the whales had moved past them.

"Let's return to the pilot boat," he said.

He held both their hands as he used his jet motors to go back.

Releasing their faces from the helmets with a swipe of their fingers, they all chattered with excitement until Califia started crying.

"Mom?"

"It was so beautiful. The way they moved as a unit. Their size. They seemed so delicate. Like they were dancing."

Erik reached over and hugged Califia as she wiped her eyes.

They ate a filling lunch and took off their suits to sunbathe in their underwear. Erik stared up at the sky.

"A satellite can't see us. Planes can't see us. Navy ships can't see us. We are magic, huh Baba?"

"I guess we are," N'Jobu said.

The water grew choppy and N'Jobu took them back to the warship where soldiers helped them come back on board safely.

Dinner was spent in Captain Yoneli's private quarters and Erik excitedly described in great detail his experience with the whales.

After the warship submerged for the night, Califia returned to their quarters with Erik to prepare for bed and N'Jobu stayed with Yoneli and shared a secret stash of plum liquor.

"You are blessed to have such a beautiful family, Your Highness. I feel sad that you have hidden them for so long," Yoneli said.

N'Jobu didn't expect a lump in his throat to form, but the Captain's eyes were warm and filled with pride.

"You have turned into a remarkable man Prince N'Jobu."

She held her slim glass of plum liquor toward him. They clinked glasses.

"May we bring the world to its knees," she said.

N'Jobu took a solemn walk around the warship before he returned to his quarters.

Erik was curled up on the couch and Califia was a tight ball on their bed. Stripping down to his underwear, N'Jobu spooned around her and kissed her cheek.

"Today was a good day," she whispered to him.

"Today was an amazing day," he concurred.

They kissed slow and long, their tongues swirling together until they both heard the soft pads of Erik's feet.

"Mom, Baba…listen."

N'Jobu sat up and saw Erik standing by the window.

"Whalesong," Califia said.

They joined their son at the window and watched the pod of whales float like gentle giant angels near the warship. The deep rich bellowing sounds they made was a lullaby for his family.

The shine in Erik's and Califia's eyes let N'Jobu know that he had to win the world for them.

They deserved it.

###

Chapter 31 Finale HERE.

###

Tag List:

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@chaneajoyyy​ @sweetestdream92  @purple-apricots​   @blackpinup22​  @hennessystevens-udaku​

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#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Volume 2 #N'Jobu #Prince N'Jobu #Killmonger #N'Jobu Fanfiction #Black Panther fanfiction #Little Erik Killmonger

[applesofcider]

This a repost from another source so below information is not mine but Leigh Guyer. Please share, we cannot be complacent!

Must read, 4 min:

"I don't care which political party you support, this is an affront to the U.S. Constitution and the founding principals of our nation."

Reposting Leigh Guyer

Post from a Portland OR resident, referring to his father-in-law:

While I've been sort of following the ongoing events in Portland, I was floored by the information I recently received from my father-in-law, Alden Roberts. It is incredibly important that people know what is happening in Portland, because it is very scary and has very real implications for our entire country.

By way of context, Alden is a general surgeon, retired as the Chief Medical Officer of a hospital in Vancouver, Washington, and just finished his term as the Chairman of the Washington Medical Commission (the state agency that licenses and oversees all doctors in the state).

Here’s what he has observed in Portland over the past few days:

"1. The protests are confined to a 2 block radius around the courthouse, and if you’re 4 blocks away, you can’t tell anything has been happening. There is nothing going on outside of that region, and Portland is functioning as normally as the Pandemic will allow. It is not burning, nor is it out of control.

2. The protesters are absolutely peaceful at the Protests that I have been part of, and with the exception of graffiti, are completely within their constitutional rights to protest. The protests involve singing, chanting, and have used “white walls” to block whites who are trying to disrupt or corrupt the protests. Yes, cursing is rather commonplace. More than ½ of the protesters are white. All are protesting for Black Lives Matter, although the entrance of the federal paramilitary force has brought out a lot of people, including myself, who are incensed at the use of unregulated federal force against law abiding citizen and against the will of the state and local governments.

3. ALL of the protesters are wearing masks to minimize transmission of CoV-2. However, as at times there are 1000 or more of us, it is hard (though not impossible) to maintain social distancing. When the federal paramilitary force is deployed, it becomes impossible.

4. The Police responded unprovoked and were brutal, but nothing like the paramilitary force. There is a court order that forbids the police to use teargas. I was not there when it was just the police.

5. At the protests I have attended, I did not witness any unlawfulness on the part of the protesters. Each time, the federal paramilitary personnel launched an apparently unprovoked attack. There have been no “riots.” The federal paramilitary force has had no training in crowd control, has no oversight, was not invited to Portland by local leadership, does not have any form of identification do not wear name badges, and wears military camo. They are heavily armed with flash-bang grenades, less-lethal bullets, pepper bullets, pepper spray and tear gas. They will pull goggles off of protesters and spray pepper spray into their eyes. They used a baton to beat a US Navy vet, broke his hand and sprayed pepper spray in his eyes because he asked why they weren’t honoring their vow to protect the constitution. During the assault, he stood still and did not resist until blinded by the pepper spray, he turned around and walked away. The “line of mothers” on Sunday was gassed and shot with less-lethal bullets for chanting Black Lives Matter. At least one was pregnant. A protester holding a sign up with both hands was shot in the head with a “non-lethal” bullet and will likely have permanent brain damage. While I have not personally seen this, there are videos of people being kidnapped into unmarked vans by the federal paramilitaries as they left the protests, held for a couple of days, interrogated, then released without charges or explanation. At this time, re-read my first two points. The protests are no threat to Portland and only encompass a 2 block area. They have been peaceful, with graffiti as the only illegal activity. They are well controlled and supported by a cross section of Portlanders. There is no reason for the federal government to be involved, and the excessive force being used appears to be nothing more than a political show of force against US Citizens by the Trump administration.

6. About 3000 protesters showed up last night (July 21); all with masks, very well behaved. Certainly no chaos, no violence on the part of the protesters. I left at 10:30, the paramilitary attacked at 12:30. I spent an hour talking to the medics. They say they are being targeted by the paramilitary personnel. They are often the first to be shot at and tear gassed. When they try to help an injured protester, the paramilitary personnel throw flash-bangs and tear gas at them (they carry gas masks). One of them was beaten, dragged away from the injured person they were treating and arrested. They are from OHSU as well as Portland Fire.

7. The Elk statue was taken down by the Police to “protect” it, but the Elk statue was a favorite of the protesters because it was uncontroversial; so they got a blow-up elk and put it where the real statue used to stand. It’s sort of a rallying point."

This should concern, if not terrify, all of us. This is an unidentified and unaccountable federal police presence attacking American citizens who are not violating any federal laws. This is literally how the "secret police" in other authoritarian regimes began. The comparison to the early stages of Nazi Germany is NOT AN EXAGGERATION anymore.

Silence is complacency. Please share this post. Please spread this information. Please get involved. Do not allow or condone this conduct by our federal government. I don't care which political party you support, this is an affront to the U.S. Constitution and the founding principals of our nation.

#protest #portland

[intelligentchristianlady]

About Portland...

This is from a friend of a friend and was posted on Facebook. Alden Roberts is a real person.

While I've been sort of following the ongoing events in Portland, I was floored by the information I recently received from my father-in-law, Alden Roberts.  It is incredibly important that people know what is happening in Portland, because it is very scary and has very real implications for our entire country.

By way of context, Alden is a general surgeon, retired as the Chief Medical Officer of a hospital in Vancouver, Washington, and just finished his term as the Chairman of the Washington Medical Commission (the state agency that licenses and oversees all doctors in the state).  I share this information to emphasize that he is a community leader, a very smart, educated, and informed person, and is not one to exaggerate or spread misinformation.  Here’s what he has observed in Portland over the past few days:"

1. The protests are confined to a 2 block radius around the courthouse, and if you’re 4 blocks away, you can’t tell anything has been happening.  There is nothing going on outside of that region, and Portland is functioning as normally as the Pandemic will allow.  It is not burning, nor is it out of control.

2. The protesters are absolutely peaceful at the Protests that I have been part of, and with the exception of graffiti, are completely within their constitutional rights to protest.  The protests involve singing, chanting, and have used “white walls” to block whites who are trying to disrupt or corrupt the protests. Yes, cursing is rather commonplace. More than ½ of the protesters are white.  All are protesting for Black Lives Matter, although the entrance of the federal paramilitary force has brought out a lot of people, including myself, who are incensed at the use of unregulated federal force against law abiding citizen and against the will of the state and local governments.

3. ALL of the protesters are wearing masks to minimize transmission of CoV-2.  However, as at times there are 1000 or more of us, it is hard (though not impossible) to maintain social distancing.  When  the federal paramilitary force is deployed, it becomes impossible.

4. The Police responded unprovoked and were brutal, but nothing like the paramilitary force. There is a court order that forbids the police to use teargas. I was not there when it was just the police.

5. At the protests I have attended, I did not witness any unlawfulness on the part of the protesters.  Each time, the federal paramilitary personnel launched an apparently unprovoked attack. There have been no “riots.” The federal paramilitary force has had no training in crowd control, has no oversight, was not invited to Portland by local leadership, does not have any form of identification do not wear name badges, and wears military camo. They are heavily armed with flash-bang grenades, less-lethal bullets, pepper bullets, pepper spray and tear gas.  They will pull goggles off of protesters and spray pepper spray into their eyes.  They used a baton to beat a US Navy vet, broke his hand and sprayed pepper spray in his eyes because he asked why they weren’t honoring their vow to protect the constitution.  During the assault, he stood still and did not resist until blinded by the pepper spray, he turned around and walked away. The “line of mothers” on Sunday was gassed and shot with less-lethal bullets for chanting Black Lives Matter. At least one was pregnant.  A protester holding a sign up with both hands was shot in the head with a “non-lethal” bullet and will likely have permanent brain damage. While I have not personally seen this, there are videos of people being kidnapped into unmarked vans by the federal paramilitaries as they left the protests, held for a couple of days, interrogated, then released without charges or explanation.  At this time, re-read my first two points.  The protests are no threat to Portland and only encompass a 2 block area. They have been peaceful, with graffiti as the only illegal activity.  They are well controlled and supported by a cross section of Portlanders.  There is no reason for the federal government to be involved, and the excessive force being used appears to be nothing more than a political show of force against US Citizens by the Trump administration. 

6. About 3000 protesters showed up last night (July 21); all with masks, very well behaved.  Certainly no chaos, no violence on the part of the protesters.  I left at 10:30, the paramilitary attacked at 12:30.  I spent an hour talking to the medics.  They say they are being targeted by the paramilitary personnel.  They are often the first to be shot at and tear gassed.  When they try to help an injured protester, the paramilitary personnel throw flash-bangs and tear gas at them (they carry gas masks).  One of them was beaten, dragged away from the injured person they were treating and arrested. They are from OHSU as well as Portland Fire.

7. The Elk statue was taken down by the Police to “protect” it, but the Elk statue was a favorite of the protesters because it was uncontroversial; so they got a blow-up elk and put it where the real statue used to stand.  It’s sort of a rallying point."

This should concern, if not terrify, all of us.  This is an unidentified and unaccountable federal police presence attacking American citizens who are not violating any federal laws.  This is literally how the "secret police" in other authoritarian regimes began.  The comparison to the early stages of Nazi Germany is NOT AN EXAGGERATION anymore.

Silence is complacency.  Please share this post.  Please spread this information.  Please get involved.  Do not allow or condone this conduct by our federal government.  I don't care which political party you support, this is an affront to the U.S. Constitution and the founding principals of our nation.

#Portland #Dr. Alden Roberts #protesters #riots #federal paramilitary force #Gestapo #federal police #Constitution #secret police

[sisterdharma]

When it comes to #BlackLivesMatter, believe it or not, YOU may be the problem!

From a BLM ACTIVIST:

Ok white friends, I’m about to lay some hardcore truth on you right now, and many of you are not going to like it. Some of you are going to get immediately defensive. But before you comment from an emotional place, I encourage you to stop, re-read this post, do a little bit of research about casual racism and white privilege and then come back and re-read the post again. After that, if you still want to comment, please feel free.Ok, here we go....

Many of you are the problem. 

Yes, you read that right. Many of you are the reason why these riots are happening. Many of you are the reason why it’s come to this. This is especially true if you’ve ever (but especially in the last week) said any of the following;

1. “It’s awful but...” - No. No buts. In the English language, the word “But” is often used to deflect or to justify behaviour. Police murdering black people in the street is awful. Period. End of discussion.

2. “I support the movement but not these disruptive protests...” - No, you don’t. Right now, the movement is taking the form of disruptive protests. They’re the same thing. You either want police to stop murdering black people in the street, or you don’t. If you do, then support the protests — even if you find them disruptive and frustrating — because that’s black people fighting for their lives.

3. “All lives/White lives matter too..” - no one said they didn’t. The conversation is specifically about black lives right now because police are murdering them in the street. Until police stop doing that, and White people stop dismissing it, it’s not “All lives matter,” it’s “MOST lives matter.” It’s not “ALL Lives” until Black Lives Matter too. Stay focused.

4. “There are good cops...” - No one said there weren’t. There are three categories of cops; Good cops, bad cops and complacent cops. Good cops are marching with the protesters. They’re sharing the hashtag #BlackLivesMatter. They’re trying to change the system from within the system. There are many levels of Bad cops. The most obvious one is those officers that are murdering black people in the street. Bad cops are also sharing the hashtags “blue lives matter.” Bad cops are trying to shift the focus. Bad cops don’t stop their colleagues when they murder black people in the streets. Complacent cops just show up, follow orders and try not to take sides. Complacent cops are bad cops.

5. “I don’t support the looting and destruction...” - no one says you have to, but please stop acting like looting nullifies the entire protest. And definitely stop acting like looting is “just as bad.” That’s like comparing someone stealing your car to someone murdering your child. They’re not equally bad. Stop pretending they are. Police murdering black people in the street is definitely worse than robbing a Target.

6. “Just because I’m white doesn’t mean my life has been easy...” Of course not. Everyone struggles. But being white has never been one of those struggles. Being poor has been a struggle. Being a woman has been a struggle. Being gay has been a struggle. But being white has never been a struggle. The same can’t be said for people of colour. I could go on and on about white privilege, but it would be so much easier if you educated yourself instead. This isn’t about how you, a white, cisgender, straight man has suffered in your life. This is about police murdering black people in the street. Stop trying to make it about you.

7. “I really wish they would protest peacefully...” - of course you do. They’re easier to ignore that way. People of colour have been peacefully protesting for hundreds of years. It hasn’t been all that successful. The reason riots and violent demonstrations work is because it makes people — especially white people — uncomfortable. We can’t ignore them when they’re waving torches in our faces. It scares us. It puts us on edge, which is precisely where we need to be. People only pay attention to the extreme. If you have trouble recalling a single one of the hundreds of peaceful protests that BLM held across North America last year, but you can still recall, with crystal clarity, the 1992 Los Angeles riots, then you’ve just proved my point.

8. “I don’t see colour...” — Congratulations , you’re lying to yourself. Of course, you see colour. And that’s good! Black people want you to see their colour. Their colours are beautiful and the very foundation of who they are. If you don’t see their colour, then you also don’t see their culture. If you don’t see colour, then you erase their very identity. If you don’t see their colour, then you also can’t see the pattern of violence they’re confronted with every day. If you don’t see colour, then you’re blind to more than just racial injustice. You’re blind to the world.

9. “They shouldn’t have committed a crime...” - This one is a big one for me. Consider me triggered. A boy who steals a can of pop from a 711 does not deserve to be shot in the back three times. A man illegally selling CD’s on a street corner doesn’t deserve to be shot to death in front of a record store. A man who runs a red light does not deserve to be shot while reaching for his registration. This isn’t about their crimes; this is about bad policing. Stay on topic.

10. “Black people kill white people too...” yes, murderers exist in every race and walk of life. But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking police brutality, and the reality is, black officers are not murdering unarmed white men in the street. That seems to be almost exclusively white officer behaviour. Stop gaslighting.*Additions based on comments to this post;

11. “Black people kill other black people...” - Yes, they do, just like white people kill other white people and Latinos kill other latinos etc. Crime related violence does not adhere to any imaginary racial boundaries or allegiances. But, we’re not talking about criminal violence right now. We’re not discussing drug violence or gang violence or sexual violence or domestic violence or bar brawls or whatever random type of violence you’d like to bring up. The conversation is specifically about POLICE BRUTALITY. Say it with me. Police. Brutality. Any other form of violence you bring up is entirely irrelevant. Please stay on topic.

12. “I support black people, but I can’t support the violence...” — In other words, you would prefer people of colour continue to be murdered by police, rather than have them rise up violently against their oppressors. Got it. That’s not support.

13. “It’s not about race. We are all human beings...” yes, except people of colour often aren’t treated like human beings. For instance, they’re being murdered in the streets like animals. On video. While people watch. While people do nothing.

14. “The looting and arson distract from their message. It’s their fault for not controlling it...” If you’d like to lay blame, how about we start by blaming the police who frequently murder unarmed people of colour. If they didn’t frequently murder unarmed people of colour, the protest wouldn’t be necessary. The protest wouldn’t have turned into a riot, the riot wouldn’t have turned violent, and looting wouldn’t have happened. Blaming the oppressed for not better “controlling” their social unrest is asinine.

15. “More white people are killed by cops than black people. Here are the statistics...” - I love when people do research! Thank you for that! But those stats that you’re proudly flashing around aren’t an accurate reflection of the issue. According to data, there are approx. 234,370,202 white people In the United States. Comparatively, that same data states that there are 40,610,815 “Black” Americans. So, when your stats show 1,398 white people have been killed by officers since 2017 and only 543 Black people, what those statistics really show is .0005% of white people were killed by police in those 3.5 years, while .0011% of black people were killed by police. That means black people were killed at a higher rate. 220% higher, to be exact. Math has no racial bias. Those aren’t great stats. Stop using them to defend your position.

16. “Black people commit more crime...” - Do they really, though? According to data released in 2017, there were 475,900 black prisoners in state and federal prisons and 436,500 white prisoners. That’s a difference of about 9%. So for argument's sake, let’s say those numbers are an accurate reflection of the amount of crime committed. If people of colour commit only 9% more crime, why are they killed by police at a rate of 220% higher?

17. “Well, the same stats you mentioned shows that even though they’re only 12% of the population, they commit 54% of the crime.” - Good Catch! You’re right. But those numbers don’t actually reflect the amount of crime committed. That’s why I said to assume they’re correct. Those numbers only reveal how many people are incarcerated. The reality is, while those numbers are all we have to go on, they don’t tell the complete story either. In the United States specifically, socioeconomic racism, which was designed to keep POC in poverty through district red-lining, lower quality of education and other systemic obstacles, is a huge component. Thanks to redlining (look it up) and other zoning and banking practices, the quality of education in “black” neighbourhoods are significantly lower, which means the average income for POC in those neighbours is lower and the unemployment much higher. Also, thanks to redlining, the unemployment rate, and lower-income rates, crime in those neighbourhoods tends to be higher. That means those neighbourhoods are patrolled by police more often. Thanks to racial bias, POC are followed, stopped, harassed and arrested more frequently than the white people who live in those same neighbourhoods. What all of this means is that, when POC are arrested more frequently, they often can’t afford fancy lawyers to help them. They usually end up with Public Defenders, who are often overworked, and they often encourage POC to plead guilty in exchange for less time. Then there’s the fact that, because white people make up 73% of the population, they also tend to make up a bigger percentage of Jurors. There’s lots of factors to consider. So don’t assume that just because they make up 54% of the people in jail, that they make up 54% of the crime. The entire system is broken. That’s part of the problem.

18. “You’re promoting violence and destruction, shame on you...” - I don’t remember encouraging anyone to riot. I also don’t remember encouraging anyone to loot or commit arson. The truth is, looting and arson is certainly not my preferred form of protest. But it’s important to remember that protesters haven’t committed most of the violent behaviour. Civil unrest tends to cause chaos and confusion. That chaos provides the perfect opportunity for poor-intentioned people to do poor-intentioned things. That doesn’t mean the civil unrest should stop. I don’t condone the violence. I just don’t think it should dominate the conversation. If you want to focus on the violence, try focusing on those officers who’ve killed POC in the street. You’re focusing on the wrong violence.

If any of you are guilty of saying any of the above, then I have unsettling news for you. 

YOU are the reason it’s come to this.

YOU are the reason peaceful protests haven’t worked.They haven’t worked because 

YOU haven’t been listening.

YOU haven’t been learning.

These violent riots are happening because YOU have left people of colour, no other choice.

These riots are happening because no matter how people of colour have said it, taking a knee, marching the streets, bumper stickers, banners, signs, or chants, YOU still don’t get it.

That doesn’t mean you’re bad people.

That doesn’t mean you’re racist. 

It only means you’re white. And that’s not a crime, any more than being black is.The difference is, police aren’t going to shoot you in the street for it!

Copied and pasted. Feel free to do the same. 

#blacklivesmatter #blm #police brutality #protests #riots #maga

[infinitysmith1331]

Fieldwork 5: Example of How Is Race Constructed Around The World

1) The Desexualization of Asian Men in Western Media. “Asian American men, however, have never fit this mold. Unlike Asian American women, who have long been fetishized in the West, we have been desexualized ever since the first Chinese communities immigrated to the US. As a way of minimizing the threat posed by Chinese men -- who were often portrayed as stealing white Americans' jobs and women -- Asians were characterized as passive, effeminate and weak."- https://www.cnn.com/style/article/andrew-kung-asian-american-men/index.html When you think of Asian men, what is the first thing that comes to mind? If you are a part of Gen Z, K-Pop might be the first thing to come to mind. If you spend a large amount of time on TikTok, you may think of Femboy. You may think of geeky or even soft, but the word sexy would be the last thing to come to mind. I never noticed how desexualized Asian men are until an Asian TikToker brought it to my attention. Since the early 1900s, Asian men have been portrayed as feminine to boost white men's egos. When the Chinese immigrants settled into America, white males were afraid they would take their jobs, making it harder for Chinese Americans to get railroad, construction, and jobs fields that were dominated by men. Being that they couldn't get a masculine job, Asian men were, forced to work in sweatshops, restaurants, and jobs seen as feminine. During the 1920s to 1950s, Asian men written into movie scripts were only as the antagonist, against the white protagonist. I've seen many articles and TikToks explain how undesirable western media has made Asian males, and I find it extremely disrespectful. I have noticed that the same way Black women are looked at as masculine is the same way Asian men are seen as feminine.

2) Black Codes

https://www.history.com/topics/black-history/black-codes

Although the signing of the passing of the 13th Amendment gave African Americans their freedom, they were anything but free. Immediately after the Civil War ended, southern states began to enforce Black Codes or Black Laws, restrictive laws put in place to limit the freedom of African Americans. In late 1865, the first Black Codes were, enacted in Mississippi and South Carolina. The law of Mississippi required African American's to have written proof of employment every January for the coming year. If they quit before the end of the term, they would be, forced to lose previous salaries and liable to arrest.

3) Jim Crow

https://www.history.com/topics/early-20th-century-us/jim-crow-laws

By the end of the Reconstruction Era, Black Codes were gone; however, Jim Crow was beginning. Jim Crow laws were a collection of state and local statutes that legalized racial segregation. Coining the term "equal but separate," Jim Crow laws allowed African Americans some human while still limiting their access to jobs, housing, voting, and other constitutional rights. Jim Crow followed the belief that white people are superior to black people in all meaningful areas including intellect, morals, and civilized conduct.

4) Convict Leasing

https://eji.org/news/history-racial-injustice-convict-leasing/

As I mentioned before, the 13th Amendment prohibited slavery and involuntary servitude; however, it exempted those who committed a crime. With the passing of the Black Codes, many African Americans found themselves back in their oppressor's hands. Black Codes subjected black people to criminal prosecution for “offenses” such as loitering, breaking curfew, vagrancy, having weapons, and not carrying proof of employment. Convict leasing allowed people to gain their slaves back in a "legal way" by incarcerating black men, women, and children, and is still seen today in the form of Mass Incarceration.

5) Mass Incarceration

https://www.netflix.com/search?q=13&jbv=80091741

White males have a 1 in 17-lifetime likelihood of imprisonment, while the Bureau of Justice reports that 1 in 3 black males; are expected to go to jail or prison in their lifetime. In 2016, black men accounted for roughly 6.5 percent of the United States population; meanwhile, they made up 40.2 percent of the prison population. The prison industrial complex relies historically on the inheritance of slavery. As I mentioned before, the 13th Amendment abolished both slavery and involuntary servitude except as a punishment for crime. Similar to Convict Leasing, mass incarceration exploits the 13th Amendment to keep slavery ties to black people.

6) The War on Drugs

https://www.netflix.com/search?q=13&jbv=80091741

https://www.cnn.com/2016/03/23/politics/john-ehrlichman-richard-nixon-drug-war-blacks-hippie/index.html

The War on Drugs was a sutle and "non-racial" way to deal with African American drug abuse as a crime instead of a mental health issue. The Nixion administration has even admitted to the War on Drugs to be a way to throw black people in jail. "The Nixon campaign in 1968, and the Nixon White House after that, had two enemies: the antiwar left and black people," former Nixon domestic policy chief John Ehrlichman told Harper's writer Dan Baum . "You understand what I'm saying? We knew we couldn't make it illegal to be either against the war or black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and blacks with heroin. And then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities," Ehrlichman said. "We could arrest their leaders. raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did." This made it easier to criminalize black people and arrest them for a small amount of marijuana. Cocaine usage was found more in white communities, and white people were given little to no jail time for being caught with drugs, while black people were given the maximum prison sentence.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer III: Fugitives

It took everything in me to stay put and not chase after Johann.

Nono smirked. “I guess its just us two heartbreakers remaining. Eh, Carli?”

“Uh... I don’t take responsibility for this.” I glared.

“Good. Neither do I.” She looked up and smiled as Sakura returned with a fresh pot of tea. “Welcome back.”

“Where is Mr. Chu?” Sakura looked around in confusion.

“Mr. Chu needed to take a walk.” She tilted her head. “Here join us!” She patted the pillow.

Master List

It wasn’t just the fact that Caesar was actively trying to steal me away from him, it was the fact that Nono might have gotten with Mingfei just because he was S-ranked and no other reason. Johann had rooted for their relationship for years. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was more upset over that then the peril our relationship faced.

Granted, it wasn’t her idea to do that, but Caesar’s. I had a hard time believing that Nono felt nothing for Mingfei at all, but that was my secret from the Day of Liberty that I swore not to tell. Johann had no reason to believe anything other than what she just told him.

My phone rang. “Oh... it’s principal Anjou!” I picked it up and gave a cheery greeting. “Good morning pri-”

“CARLI! What is going on there?! Why is there a warrant out for your arrest?!”

The fury in his voice stunned me. “Uh....?”

“We made perfect IDs and Visas for you? Why does it say illegal immigrants?! Answer!”

“Well, we met with some people... who I think weren’t the right people... we never made it to the airport. They just drove right-”

“Carli! I trusted you with this mission because I thought you were ready for more responsibility!”

“Hey!” Feeling pushed into a corner, I shot back. “You didn’t tell me who I was supposed to meet with...”

“Don’t talk back! Every one knows that you get off the plane, you go through customs! It’s not even a matter of experience! It’s a matter of logic and reason!”

I shrank further, feeling my face burning. Nono was staring at me with wide eyes and a strange smile. I didn’t even want to be leader of this mission. I didn’t want to be here period. Just make Nono the leader. Or Johann. What did I care?

“There’s nothing I can do about this. This is going to effect your ability to perform your duties there, not just now but in the future now that you and Nono and Johann are marked as WANTED FUGITIVES.”

“I’m sorry...”

“I’m not interested in sorry!”

“Then what do you want?” I grumbled.

“Complete the mission and come back without further complications!”

“Okay... fine.” 

He hung up one me.

“Do you need to go take a walk?” Nono asked, after a moment of silent amazement.

“What difference does it make? I screwed up.” I put the phone back in my pocket.

“That doesn’t give him the right to yell at you.” Sakura said, eyes narrowing. “Everyone makes mistakes. And you were right. He should have told you we were to meet with you.”

“If he told me, I was going to meet with Chisei, there would have been no way I would have accepted this mission.” I answered honestly. “Until like... ten minutes ago, I thought Chisei wanted me dead.”

“Who were those guys we met with anyway?” Nono asked.

“Members of the Devil Clan. Our sworn enemies. We’re not sure how they knew you were coming, but they want to disrupt this mission.”

“Oh.” I said. I recalled the sweet way they treated me, how much they wanted to protect me. How the one said he wanted to thank me.

“Carli?” 

I pulled myself out of my thoughts to address Sakura.

 “Did you know any of them?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know any of them outside the children I rescued. And Ruri Kazama.”

Sakura stared in surprise. “You know Ruri Kazama?”

“We met briefly. He’s the one who ... gave me the information I needed to rescue the children from the detention village.”

“Do you know who he is?” Sakura asked quietly.

“Yes. He’s Chisei’s b-”

“He’s the leader of the Devils.”  Chisei had come around the corner and overheard. He stared at me, eyes narrowed.

I swallowed hard and kept quiet.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t mention his name again.”

#Chisei Gen #Ruri Kazama #Sakura Yabuki #Nono #Anjou #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing

[fromgreecetoanarchy]

[Video] Chile: Protester evades 5 riot police bikers chasing him down (Never give up!) [Video recorded in Temuco, Chile, 7 November 2019] Not Falling for It: How the Uprising in #Chile Has Outlasted State Repression And the Questions for Movements to Come  As of today—Friday, November 8, 2019—the government of Chile has spent three full weeks switching back and forth between strategies of brutality, division, and deceit without yet succeeding in stemming the tide of resistance. The events of these weeks offer a useful primer in strategies of state repression and how to outmaneuver, outsmart, and outlast them. On October 6, the Chilean government headed by rapacious billionaire Sebastián Piñera announced a new austerity package that would further impoverish struggling Chileans. Unfortunately for the authorities, it was an inopportune moment to squeeze an already restless population. The next day, in Ecuador, thousands of indigenous people arrived in the capital city to protest an austerity package, occupying the Parliament building and clashing with police forces. On October 14, the Ecuadorian government backed down, repealing the austerity bill.That same day, students swung into action in Chile, organizing a series of mass fare-dodging protests against the hike in public transit costs. These culminated on October 18 in clashes, vandalism, and arsons that damaged 16 buses and 78 metro stations, as well as various banks and several other major buildings, including the headquarters of the Italian energy company Enel. In retaliation, Piñera announced a state of emergency and curfew, hoping to bludgeon the population back into submission. Conspiracy theories have circulated about the arsons. This always happens when ordinary people manage to get the better of the authorities, shocking those who take it for granted that the state is the only protagonist of history. Conspiracy theories about how the government arranged for the destruction of its own public transit infrastructure are disempowering and irrational; they also obscure what was strategic about the arsons. Whether by smashing the turnstiles or burning entire stations, it was precisely by making business as usual impossible that demonstrators made the desperate circumstances of their daily lives a problem for their rulers. Without the vandalism and looting, the movement would never have become the force that it is. The next day, October 19, Piñera suspended the metro price increase. The speed with which he did this shows that he knew he had pushed people too far. If he could have waited to suspend the fare increase, he might have been able to announce it later, in order to give demonstrators a feeling of accomplishment and get them out of the streets; instead, having already pushed his luck, he had to suspend it immediately in hopes of discharging popular resentment before the crisis deepened. It didn’t work. For a government, the goal of making concessions is only to trick enough people into leaving the streets that it will be possible to isolate and defeat those who remain. On October 20, Piñera expanded the state of emergency to most of the country, announcing from the headquarters of the army that his government was “at war against a powerful and implacable enemy.” This gesture, and above all the place from which he spoke, was a not-so-coded declaration that he intended to return Chile to the murderous state violence of the Pinochet dictatorship. Yet once again, the people in the streets did not back down. They continued to demonstrate, even as the military injured and killed people, and they refused to permit the authorities to sow divisions, sticking together with the same cohesion that has given the movement in Hong Kong its long life. This is why, on October 23, Piñera was forced to announce the suspension of the whole austerity package and the introduction of some minor reforms—what Chileans have been calling “table scraps.” Again, Chileans knew better than to settle for this. That same day, Chile’s trade unions declared a general strike. On October 25, the largest demonstration in Chilean history took place, bringing 1.2 million people into the streets of Santiago to show that they supported this movement that had originated in massive public criminal activity and continued in defiance of the express orders of the government. This was a massive defeat for Piñera—it showed that he could neither resolve the situation by brute force nor by petty bribery. This is why, on October 26, he promised to lift the State of Emergency and to swap out some of the ministers in his government—though not to relinquish power himself. He also changed his rhetoric, congratulating Chileans on a “peaceful” demonstration and suggesting a distinction between law-abiding families and criminal hooligans. Let’s review: when Piñera couldn’t suppress the movement by police violence, he played for time by suspending the fare increase—while declaring martial law and mobilizing the army. When didn’t work, he shifted to a new strategy of divide and conquer, flattering the majority of Chileans by suggesting that their concerns were legitimate while demonizing the brave demonstrators who launched the movement. Now that things seem to have plateaued—not to say calmed down—Piñera is trying, yet again, to return to his original strategy of brute force. On November 7, he introduced an array of bills to increase the penalties for militant protest tactics including self-defense against police and concealing one’s identity against state surveillance. Congratulate the movement on its victories, but crack down on the means by which it won them. Over 7000 people have been arrested and many thousands injured; despite their obvious loyalty to the uniformed mercenaries of the state, prosecutors admit to over 800 allegations of police abuse, torture, rape, and battery. Piñera has expressed his “total support” for the conduct of the police and military throughout this sequence of events, but he is saying that all this brutality is not enough—in addition to arresting, beating, shooting, and killing people, he wants the police and military to be able to imprison additional massive numbers of people for long periods of time. Make no mistake, the movement in Chile would not have gotten off the ground if not for the students organizing mass illegal activity. It would not have spread countrywide if not for the vandalism, arson, and acts of self-defense against police attacks. It would not have created a crisis that demanded a response if not for looting and disruption. To make a distinction between the “law-abiding” participants and the “criminals” in the movement is to say that it would be better if the movement had never taken place—it is an attempt to ensure that no such movement will ever take place again.We have seen this many times before. The movement against police and white supremacy that burst into the public consciousness with the riots in Ferguson only got off the ground because the original participants openly attacked police officers, burned down buildings, and refused to divide into “violent” and “nonviolent” factions. Democracy itself, the system via which Chile, the United States, and so many other nations are governed, began in blazing crime; if not for criminal revolutionaries, we would still be living under the heel of hereditary monarchs. Once again, the movement in Chile faces a crucial juncture. If the majority of the participants accept Piñera’s flattery and congratulate themselves on being “peaceful” and “honest” in contrast to those who are “criminals,” this will enable him to push through draconian measures to ensure that it will never be possible for Chileans to defend themselves against austerity measures again. On the contrary, what is needed is for the tactics of the “criminals” to spread to every honest citizen, to every person who sincerely wants peace. Neither Piñera nor anyone else who aims to rule by force will ever create peace; it can only arise when their totalitarian aspirations are thwarted. To understand what Piñera wants, we need only look at what has happened in Egypt. Since regaining control of the country with the military coup in 2013 and introducing new measures like the ones Piñera is proposing, military strongman al-Sisi has [crushed protests] of all kinds. He now aspires to rule until at least the year 2034. Those who make only half a revolution dig their own graves, as the saying goes. So the stakes are high. Demonstrators in Chile must permanently delegitimize the instruments of state power such as the police, the courts, and the army, making it impossible for them to maintain order by any combination of brutality, concessions, and prosecution. This is the only way out of the nightmare of neoliberal austerity. This is how movements win against oppressive governments: by a winning combination of confrontational direction action, solidarity across different demographics and tactics, persistence, and strategic innovation. The movement in Chile has demonstrated this already. (Text published by CrimethInc) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4VRQ2A_vCag

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