#white rock shooter

[squirrelshooter]

Just WRS testing her acting skills :P

[pyroanime2k16]

Black Rock Shooter Fantasy World prompt

Okay, so firstly, characters….

Protagonists

Main Yajuko (Beast Child)/Rock/The Black Rock Shooter (gains her mother's sword and has her pistol enhanced by her older sister, BRS Beast's weapons) Ron (A talking horse/pegasus) Elder Caster (BRS's older sister)

Major Allies Strength Black Matagi (BRS's childhood rival)

Minor Allies Yomi (Dead Master's younger sister) Yuu (Strength's twin sister) Mato (BRS's younger sister) Dragon Slayer (BRS's mother)

Antagonists

Grunts Farside Bunny Loveness Tightmare Elly Chariot (BGS's cavalry commander, later becomes an ally)

Elites Dead Master (BRS's main rival, BGS's most paid assassin) Saya Irino/Black Devil Girl (BGS's first lieutenant and sole child) Infinite Range Maid (BGS's second lieutenant and personal maid)

Main Black Gold Saw (corrupt monarch, sister of DS, aunt of BRS, Caster, and Mato) Mato as White Rock Shooter (sort of)

Plot

Part 1

1: Story begins with Rock waking up from a nightmare, reminded of her village's decimation and Mato's capture a couple months ago, as well as her mother's disappearance. She then goes to train with Elder Caster, before successfully preventing a raid on their recovering village.

2: Rock and Caster eventually travel to try and find Mato and their mother. Soon, they encounter Black Matagi, who's in a battle with Dead Master. After forcing DM to retreat, they arrive at the neighboring village, greeted and sheltered by Yomi. DM follows to attack, before retreating upon spotting Yomi.

3: BM explains that she will stay in the town until she's properly recovered, before bidding farewell. Eventually, Caster and Rock make it to the next village, getting into a brief skirmish with the guard Strength. Eventually, Yuu arrives and drags them all into her home, apologizing for Strength's behavior and explaining that she's overprotective of her home.

4: In compensation for the injuries Strength gave, she lends Rock and Caster a steed named Ron. Rock and Caster accept the gesture, assuming that Ron is a normal horse. During their travel to the next village, they are ambushed by DM and are immediately saved by Ron, who flies towards the next village, revealing that he is a pegasus.

5: After spending time in the village to recover, Chariot arrives with her cavalry to invade the surrounding villages, as they are the last bit of territory left for Empress Black Gold Saw to conquer. Strength and BM arrive and help Rock and Caster liberate the villages, before DM injures Chariot, explaining that she herself will be the one to kill Rock.

6: After successfully liberating the villages, BM agrees to keep watch on her and Rock's respective home villages. Strength returns home, while Chariot is left to heal and be humbled, and realize her mistakes in serving BGS.

Part 2

1: Rock and Caster eventually travel to the southern towns, steadily liberating them one by one, before encountering the general Tightmare Elly. The two easily take her down, before being interrupted by a dragon spotted overhead. Instead of attacking, the dragon merely takes TE as its meal and leaves in a hurry, leaving Rock, Caster, and Ron stunned.

2: The sister duo then reach the western towns, finally finding the first real clue to Mato's potential location. After liberating the towns, they encounter Loveness, who claims that she knows where Mato is and will only give information for a price. Unlike Caster, Rock falls for the general's trap, before going into a rage and brutally killing her. She is forcefully sedated by Caster, who's realizing how powerful Rock's becoming.

3: After Rock wakes up, she and Caster are already in the eastern towns. Ron explains what's happened, saying that BM and Strength are helping her sister, and questions Rock if she remembers anything during her rage. Rock confirms that she doesn't remember, before receiving a visit from Yuu and Yomi. Rock explains what she's been going through and begins to doubt herself.

4: Caster returns with some shocking news. Much to everyone's shock, a confused and scared Mato is behind her, to which she explains that while it might be Mato, someone has magically tampered with her. Yomi and Yuu suggest that Mato should stay with one of them for her own safety, before the group is interrupted by Farside Bunny's invasion to the north.

5: Rock, Caster, BM, and Strength encounter FB in the northern towns, who demands Mato in exchange for the towns' safety. They deny her demands and an all-out battle ensues. Chariot eventually arrives and help give the four the edge they need to defeat FB. Once again, DM appears out of nowhere to help for her own interests. Before Rock and Caster can question the general why BGS needs Mato, FB poisons herself to retain information.

6: Rock and Caster are eventually convinced to bring Mato along. The rest of the group joins them and so far, everything goes well, before the dragon appears again, this time out of control and desperate. The group attempt to flee, with Caster and Rock providing distraction, only for Rock to be taken out and captured by the dragon. Caster tells the group to head to the cities and stay low while she searches for Rock.

Part 3

1: Rock wakes up in a small camp, before noticing the last person she expects. Her own mother, Dragon Slayer. DS explains what happened to her, causing her daughter to notice serious injuries on her abdomen. DS reassures her that she'll heal fully soon, after how she helped her.

2: Rock and DS chat and train, helping Rock get into touch with her new strength and to control her more wild instincts. DS then reveals a shock; she is the very dragon that's been following her daughters, but now, she's losing control. Despite her mother's wishes, Rock insists on helping.

3: DS, for the time being, remains in control and explains that they are running out of time. Soon, Caster (along with Ron) finds them, also suffering from an aliment (a type of cancer that targets only pure mages). The family members don't know what to do, so DS lends Rock her sword, telling her how proud she is of her daughters before leaving and transforming into the dragon in private.

4: Rock and Caster feel more lost than ever, now that their mother is truly gone. Caster attempts to enhance Rock's gun and their mother's sword for Rock's personal use. Eventually, Rock finds herself more attuned to her powers than ever, but still lacks control. Eventually, DS in dragon form arrives and attacks them.

5: The two try to keep the fight away from the city with little success. Eventually, Rock finds herself losing control, as she's essentially in a position where she has to put down her own mother…and she can't do it. Caster lends Rock her supplies and urges Ron to take Rock to the group, which he reluctantly does…all while Rock is forced to watch the dragon devour Caster whole.

6: Now inside the dragon, Caster makes her way to the organ where her mother is trapped. DS apologizes to her for her daughters' fates, letting her eldest daughter hug her as the entire dragon is destroyed from the inside out. Rock is at her lowest point, angry at herself for being too weak. The first vestiges of Beast come out. Ron then urges her to continue on, as while she lost Caster and her mother, Mato is still safe and waiting for her.

Rock and Ron then go into brief solitude, so Rock may train, refine, and master her power.

Part 4

1: One long year after starting her journey…and only a few months after going into solitude, Rock and Ron head to the city. They manage to get to an inn where Yomi and Yuu are working and explain where they've been. Yomi and Yuu, heartbroken by the loss of Caster, explain that the group has gone into hiding to avoid capture.

2: Rock and Ron take on small jobs to help Yomi and Yuu out, before encountering a disguised BM and Strength, who are rightful pissed by Rock's sudden disappearance. They get into a fight, which only ends after Rock confirms Caster's fate. Strength leaves in fury, while BM can only cry in Rock's arm over the loss of a person they both cared for.

3: BM brings Rock to Mato, who's become more and more void of emotion. Rock explains what happened with a heavy heart, while Mato explains that ever since she came to the city, she's felt more empty than ever. Rock counters this that, despite that, Mato is more honest than ever. Rock then makes it her mission to stop BGS's reign and to restore Mato.

4: Rock is then threatened by DM to meet her in the city's cemetery. Before going, Yomi tells her the truth about her and DM. Rock can't promise that DM will be saved from herself, but at least she can free her of this life. And so, Rock and DM have their fated duel, which lasts until the next sunrise and ends with DM's death.

Not at Rock's hands, but by Saya Irino.

5: Rock is then convinced by BM to train with Chariot, who has been gathering a rebellion to help stop BGS. Chariot and Rock train, once again revealing vestiges of Beast as Rock's determination grows. Chariot then notices that Ron has also gotten stronger, noting that he will need it for the battle.

6: Eventually, the group is ready the storm the castle, having evacuated most of the civilians. So, the rebellion charges into the city, with Rock and Mato immediately heading towards the castle for answers.

Part 5

1: Chariot and Strength deal with the cavalry, lead by Saya Irino. Not much to go here, since it is just a fight.

2: Upon entering the castle, BM deals with Infinite Range Maid alone so Mato and Rock can get to BGS uninterrupted.

3: Mato and Ron are split from Rock by BGS, forcing Rock to fight the queen alone. It is a long and grueling duel, which ultimately has BGS drop the bombshell that Rock, Mato, and Caster are her nieces. In response, Rock merely laughs and says that it is destiny for her to overthrow their aunt, before finally transforming in BRS Beast. She defeats BGS, who then merges with her castle to give her an edge.

4: Rock and BM are launched from the castle, now transformed into a golem in BGS's likeness, before noticing Ron breaking free with Mato and rushing to Rock's aid. Another long fight ensues, before the golem is left defenseless. Rock has Ron escape with BM, before she and Mato venture into the golem's body in search of BGS's true body to kill it.

5: Upon entering the organ where BGS's body lies, White Rock Shooter steps forth and fights Rock, claiming to be the true Mato. Mato is in heavy pain, believing this to be true, but can also tell that WRS is also not whole either. Rock eventually restrains them at Mato's wish, before using Caster's supplies to figure out the problem.

Eventually, Rock determines that WRS is a product of BGS's forces experimenting on Mato.

6: Rock and WRS fight, before WRS is killed via her own arrogance, plunging into the magma surrounding them. As Mato begins to feel whole again, Rock prepares a bomb to take out BGS, before the two sisters attempt to leave…only for BGS to seal the golem up, saying that if she's going to die, she'll take her traitor of a sister's children with her. Ron then breaks in, before escaping with Mato and Rock.

Not sure what the epilogue might be. While BGS is dead, I don't think Rock or Mato would willingly become the next monarchs, despite both fulfilling the requirements as proper heirs. Admittedly, I think Rock would take up the mantle of queen, just so the kingdom doesn't fall into chaos or get conquered.

[kagamine-rin]

Black ★ Rock Shooter - Real Action Heroes (No.572) - 1/6 - White Edition (Medicom Toy)

[ukioshi0]

𓈒 ꪆ ﹙ . 9 / 21 ﹚ ❀

[yarakami-meiosei]

[yarakami-kasei]

Meiosei Yarakami（IB★RS Version）

Demon Insane Yarakami Meiosei

[ltwilliammowett]

Pelorus Jack - the helping dolphin

The first sighting of Pelorus Jack a Risso's dolphin (the determination was based on photos) was around 1888, when it appeared in front of the schooner Brindle, which was travelling through French Pass, New Zealand. Jack stood out due to its bright colouring and white head and there were no other similar animals in the area. From then on it regularly appeared when ships travelled from Admiralty Bay and Pelorus Sound / Te Hoiere into Cook Strait and so it was named after the sound.

This route was dangerous for shipping due to shallows, treacherous currents, wild eddies and underwater rocks; there were no accidents when Pelorus Jack was present. Jack quickly became a lucky charm; it seemed to guide the ships through the dangerous straits and usually stayed with a ship for about 20 minutes. Sometimes the skippers would also wait for it when they entered the Strait.

Pelorus Jack - French Pass, New Zealand

In this way, Pelorus Jack became well known to all sailors and also to the local population. When a drunken passenger from the steamer Penguin shot at the dolphin in 1903, injuring it in the fin, the crew could only be prevented from lynching the shooter by force. The dolphin did not show itself for a fortnight and it was feared that it was dead. As a result, the Sea Fisheries Act was passed in New Zealand on 26 September 1904, which placed Pelorus Jack under protection. This was probably the first individual sea creature to be protected by law. According to legend, however, it has never helped the penguin again since this incident. Without the help of the friendly animal, the Penguin was shipwrecked in the passage.

The last sighting was in April 1912, after which it disappeared without a trace and numerous rumours about its disappearance surfaced. But his story managed to become known worldwide and statues were erected in its honour and even a children's song and a chocolate brand name were created.

[m1d-45]

the scottish play

summary: some things are better left unknown.

word count: ~3.1k

-> warnings: spoilers for liyue story quest, reader dies (again). blood mention. zhongli probably cries off camera

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @atsukawolfcat || @thehoneymushroomhealer || @imyme20 || @bittersweetorpheus || @vampirecatsw || @willburzone || @some-mildly-happy-human || @yourlocaldrugdealerbutfancy || @inmyprinceerafr || @depressed-bitchy-demon || @kithewanderingme

<< first part || < masterlist >

you should have known better than to trust liyue.

a rock hits your shoulder, kicked down from the ledge behind you, and the abyss mage in front of you shouts a cry lost amidst the hilichurls’-

“YA!“

clubs are grabbed and shields are raised, the electro shooter taking your wrist roughly and pulling you away. you hear human voices behind you, calls to get them! and that’s the missing artifact! nearly drowned under your heartbeat in your ears. the electro hilichurl pushes you behind the grenadier before grabbing its crossbow, hastily beginning to load it. in the camp, you can see an archer up on the stone ledge—the same one you entered from—as well as four other millelith guards in the camp itself. an electro-infused bolt skims the cheek of one, a spear narrowly blocking the swing of a club, two have to ditch their weapons and roll to dodge to mitachurl’s charge-

the grenadier’s calloused hands pull you out of the way of an arrow, one that lands in the sand and quivers with force. the hilichurl pushes you away, waving its hands for you to run.

if you’d have paid more attention to the fight, you’d have noticed the hilichurls were fighting defensively to give you time.

you turn on worn, hole-ridden shoes, doing your best to take in air as you run down the path. this area of liyue is sparse, with no weaving pathways to hide in or trees to cover you. there’s nothing for the earth to shelter you with, and other than bringing more dust into the air around the archer, it’s just as helpless as you are.

there’s a building set besides a crack in the huge wall besides the path, a fork approaching quicker than you’d like. the path continues forward, toward trees, but it’s a long way to the small forest..

you turn. an arrow bounces off the stone just behind you as you do.

immediately you recognize your mistake, spotting first spiked walls, then rippling red banners, then the archer towers they’re attached to and the guards climbing down the ladders on them.

the crack you saw seems to open into a larger area, with trees you’ve never seen before, so you take the risk that the millelith can’t climb all that quickly with their armor and keep running. it’s not like you would have survived turning back anyways; they’re the ones with the archer towers.

a guard makes it to the ground just as you pass, throwing aside his spear and running after you. an arm loops around your waist, then another over your arms as you fall.

the weight of the guard on top of you knocks out the air from your lungs, leaving you dazed. he quickly gets off and pulls at the arm with the ring on it as you desperately try not to breathe in dirt.

you fuss, trying first to close your hand into a fist then hitting at his with your other. it works, the ring falling to the dirt, and though you try to follow it with your eyes you quickly lose it in the light of the sun.

the guard starts to wipe desperately at the dirt and you take the opportunity to run into the crack, pulling a random bundle of things you hope are medical supplies off a nearby cart as you do. the guards shout at you, but you keep running, taking a set of confusing turns before coming across a small campsite. there are tents and rudimentary walls, but you decide to shove yourself into the space between a stack of crates and a wall, holding your breath.

footsteps thunder by, slowing to a stop not too far from where you’re hidden. you clutch at and attempt to cover the white in your arms, turning it towards the wall as far as you can without moving the crates. you don’t dare move to peek between the boxes, simply sitting in your little corner and hoping beyond reason that they won’t think to search in the most obvious area.

“what?”

“where’d they go?”

“find them!”

your heart thuds in your chest and you have to fight to keep your breathing quiet, pressing yourself further against the wall as the guards search the small camp.

the floor tips and spins beneath you, the world blurry and hazed from dehydration and exhaustion, but you stay hidden as boots stomp by again, listening to the irritated words from one of the guards as they pass.

“we must report this to the qixing.”

zhongli walks through liyue harbor, one hand holding a folder and the other one clenched in a fist. he can feel the stares of people as he passes, the new whispers on their tongues, and he sets his jaw, picking up the pace.

he’s used to the stares. people pointed him out as odd, eccentric, the funeral consultant that everybody knew yet didn’t know why, or where he was from. the stranger that somehow knew alarming amounts of liyuen history, the new worker at the parlor who puts up with the director, the one with a vision from liyue yet seems adept at using it nonetheless.

stares are regular, until they’re not.

the empty space on his lower back where his faux-vision once was affects him more than it should. maybe because it feels like a real one, now, since he hasn’t been able to manipulate geo ever since it turned against him. the lack of pressure, the missing weight of glass and gold, no matter how papery the front it put up, bothered him. it wasn’t real in any sense, it was utterly worthless, it didn’t glow or have any connection at all, and yet.. it still refused to obey him. touching it felt like he was cutting his palm open over and over despite the lack of physical injuries, and when he tried to have hu tao reattach it to (a new) chain, it only stabbed at him through his clothes.

it was fake. it shouldn’t be possible.

but he couldn’t tell anybody of his plight.

nodding a greeting at the blacksmith, he continued his journey across the harbor.

“-consultant for-?”

“-where’s his-?“

“-did his vision-?”

questions flew in the space between people, gossip lighting the way between lampposts. he knew they were watching. he didn’t know why it unnerved him so much.

zhongli kept walking.

two millelith guards are standing duty near the bridge, and he listens in on their conversation as he passes.

“-hear any updates on the situation?”

“no, only that they’ve gotten to the chasm. it’s to dangerous for the qixing to send-..”

hm..

he files the information away.

zhongli openes the door to the parlor, nodding in greeting at ferrylady. perhaps he should pay the chasm a visit on the chance that the guards were speaking of what he hoped they were.

you wouldn’t be too much of a challenge—he is still, after all, morax, the god of war and contracts. he’d signed on the dotted line when he took his first breath, signed to be the warrior of his god and to stand by their side for as long as he lived. it was a deal he could easily uphold, and one he’s not going to fail.

he’s served his god all his life, and he refuses to allow such disgrace to befall their name.

perhaps if he’s lucky, he’ll be the one allowed to slay you…

he shakes the thoughts of bloodshed from his mind, knocking twice on a door marked ‘director’. when he hears permission to enter, he wastes no time in pushing it open.

hu tao’s eyes brighten when she see’s it’s him, the pen in her hand twirling around her fingers in her excitement. “zhongli! you’re back quickly.”

he nods, stepping forward to hand her the folder. “the negotiations went easier than anticipated.”

her eyes suddenly narrow, hee hand retracting from the folder. “did you say what i told you to?”

“yes, director, i kept the price within the range you specified. i was simply commenting on the simplicity of the transaction; who knew it was so easy to-“

the air shifts, a presence materializing from a cloud of black and teal smoke at zhongli’s side. hu tao yelps, her chair skidding backward.

xiao catches the pen she throws at him with ease.

zhongli pulls it from his hand, the director having finally registered what happened.

“wha- who- you? y- you can’t just appear in my office like that!”

xiao paid her no mind, turning to zhongli and bowing, the latter easily dismissing the action.

“what news do you have?”

“i have scoured all of liyue and have yet to find a trace. in addition, b-… venti has not felt their presence upon the wind, and considering the tightening of security around the harbor thanks to the millelith, i can only assume they have either gone to sumeru through nantianmen or lumberpick valley, or they are in the chasm.”

the words of the millelith from earlier echoed in zhongli’s mind, a plan swiftly forming.

“i see. thank you, xiao. i will leave at once.”

with a nod, the adeptus vanishes back into a cloud of smoke.

“zhongli? who was that? and where are you going? who were you talking about?”

zhongli set the folder on her desk, the pen placed on top. “all in due time, ms. hu. until then, i’m afraid i must depart.”

“you can’t-“

“i promise that appropriate compensation for my leaving early will be arranged, and we may speak on the topic when i return.”

“‘li-“

“goodbye, director.”

black and gold fabric twisted around him as he turned, the empty chain across his back glinting in the light of the office. while he had some regret about leaving so harshly—he’d surely receive a rant about reliance when he returned—it was quickly drowned under his determination.

his god was calling, and all he’d ever wished for was to answer.

you stumble into a tunnel next to a blue waypoint, walking in as far as you can manage before crumbling to the floor. you have to go. to hide. you don’t know how many ‘lives’ you have left, and you’re not keen on finding out, not with the qixing on your tail.

you drag yourself next to a shining chunk of cor lapis, gritting your teeth at the pain.

how did it come to this?

to running from the millelith, hiding in the chasm of all places?

you breathe heavily as you sit against the wall, the sudden shift from relaxation to running for your life taking a toll. you put your hands on the floor to shuffle further against the wall only to wince, moving your palm to see what sharp rock you’d landed on.

except it wasn’t a rock. the ring, the one the dendro slime gave you, is sitting peacefully on top of the dirt like it belongs there. still clean, still shining, the gem without a scratch you can see as you lift it up. the tunnel is only lit by sun streaming in from around the corner, and though it makes it hard to see imperfections on the gold, the light only highlights the wear on your figure. your clothes are tattered and worn, reduced to scraps, that ring the only thing of passable quality. how ironic, that the thing in best condition was the one you never should have taken—where would hilichurls even get them? did you think about it at all?—and the one that almost got you killed.

again.

you couldn’t hold it against the millelith, really. you didn’t know where it came from or why. it didn’t look ancient to you, the gold still glimmering in the faint light, and the gem wasn’t large enough to be of any importance, but maybe it was. maybe it was some artifact that was really rare or highly sought after. maybe it was the dropped ring of some important ruler. maybe it was the wedding band of one of the workers here.

maybe you were just making excuses because you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate them.

..wow, this is kinda pathetic.

you do your best to wrap your wounds with the bandages you swiped, mumbling a quick thank you that they were bandages, no matter how covered in dust from your journey. between your shaky hands and the severity of the wounds, though, you don’t know if you’re actually doing anything of benefit. not to mention you’re still lying on the floor, in a dusty tunnel in the chasm.

dirt and rocks dig into your skin and wounds, scabs breaking as you curl up further, too caught up in your pain to hear the footsteps approaching you.

or maybe you do hear them, and simply don’t care.

you never had the highest level of self-preservation.

zhongli has lived for eons.

he’s seen it all.

nothing surprises him anymore.

….nothing should.

but as he approaches the tunnel the millelith had told him of, as he walks and hears hitched breathing and choked words….

his knuckles are white around his polearm.

he turns the corner, stepping around a wooden support. dust stains the air as if trying to hide you from his view, but can still see. torn clothes, your hands wrapped in dirty bandages that are more likely to get them infected than protect, and you’re… you’re crying.

as he watches, you look up, matted hair falling into your face. you’re sitting next to a chunk of cor lapis, the ore looking like it’s glowing brighter than normal. in the golden light, he sees the tear tracks streak through the dirt on your face, and something like pity twinges in his chest.

something like a laugh leaves your cracked lips.

“morax…”

you knew?

you knew him?

how?

his posture tensed, but you only sat up straighter, leaning on the wall behind you. it was hard to tell if that was blood on the floor or just shadows cast by the ore nearby, but you were obviously weak.

you licked your lips. why hadn’t he moved yet?

“i don’t mind dying, you know. not if it’s you.”

you sounded weak, voice hoarse and painful, like your throat was lined with glass.

and yet… him?

why?

how did you even know him?

surely… surely you weren’t the same person as before, in wuwang hill, right? you weren’t the one who looked up at him with eyes that glittered not with tears but with admiration, your gaze sweeping over his face with such emotion. you weren’t the one that, even as he pointed his spear at your heart, dared to whisper a compliment?

…what did it matter? you… you deserved to be slain. he couldn’t be swayed simply because you looked like his god.

his hand almost didn’t want to obey as he leveled his polearm at your neck, noting the exhaustion with which you relaxed further into the stone. your eyes fluttered shut, your hand landing closer to the light of the ore. he could see a ring on one of your fingers: gold, archaic, likely stolen from a ruin nearby. how pitiful that an artifact would be ruined by you.

the golden point of his blade leveled against your skin, seeming to buzz with excitement in his hand.

he should make it quick.

in his hesitance, you spoke. “you want last words?”

to ask somebody on death row for the worst of crimes for last words would probably be itself a crime elsewhere. giving you the opportunity to take advantage of him while he was vulnerable—though he doubted you had the strength for that…

a small smile crossed your face.

he swallowed. his hand wavered.

“if you wish.”

why did you seem so familiar?

he was starting to shake.

it didn’t matter that you looked like his god. you were the imposter, you were the fake, but being here with you…

why was he hesitating?

this was a sin against his god, to allow such a devil to walk his nation. and to dare to feel sympathy for such a-

“i don’t mind if i die.”

but your voice-

you spoke so softly with his weapon pointed at your throat, every bob of your skin threatening to tear itself across its edge. and yet, you continued, leaving him no choice but to believe your statement.

“i don’t know why you want to kill me, but i don’t. really.”

in the golden light of the lapis and whatever extra was coming around the corner, your skin broke.

what were you saying?

why couldn’t he listen?

he was entranced by the bead of blood, almost shimmering in the light, rolling down your neck.

he had to kill you.

he had to.

why didn’t he want to?

“it’s a good day to die.”

that was a lie, the skies were gray and threatened rain, the earth itself irritated and rumbling with an anger you couldn’t sense. the only reason you said that was because you didn’t know.

he found himself believing it anyway.

“kill me, morax.” the way you said his name- “i’m… i’m sure your god would be proud.”

what did you know of his god?

in the instant anger overcame him, he pressed vortex vanquisher forward, pushing until he hit stone. you flinched, blood rolling down his weapon and falling into your lap in waves. to his surprise, it didn’t stain the blade dark with crimson, instead…

no.

he told himself it was the light.

no.

your eyes fluttered, struggling, and he compared the shade of the ring on your finger to the one on his weapon. even in the tinted lighting, they looked the same.

no.

it was impossible.

even as he tore his weapon away, a futile attempt to undo his actions, he knew it was impossible.

“kill me, morax.”

and he had, he had, and now he wanted nothing more than to take it back, dirt staining his knees as gloved hands fluttered over the wound as if it would magically stick back together.

“i’m sure your god would be proud.”

[insipid-drivel]

Endometriosis, Fat Doctors, And Bellybuttons: What They Don't Teach You In Health Class

Woo another rambling TED talk, but I just got home from a meeting with a doctor specializing in wound care that I really feel a lot of you should hear:

Firstly, I've been having mysterious pains in my bellybutton area since... probably last Autumn? But I've had menorrhagia (extremely heavy, painful, and even dangerous periods that can cause spontaneous hemorrhaging) since I was 13 years old. Since my menorrhagia became active, I've been begging for a hysterectomy. I'm moving into my 20 year anniversary of Living With A Uterus That Hates Me As Much As I Hate It.

Being trans (agender) also really incentivizes the whole "yeet the uterus" thing, too, but that doesn't really have anything to do with why I wanna talk to y'all about endometriosis and bellybuttons.

Anyway, as of this year, I've had a lot of issues with my bellybutton region. Random infections, inflammation, pain, trips in and out of the ER; the works. My doctor has been so confused by my bizarre constellation of symptoms that he hasn't been sure of what's going on or what the best course of action is, aside from referring me for more tests and prescribing comfort measures in the meantime.

Until today. My desperate track for a diagnosis began over a week ago when my symptoms became alarmingly sepsis-like, but my test results came back with nothing but signs of an elevated white blood cell count. My doctor has been rushing me from specialist to specialist, and today was a wound care doctor that specializes in treating bariatric, hospice, and disabled patients that can't necessarily follow conventional wound-care advice meant for young, abled, and thin people.

I didn't expect much. Maybe some magnifiers, swabs, and a biopsy at worst, followed by antibiotics and whatever else, but definitely nothing that would help me solve this latest scary health mystery. While the worst of the pain I had that landed me in the ER went away on its own enough that I can get by with mobility aids, I still haven't had a diagnosis.

Until Awesome Fat Doctor.

Awesome Fat Doctor I celebrate. I live for this man. He literally gave me a reason to keep on trying and not give up. I was so scared of the appointment I'd gone nonverbal (not weird for me these days), but I got my voice back after I spent a while with him and his nurse (who was also fantastic). Even though I only met him for a few minutes and he forgot to introduce himself so I can't remember his name right now, Awesome Fat Doctor was a rock star. He was in his later middle age, scruffy, unshaven, and fat - enough that I could imagine the reason he specializes as a wound care doctor is because he may have gotten fed up of other doctors blaming his own health problems on his weight and life choices.

AFD gave no fucks. Along with being a big guy, he carried himself with the gruff no-nonsense of a man that's probably beaten up his ableist colleagues overdiagnosing fibromyalgia in the back of a Wendy's parking lot. He had been informed of my autism and my own needs for a wheelchair due to my own long-term chronic pain and other health issues, as well as my troubles speaking, and treated me like a little cousin that was having a rough go of things like he'd had.

He was compassionate and a straight-shooter with me. He was respectful of my boundaries, talked to me as casually as if I could respond like anybody else with working vocal cords (which I was eventually able to), and generally had all the bedside manner of someone that has worked with patients with special needs of all kinds. He looked at the trouble area and my records and history, told me that he was gonna do his best to get things straightened out, and then went quiet as he studied the timeline of my issues.

"Do you have endometriosis?" he asked, while studying a photo my mom had taken of a... skin infection over my lower abdomen, which had spread from my bellybutton.

I was confused.

"Not that I know of," I answered. I'd found my voice already when he and his nurse both helped put me at ease and showed me I was respected, safe, and seen. I've been tested a few times in my life for endometriosis and had my fair share of ultrasounds (the most common way to diagnose endo), and nobody had found anything unusual. But I have menorrhagia, am always in pain from my reproductive organs, and am desperate to get them removed. I'm on a 24/7 regimen of 2x normal birth control pills just to keep me from menstruating for my own safety. It sucks.

"My wife once had to get emergency surgery for what we thought was appendicitis. Do you know what it turned out she had?" he asked me, very suddenly, and like he had an idea.

"Ectopic pregnancy?" was my first guess, because women have died in the past to ectopic pregnancies that were mistaken for appendicitis.

AFD shook his head. "It was her menstrual cycle, and she had endometrial tissue bleeding into the space beside her appendix. I think you may have endometrial tissue in your bellybutton, and every time your hormones try to cycle in spite of your birth control pills, it bleeds and infects."

I was gobsmacked. Endometriosis and PCOS run in my family as reliably as eye and hair color, but I'd never really thought of how pernicious endometrial tissue could actually be. When I picture endometrial tissue, I picture overgrowths inside of reproductive tissue, or clinging to the outside; not growing randomly within the abdominal cavity or emerging out of my fucking skin like a turkey pop-up timer of doom.

AFD slowly nodded. "And the only way we'd be able to see the endometrial tissue is if you had it tested while you were menstruating and the tissue itself was inflamed and bleeding. Otherwise, it won't show up as anything different to the normal, healthy tissues surrounding it. A biopsy isn't reliable, either, because we have to know exactly where the tissue is before we test it. You have to have your hormones triggering the tissue to inflame and behave differently so it can be diagnosed if there are no big deposits of tissue to see."

After a long time of my ears ringing, I asked him, "Do you think it's possible that the ultrasounds were showing false negatives? Like, I have endometriosis and had it all along, but the tissue is too small to see or were being looked at at the wrong time?"

As it turns out, that's exactly what may be going on.

I see my doctor tomorrow, and meet with my surgeon at the beginning of next month.

Listen to your bodies, y'all. I am so thankful to that doctor, who wound up diverting into a very colorfully-worded rant about how much he hates the American medical system immediately after that. He gave me hope that I was just having new issues with old problems and was right all along about what my body really needed, and that my symptoms now are just showing what happens when doctors neglect their patients' needs.

I did wind up asking if he specialized with wound care because of how other doctors responded to his weight, and he said that it was a mix of reasons beginning with Yes: Both so he could have a safe space from fatphobia and ableism for himself and his patients, but also so his wife - who, while I hadn't seen her, he explained was about as big as he was - would have her own pain taken more seriously, being both fat and female. As he'd already explained, she hadn't been successfully diagnosed with endometriosis until she was symptomatic of full-blown appendicitis-levels of pain as an adult and her doctors were forced to stop blaming her pain on her weight.

Now, as I sit here reflecting... It's hard to believe that, thanks to this doctor's theory, I may finally be free from pain and dysphoria sooner than I imagined. It just took a doctor who could empathize with me to see me, and choose to take the scarier hill to fight on with me.

[skylarsblue]

»zenless zone zero«

Details of Belle's room, because I like her a lot and she deserves more attention.

[Desc: Belle's wooden desk. Featuring an industrial style lamp, a metal lock box under a standard black file box. There's a pair of white headphones with green detailing, and a clear plus(+) and minus(-) symbol for volume. A pencil holder that looks a bit like film, though it has numbers & letters. It holds a pair of scissors, a graphite pencil, an exacto blade/box cutter, a marker, and a mechanical pencils/pen. There's a scrap/sketch book in the center, brown and seemingly leather. There's a latch and band to keep it closed and it's covered in stamps, most notably one with a four leaf clover. On the wall are two post it notes, both with little doodles. This hints that she's creative. Either collecting stamps and stickers, which would align with the stickers all over her room and her pension for memory keeping (see the memory board the player can edit), and that she at least does small doodles, if not draw as a hobby.]

[Desc: Beside her orange box tv; which is inspired by vintage 70s/80s tube televisions with knobs/dials; is a game console on top of a VHS player. It's seemingly inspired by the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, based on it's shape. There are three game cartridges, one in the machine. The one in the console is half visible, but what we can see has a blue smiley face. The second cartridge with a visible sticker seems to be either a horror or "biohazard" type shooter game. Though that's my interpretation.]

[Desc: Beside her desk is a wall with pipes. On the lower pipe there are more post it notes with more small doodles, stuck to the pipe with small magnets. One features a small yellow star and three big question marks. Two features a figure running with their hands over their head, carrying a heart. Three has some illegible writing and an emoticon face. On the pipe above this one are VHS tape boxes. Most are in kanji I cannot read, but the ones I can are- (1) The Silence of the Butterflies (2) I'M NOT A BANGBOO (3) The Sixteenth Split. I like to imagine the first movie is maybe a reference to Silence of the Lambs, based on the title alone. Which, if it is, might mean Belle likes horror/psychological horror movies.]

[Desc: On the table beside her mini fridge is a hybrid music player. It plays records via a slit in the front, almost like a CD player. And there's a space for walkman tapes above that. The volume knob is notably loud, there are tiny numbers and Belle's set it to the second-to-last setting. There's a box of records beside it with two semi visible packages. The first one is in kanji I, again, cannot read. But my guess, based on the art, is some kind of alt style music. The one behind it has a barely visible animal mascot with vibrant blues & greens, and the sharp art style makes me think of electric rock or pop. Behind this is her night stand. On the nightstand is a blue "GameBoy" and a yellow mug that says 'LENMAN', which is also seen on a soda can in her room. Lemon soda, I would guess.]

[Desc: The wall beside Belle's (unmade) bed. There are five posters. One features art of a woman's face above the movie title; 'REVERSAL'. There is some silhouette art that vaguely looks like some ethereal monsters, followed by the movie tag line underneathe - "Night of the Ethereal Reversal". Might be a Night of the Living Dead reference. Which further makes me believe Belle likes horror movies. The second poster is covered by One & Three, which makes it pretty hard to know what it shows. What I can see is an unfinished title - "---- Slayer". There's eyes on some of the visible artwork and it looks vaguely like a record with scenes on it. The third poster features various Bangboos climbing away from a large, glowing, orange, Bangboo that seems to be "exploding" with energy, exposing its skeleton & heart. There's kanji I can't read, but under the kanji title is the word "THUNDER". And the words "BANGBOO POWER" are behind the artwork at the top. The fourth poster is one also seen downstairs in the Random Play store. The title is 'Coffee Mate'. Based on the style & energy of the artwork, my personal guess is that it's a romantic, slow paced anime film. The fifth & last poster is titles Ports Peak. The art is blue with a red chainsaw blade shape cutting through the middle, in the blade shape is the vague image of a man's side profile. Based on the blood splatter pattern & the chainsaw, this is likely a horror movie. The art makes me think of Evil Dead & Texas Chainsaw Massacre, personally.]

{Desc: Beside Belle's leather couch is a red electric guitar & an orange amp. On the couch is also one of her console controllers...which has no joy sticks, only a d pad, buttons, and bumpers. Also, she has stickers on her leather couch, clearly showing she gives no fucks.]

[Desc: On the floor, in a divot in the wall beside the small stairs that go up to her bed's raised platform is a skateboard & a framed poster. The skateboard features a green dinosaur/monster with it's mouth open. The bottom says FATE, likely the brand. The framed poster features two smiling tigers on the top & bottom of a logo, on a red & black striped background. Since she also has snowboard goggles in her room, I'm guessing she uses the skateboard when the weather is too warm for snow.]

[Desc: Next to Eous's charging station is a yellow dresser. On top of it is a boombox radio that has two mixtape spots. There's a small display with random colors that currently displays a pause symbol. It also has an antenna, which means it could be used as a standard FM/AM radio. Beside the boombox is a rabbit statue that Belle is using to hold a pair of black, green & blue snowboarding goggles. Small note, on Eous' coat is the words "Random Play - Staff", and his scarf has their name in small text.]

[Desc: At the end of Belle's bed is a pair of red shelves, and a pair of industrial metal & wood shelves. On the red shelves are three record sleeves. The small text on the albums is gibberish, but they're all made by 5AM Studios. The first and top one is black with white graffiti-bubble letters that say "3Z". R'n'B maybe? I've seen art like this for some R'N'B albums. Below it, the second album features some art of a Bangboo riding a cat through a ring of fire. Above the art is the word ZENLESS. The font & style give me, personally, some rock vibes. What subgenre of rock, I'm not sure. The last album is a art of a spider on a black & red ombre background, contrasting the spider, which features the same gradient in the opposite direction. The spider seems to feature the name of the band or album, but I can't tell what it says. I do know that this shit has to be a metal album. I'm like, 90% sure. On the industrial style shelves are some VHS tapes & a box. These tapes look like the type you buy for your own recordings, rather than ones with movies. Underneath that level is a technicolor piece of artwork in a frame. There's an illegible signature in the right bottom corner, meaning it's an autograph.]

[the-authoress-writes]

Wherever You Go Chapter Two

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Aviator!reader (Callsign: Thorn)

Moodboard by @bradshawsbaby

Written for @roosterforme’s Top Gun Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge

Synopsis: Tom Kazansky made a mistake.

Or rather, a series of mistakes.

1. He chose to take the assignment as an instructor at TOPGUN.

2. He fell in love with one of his students.

3. He broke her heart.

4. He chose to leave TOPGUN, and redeploy.

Now, he was stuck onboard the USS Nimitz with the woman whose heart he broke, with no way out.

Unbelievably, that’s not the problem.

Problem is, he still loves her.

Series Warnings: Teacher/Student relationship (but you already knew that), warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

Chapter Warnings: Navy-level cursing, slight sexual humor, sexual harassment, assault, a sort-of bar fight, and period-typical sexism.

Author’s Note: I am quite happy with this chapter, because once I forced myself to write it, it sort of came together fairly easily.

We have more tidbits of Thorn’s backstory, and a whole lot more Ice/Thorn interaction.

I can’t wait to see everyone’s reaction to this chapter!

Thank you so, so very much to @roosterforme for hosting the Top Gun Rocktober Fic Challenge, and for allowing me to use one of my favorite 80s rock ballads, “The Flame” by Cheap Trick.

Lyrics from the song will be peppered in throughout this series, because it’s too good not to, and the song is the reason this story exists, as it is what birthed the plotline.

A huge thank you and shout out to @thatsrightice, who helped me so much with the hop maneuvers last chapter, by researching the F-14 and A-4 high and low for me.

Special thanks also to @valmare, the fact that I am writing Top Gun/Top Gun: Maverick reader fic is all your fault; but thank you so much for dragging me down with you, it’s been an absolute joy!

Previously on “Wherever You Go”…

It took a beat, but then, several people in the crowd moved, and he saw her—her hair cascaded down her shoulders, as sharp eyes surveyed The O like it was the skies, dressed, unlike everyone else in the Navy who occupied this space, in civvies; a loose, white blouse tucked into jeans, cinched with a thick brown leather belt at her waist.

And everything seemed to fade into the background, the sight of her drowning out the sound of the bar, and Mav’s howling laughter.

Eventually, Mav’s boisterous laughter, no—cackling—could not be ignored, the shorter man practically screeching into his ear. “I called it—I fucking called it!!!” In an undertone, he continued, “Hell of a woman, isn’t she?”

Tom was sincerely regretting not wearing his Shooters, perceived dickishness be damned, as he fought the widening of his eyes, and directed his attention to protesting, “What are you talking about?” in a last ditch effort to divert, divert, divert.

“You’re into her, you asshole,” the other man hissed, leaning in, having at least some delicacy.

“I—it’s not like that,” he stammered, foundering for words, knowing there was blood in the water, and Mav was the proverbial shark. “I find her… interesting,” he awkwardly finished.

Mav rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, I’m sure you do; you’re lucky Sli’s not here to see your pining ass.

He’d probably say something stupid, like,” here, Mav deepened his voice in imitation of Slider, “‘I bet you’d like to invite her to study your NATOPS.’”

Tom cut his wingman a glare, before, as if magnetically pulled, his gaze slid back to Thorn as she moved through the bar. “I’m not pining, it’s—it’s purely a… a pilot-to-pilot professional interest, you know.”

He inwardly cringed at that, but knew that regardless of the word choice, this would definitely still be humiliating as hell, whether he admitted anything or not.

The smaller man scoffed so loudly, he idly wondered if the other side of the bar could hear it. “If that’s a purely professional interest, I’m a damn mermaid princess.

‘Cause you see, Ice, your mouth says no, but your eyes say yes.

They’re screaming it, actually.”

“Shut up, or I’ll tip you off your barstool,” Tom threatened without much heat.

“Like I’ll believe that, you love me too much.”

“And your flat ass is fucking lucky.”

Mav sighed, tapping the bottom edge of his bottle on the counter. “Insult to my magnificent ass aside, I don’t blame you, Ice, like I said, she is a hell of a woman.”

“I…” he paused, looking around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation, “—purely hypothetically; if I did have a… less-than professional interest in her—would you believe me if I denied it?”

His wingman looked at him as if he’d just randomly declared to everyone in The O that Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was the better pilot. “No.”

Exhale. “So, again—purely hypothetically—it’d be useless to keep deny—”

“—Yes.”

He rolled his eyes at the adamant interruption, but the silence quickly drew on as a viridian gaze looked at him expectantly.

Tom wrestled with himself, debating the implications and consequences of admitting, even to himself and one of his closest brothers, that he had a… decidedly un-professional interest in one of his students.

God, he felt like a creep even thinking it.

“I—as her instructor, there is a burden of responsibility upon me—”

Mav groaned, “Fuck’s sake, Tom, be honest with yourself and me, for crying out loud.

You don’t have to be “Ice-cold, no mistakes”, rulebook shoved so far up your ass you can taste each subsection, with me, of all people, the same guy who dated an Admiral’s daughter.

A fellow aviator is nothing.”

Tom sighed, “I don’t—I’ve never—” he frustratedly cut himself off, staring into the distance, attempting to collect the fragments of his dignity, Mav waiting patiently beside him, stalwart.

After a highly pregnant pause, he finally blurted, “It’s wrong, Mav, it’s so wrong.

How can I—she’s my student,” he desperately said.

“The heart wants what it wants,” his wingman replied, surprisingly gentle.

He buried his head in his hands, “Why couldn’t I have met her while I was deployed, Pete?”

A warm hand pat his shoulder. “Come on, Ice, it’s not that bad.

After graduation, when she’s no longer in your chain of command, you’re free to ask her out.

Until then, you’re bound by the no fraternization rule, but—”

“Are you trying to comfort me, or remind me of how pathetic I am?” he growled into his hands.

Tom could see the responding shit-eating grin even in the darkness of his palms. “Awww, you’re not pathetic, wingman mine, just a little lame—and I wasn’t done—no one ever said you can’t talk to her, Tommy boy.”

He lifted his head from his hands. “Talk.

To her.”

“No, to Ro,” the sarcasm dripped from Mav’s tone, “—yes, to her!

I mean, other than your repeated use of the word ‘what’ lately, you seem to be mostly capable of stringing together a sentence in front of her, so talk to her.”

“Well, fuck me, then,” he sarcastically moaned, the import of his confession hitting him like a 2x4.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d like her to,” the raven-haired aviator grinned.

Tom retorted, “Oh, fuck you t—” he stopped himself too late, realizing the plethora of jokes to be had with that retort.

And evidently, Mav had the same train of thought, judging from his chortle. “Didn’t think you were a—ménage kind of guy, Ice.”

After a quick glance around, he muttered, “Khuy.”

“Testa di cazzo.

Two can play that game, Thomas,” Mav smirked, making him snort.

(It wasn’t often his wingman whipped out the Italian, but it did come out every so often—it wasn’t really useful anyway; the only Italian the younger man remembered from his late Nonna were the curse words.)

Soon growing serious, he questioned, “How do I talk to her, Mav?”

“Generally, words work.”

“Pete!” Tom cried, lightly slapping his palm on the bar. “I’m serious here!

I’ve never met anyone like her—I—I don’t understand how—I mean—thank God you didn’t make a pass at her, or she’d probably never talk to me by sheer dint of being your friend.”

“Hey,” Mav pointed, “like I said, I don’t flirt with every woman with a pulse—I am capable of wanting relationships with the opposite sex that are not sexual.

And even if I was inclined to try and screw up a good friendship, I’d have less than a snowball’s chance in hell—not you, though, apparently.

Which; good for you!”

He froze. “What makes you think that I have a chance?”

The younger man took a relaxed sip of beer. “Believe me, you have a chance, and unless you want to remain a sad schmuck sitting at the bar with only his wingman for company, you have to talk to her.”

He sighed, gray eyes staring stubbornly ahead.

“Listen, do you need me to be your wingman here?

Because I’ll do it, Ice.”

“I’ll talk to her, okay?” Tom snapped, “Just… at least let me finish my drink?”

Mav sighed, and nodded, glancing over Tom’s shoulder, “Well, get sipping, Kazansky, because you’re not the only one who’s tallied her.”

One glance in the direction his wingman was looking made a furious, burning feeling rise in his chest; the eyes of quite a few men were tracking Thorn as she moved through the room.

She and Romeo were making a beeline for one of the tables near the back which seated most of their other students; Warlock and Shogun; Babe and Priest; and Belter and Elvis, which made the burning in his chest ease a little.

“She’s sitting with our students,” he observed.

“And?”

He smacked his lips, “That gives me some time, because one, I know they’re probably too scared of her, two, her RIO’s there, and three, no one’s going to try coming on to a woman sitting with seven other navy men.”

Mav’s gaze was incredulous. “I cannot believe you.

If I were you, I’d be over there right now.”

Evenly, he replied, “But I’m me and you’re you.

Are you on my wing or not?”

His wingman chugged the remainder of his beer, slamming the bottle down. “Fuck you, you know I am.

But let the record state that I am very much against this.”

Tom easily sipped the watering vodka on the rocks, confident he had time, while the other man frustratedly drank another bottle of beer.

He’d just signaled the bartender for another vodka on the rocks when he heard Thorn’s raised voice. “I told you, I’m not interested.”

His gaze snapped to the other end of the bar, where Thorn was standing, an enlisted navy man behind her.

The man said something into her ear, to which Thorn loudly insisted “No,” moving the slight distance from him the crowded bar area afforded her, and the next moment, when the man grabbed her arm, Tom rose from his barstool, Mav not far behind him, obviously having heard it too.

He began pushing through the incomprehensibly still-thick crowd, even as she wrenched her arm free, the action only sending the sailor into a fury.

“Bitch!” the man slurred, brutally yanking her back by her hair, causing Thorn to rightfully viciously elbow him in the gut, but unluckily, it only sent him staggering back slightly, his grip on her hair unrelenting.

The fury in Tom’s blood, which had surged back to the surface ever since he rose from his seat, froze into icy, deadly calm—he’d see this man arrested and dishonorably discharged by the end of the week, hook or by crook, he resolved.

Suddenly, his nebulously murderous thoughts and movement through the frozen crowd were interrupted by a loud, barked “Hey!!”

Romeo ran in, long legs eating up the distance, fury blazing in his eyes and emanating from his being, people parting for him like he carried the staff of Moses. “Get your hands off her!!” he said, pulling the sailor off of Thorn.

The enlisted man’s eyes widened, some of the drunken haze in his gaze clearing. “Easy, man, I didn’t know she was yours—”

“No one touches my pilot,” Romeo finished, snarling into his face.

“I—wait—pilot?” The asshole had the gall to frown. “You’re telling me the chick’s a—”

A dark hand smacked onto the enlisted’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “You just assaulted a TOPGUN student.

Meet Lieutenant __, also known as Thorn,” Warlock finished sternly, while Shogun also clamped a tight grip on the now-terrified enlisted man’s other shoulder.

“Congratulations, genius, you just attacked a superior officer—I’m sure the court martial’s going to love your suave charm,” Priest smarmily declared, a sarcastic smile on his face.

“C—court martial?” Seaman Dead Man, as Tom mentally dubbed him, stammered.

“Yeah,” Priest affirmed, “I’d say what you just literally pulled is some serious Conduct Unbecoming, am I right?” He turned to a serious Babe, who had his arms crossed.

“Yep,” his pilot replied.

“I—“ the sailor weakly protested.

“Save it for the MA, sailor,” Warlock warned, sharing a look with Shogun, before the two of them began to drag the enlisted man out of The O.

Behind him, Mav called out, “Hey Brian,” addressing one of the bartenders, which brought Tom back to reality.

As he made a beeline for Thorn, who had been rather forgotten in the ruckus, Tom faintly heard a man reply, “Already called the Masters-at-Arms, Mav,” which ever-so-slightly thawed the icy fire within him, knowing that the man who dared to touch Thorn was going to be arrested.

“Hey,” he softly said, carefully approaching, maintaining a polite distance, mindful of the dozens of eyes in the bar, “you okay?”

She looked up, face calm. “Yeah,” she breathed, but he could see that she was a little bit shaken—he didn’t blame her. “Nothing I’m not used to,” she smiled sharply.

Anything else was halted by the arrival of Romeo, whose uniform shirt seemed slightly more untucked than it had been moments ago, and whose knuckles, upon a swift glance, seemed a little redder than usual.

He looked into the placid face of the backseater, whose eyes held a challenge, daring Tom to call him out.

He nearly laughed at the surprise in Romeo’s eyes when all he gave was a minute nod, but the man seamlessly leaned down, hand on her shoulder, showing the concern he had the luxury of displaying as her RIO, “Thorn, I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, I should’ve been faster in the bathroom.”

“It’s fine,” she waved off, “it’s not your fault, Ro.

Blame that dickwad.

Or fuck, blame me—if I’d just worn my whites—”

“No,” he interjected, drawing the gaze of both pilot and RIO. “Whites or not, no means no.

Anyone with half a brain knows that.”

“Not him, apparently,” she smirked.

Another voice interrupted, “Lieutenant __ and Lieutenant Kinford?”

“Yes,” they replied in sync.

To his credit, the MA froze for only the minutest moment once he realized that Lieutenant __ was a woman. “Uh, I understand there was a disagreement?”

Tom stepped forward. “Yes.

The seaman Lieutenants Bates and Han were holding outside assaulted Lieutenant __, and her RIO, Lieutenant Kinford, defended her appropriately.

I can testify to that.”

The MA nodded. “And you are?”

“Lieutenant Tom Kazansky.

I’m Lieutenants __ and Kinford’s Junior Instructor at TOPGUN.

My co-instructor, Lieutenant Mitchell, and four more of our students can attest to the same story, as well as anyone in this bar; we all saw what happened.”

“TOPGUN, huh?

I’ll have to make a call to your CO, and you, Lieutenant Mitchell, Lieutenants __ and Kinford, and all your students will have to come with me back to base.

But if everything played out like you said it did, you should be free to go before it gets too late.”

“Thank you, I’ll let them know.”

“Be outside in five,” and with another professional nod, the MA made his way out.

“I’ll help round them all up,” murmured a Mav who had suddenly appeared at his elbow.

“Thanks.” Turning to Thorn and Romeo, he continued, “Thorn, if you’re physically alright, the two of you should get outside immediately—let’s not keep the MA waiting.”

She nodded, running a hand through her hair. “Yes, sir.”

He returned the nod, and went in search of the rest of their students.

In no time, Tom and Mav had gathered their students outside, and the MA scanned the row of naval officers, eyes landing on Thorn and Romeo at the end. “Lieutenant Kinford, you’ll be riding with me.”

His pilot immediately spoke up. “Sir, I don’t think that’s a wise decision.”

“Relax, Lieutenant, he’ll be in the front seat.” Addressing the whole group, he continued, “Due to regulations, you’ll all have to ride back to base as separately as you can.

Pilots and RIOs can ride together, but no more.”

Thorn’s face fell almost imperceptibly. “Sir, my RIO and I walked here from our housing, we came here straight from a deployment, neither of us have a car here at Miramar.”

“You can ride with me,” Tom spoke up.

She and the MA turned their gaze on him, the MA breaking the sudden silence. “It’s not ideal since you’re her superior officer… but I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you, sir,” she nodded.

“I’ll see you all on base.” The Master-at-Arms’ tone held a slight note of warning, promising repercussions if anyone decided to skip out on reporting tonight.

The group quickly dispersed, as Mav approached Thorn to give her a gentle shoulder punch, murmuring, “You okay, Acey?”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, you don’t have to baby me, Mav.”

“I know.

But we all promised, remember?

We’d look out for each other.”

Her eyes softened, “I know.

Sorry.”

“No problem.

And… you’re in safe hands with Ice; he’s one of a very few I’d trust to have my back and my wing.”

Fraternal warmth rushed through him at hearing the level of trust the other man had in him, a trust which was impossible a year ago.

“Thanks, Mav,” she breathed. “I’ll see you on base.”

Mav grinned crookedly at her, softly tapping her arm and walking to his bike, but not before sending Tom a smirk as he passed.

Tom decided to ignore the smirk, tilting his head in the direction of his car. “I’m over here.”

When he reached the driver’s side door of the Chevelle, he heard an incredulous, “This is yours?

I thought the truck was your car.”

He chuckled, “They both are.

I don’t usually take the Chevelle out, but… I felt she needed a drive today.”

Thorn ran a careful finger over the passenger’s side door, reverently breathing, “She’s gorgeous.

Is this the original paint?”

His smile widened, “Yeah, it is—my grandfather had it custom painted.

This was his; he left it to me in his will.”

“Wow, you’re lucky.” She paused, “That didn’t come out right—I mean—I’m sorry your grandfather died, I—”

“I know what you mean, it’s okay,” he laughed. “Come on, get in, you can admire Mally more later, I’d be happy to tell you about her.”

They both slid into the driver’s side and passenger’s side respectively, Thorn scanning the interior in awe. “The interior’s original too, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, my grandfather did the hard work, he kept her pristine, and all I had to do was keep it up.” He turned the key with a smile, knowing that Mally’s engine was in perfect condition, and if Thorn held the paint and interior in such reverence, the engine would elicit the same, if not a greater reaction.

Mally’s engine roared to life, evening out to her familiar purr, making Thorn’s jaw drop as she met his eyes, and he revved the engine with a smirk.

“Wow,” she breathed, “she sounds amazing.”

“I know,” he grinned, and cautiously reversed out of the spot, turning out to the main road back onto base.

There was a pause before she inquired, “If I may ask, why is she named Mally?

It’s an unusual name.”

Tom hesitated.

Very few people knew he could speak Russian, and even fewer had heard him speak it.

It was something that could be received negatively in this time of Cold War, but… something told him this secret of sorts was safe with her. “Malysh.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My Dedushka, my grandfather, was the one who named her.

Malysh is Russian for baby, but he shortened it to Mally.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, he feared that he was wrong about her, but then she huffed a laugh. “That completely tracks.

I actually should have seen that coming—I mean, it’s right there, for God’s sake: Kazansky.

That’s a big Eastern European neon sign,” she gestured grandly.

He waited for the question he expected, but was surprised when it didn’t come. “…That’s it?

You’re not going to ask me if I’m a Russian spy?”

Thorn sent him a wry glance. “Even if you were, would you really tell me?”

That startled a laugh from him. “I’m not, but good point.”

“Here’s the thing, I believe you, but…” she leaned towards him, making her perfume overpower the scent of his cologne and the leather polish he used on Mally’s interior, “let me just say that that’s exactly what a spy would say.”

He fought the urge to swallow thickly at her proximity, and instead coolly replied, “I plead the fifth.”

She laughed again, and leaned back, allowing him to relax into his own seat, and a comfortable silence filled the car.

Soon, however, he registered her fidgeting. “So, uh…” she began, “the other guys kind of got a head start on us… do you think we’ll be the last to get onto base?”

Tom frowned, “They didn’t get that much of a head start on us, I think we’ll be fine.”

She inhaled evenly, and he could practically hear the gears turning in her head, which made him glance at her.

A moment later, it clicked. “…But, just to be sure… maybe a little afterburner won’t hurt anything.”

Thorn looked at him with pure joy and excitement, and warmth rushed through him at the fact that it was him who had put that joy and excitement in her gaze.

In that moment, he knew he’d do anything to keep that light in her eyes.

And as he gunned the engine down the road to her jubilant whoop, he knew.

He was really fucked.

When they arrived at Viper’s office, they saw that Mav was already there—not surprising, given the unholy speeds at which the other pilot rode his motorcycle.

“Hey,” Mav greeted, “you beat everyone else here.”

“Yeah,” Tom replied, “we took a shortcut.”

His wingman sent him a mildly skeptical look, but he refused to budge.

“Lieutenant __.”

A look down the hall showed a determined Jester striding towards them, sending all of them to attention, the three of them chorusing a “Sir.”

“At ease.”

“Would you like us to report to you now, sir?” Tom asked.

“No, they called Viper in, you’ll be reporting to him, I just thought I’d—check on you—all of you.”

“I’m alright, sir, nothing I can’t handle,” Thorn replied.

“Lieutenant Kinford… defused the situation, sir,” Mav interjected, sending Tom a glance as if to say, “See—I can say things diplomatically.”

“I see.”

The doors opening halted anything further, and they all turned to see the MA flanked by the seaman and Romeo, the rest of their students taking up the rear.

Everyone stood at attention upon stopping in front of Jester, who repeated the command of “At ease,” before addressing the MA. “Captain Metcalf will be here momentarily.”

As if the statement had summoned said man, the doors opened yet again, admitting Viper, whose ever-so-slightly rumpled khakis were the only indicator of the late hour call-in.

After getting the bare bones from the MA, Viper directed him and the seaman to one of the unoccupied offices, calling Warlock and Shogun to his office first.

Pair by pair, the students reported to Viper, each one taking no more than a few minutes.

Romeo was eventually called in, Thorn sending him a supportive look, and after a slightly longer duration of time than the others, the RIO stepped out with a warm smile. “You’re up next, Thorn.”

She inhaled, and rose, spine straight, carrying herself as if she were in whites like everyone else, and he admired the confident way she walked into Viper’s office, nerves for her sake bubbling up as the door shut behind her.

Against his will, his knee began bouncing, and he forced himself to breathe evenly, trying to keep his composure.

“Speed it up a little, Ice, why don’t you,” Mav muttered, dropping into the seat next to him, which Thorn had vacated.

“Like you’re not worried,” he muttered back.

“I am worried, but Viper’s fair.

And if everyone told the truth, which I think they did, Acey’s gonna get off without too much trouble.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong, Mav, she defended herself,” he indignantly murmured.

A heavy sigh. “I know, but… I know from experience that she’ll still be punished to some extent.

Viper can’t let her off the hook completely.

It’s just how it is for people like me and her.”

“It’s not right,” Tom grit out.

“It’s not.

But you can’t do anything about it right now.”

“I will, one day,” he promised.

Mav chuckled, “I can easily see you as CO of Miramar one day.”

He pulled a face, knowing his hopes went higher than CO of an Air Station.

“Higher, huh?” The other pilot read him like a book. “What, you aiming for COMPACFLT or something?”

“I’d settle for that,” he grinned.

His wingman burst into laughter. “I can see you as an Admiral, Ice.” Sobering, Mav continued, “I know you’ll get there.

But I’m still going to be the better pilot.”

The well-tread argument was stopped by Viper himself opening his door. “Kazansky, Mitchell.”

The two of them sent each other uneasy glances before rising and entering the Captain’s office, flanking Thorn out of instinct, and snapping off crisp salutes.

“Lieutenant Kazansky reporting, sir.”

“Lieutenant Mitchell reporting, sir.”

The salute having been returned, the Captain declared, “At ease.” Viper pinched the bridge of his nose. “Everyone’s stories lined up; Lieutenant __ was assaulted by a drunk seaman, and she used appropriate force to defend herself until her RIO… defused the situation.

And I’m assuming your stories would be the same.”

“Yes, sir,” the two wingmen chorused.

“Now, I have a dilemma.

As I’m sure you all understand, Lieutenant __ here is in a unique position, as the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN.

I will make it very clear; I believe that Lieutenant __ was perfectly in the right to elbow that seaman, and I will ensure that he is demoted and reassigned at the least, and dishonorably discharged, if I can help it.

However, there are those who will not see things the same way, and they will believe that doing what is right is wrong.

So… I have no choice but to discipline you, Lieutenant __.”

Tom’s indignant, “Sir!” rang out at the same time as Thorn’s resigned, “Yes, sir.” and determined to be heard, he continued, “Sir, this isn’t right; you can’t kick her out of TOPGUN—”

“I was not done yet, Lieutenant Kazansky,” Viper warned, not unkindly. “I am not kicking Lieutenant __ out of the program, that would be a waste of talent.

But she will be disciplined.

Because if I do not, with the scrutiny that she is naturally under, due to her gender, it will be called into question why she was not disciplined for assaulting a seaman.”

“Sir, he attacked her—we all saw it!” he replied, ire building, earning a glance from Mav.

“I understand that, Kazansky, but interrupt me or raise your voice again, you leave me no choice but to discipline you as well,” Viper evenly stated, warning in his tone.

Tom swallowed thickly, clenching his jaw tightly.

His CO leaned forward in his seat, folding his arms on his desk. “Now, the only reason I am doing this is because should I not discipline her, some asshole Admiral—of which there are many, believe me—could decide to question my judgment upon hearing of this event, due to the report that I must file, and he could choose to take Lieutenant __’s discipline into his own hands; and his punishment would be much harsher than mine.

Her being stripped of her wings is a possibility, depending on which asshole sees.

I am not going to allow even the possibility of that.

Again, you understand why I am doing this, Lieutenant __?”

“I understand, sir,” Thorn evenly replied.

“Good.” The venerable aviator opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a file, Thorn’s service file, Tom realized, when he saw her service photo on the top page. “I see you have a degree in aeronautics and are a certified mechanic in both motor vehicles and aircraft, Lieutenant __?”

“Yes, sir.”

Well—no wonder Thorn and Mav got along like a house on fire.

The Captain nodded, having reached a decision. “Lieutenant __, this is your punishment: you will assist the aircraft maintenance technicians after hours, with any work they assign you, for four weeks, to be supervised by Lieutenants Kazansky or Mitchell.” Viper shifted to look both Tom and Mav in the eye. “You two will organize a suitable schedule depending on your respective classwork.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied.

Despite the fact that Thorn didn’t move, Tom could feel the relief course through her. “Thank you, sir.”

Viper smiled slightly, nodding at her. “You’re all dismissed.”

And trailing Thorn and Mav, as Tom walked out of the office, just as he was also about to relax, he realized just what Thorn’s punishment entailed: he would be spending time after hours, alone—

With her.

God, he was really fucked.

To be continued…

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Faceclaims

Russian and Italian glossary

Disclaimer: translations are from the interwebs.

Please don’t kill me.

Khuy: this is both a prayer and a word that inexplicably means dick or dickhead.

Testa di cazzo: again, dickhead.

I headcanon Mav as having Italian heritage, because… well, all that fire and passion—I don’t know, I just get Italian vibes from him.

Masters-at-Arms are the US Navy equivalent of the Army’s Military Police.

Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and a Gentleman is Article 133 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

(Technically, enlisted personnel cannot be prosecuted under this law, but let’s just say that Babe was just trying to scare the seaman.)

However, a clause of Article 134 makes punishable conduct which has a tendency to bring the service into disrepute or which tends to lower it in public esteem, and I’d say what that seaman did counts.

Special thanks again to @valmare for the Ice has a Chevelle headcanon!

Upon a little research, I couldn’t find any evidence of black metal flake paint being a factory paint option for the Chevelle, so… custom paint job it is!

Cold War

What “I plead the fifth” means.

Service Whites

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[squirrelshooter]

Just Stella enjoying the Sing Love concert :)

[kagamine-rin]

Black ★ Rock Shooter - Real Action Heroes (No.572) - 1/6 - White Edition (Medicom Toy)

[yarakami-meiosei]

I mainly post illustrations on Twitter, but I created a Tumblr account because some people commented that they wanted me to create one as well. This is one of my favorite illustrations and I have uploaded the same one to DA in the past.

[yemme]

Leave The World Behind... (Spoilers)

This Sam Esmail Netflix movie is a gem... It doesn't just give us insight into what could be if our nation pushes the reset button... To have us become prey as Americans... and who will be ready. It dishes out some characterizations for societies stereotypes for a demographic.

Julia Roberts: Amanda, scene of her listening to R&B in the car (Blackstreet). You can tell she used to ride black dick in college. When George comes to the door the racism sets in... the man is wearing a suit with his daughter as a companion but FEAR sets in. Can't trust, doesn't believe black excellence can achieve this house even the expensive car. Finally that fear dissipates and leads to her wanting to fuck him down while her husband is outside.

Mahershala Ali: George, the docile negro. To acquire in this world one must play by a set of rules. It's evident he's done so. Non combative, don't rock the boat and accommodate. When his daughter talks to him while they're sleeping in the basement after the family returns... it's eye opening to his submissiveness. Are you prepared to stand strong for us because her strength will not tolerate his weakness.

Ethan Hawke: Clay, King Carefree... smoked all his brain cells away since his teenage years that he only functions with a wife assist. Hasn't thought for himself in ages.

Myha'la Herrold: Ruth, the problematic black woman. Her assertiveness is an issue. Dominance makes people uneasy. Honesty and intelligence seen as attitude. The hair wet commentary, can't just exist. Fast, have you ever fucked your students, hyper sexualized.

Charlie Evans: Archie... Grade A little prick with the weakest gene code. Killed the role of a young gamer, horny without a AK-47.

Vanessa Aspillaga: Salvadora, the housekeeper that no one ever listens to when speaking facts because somehow society believes speaking Spanish is a lack of intelligence and/or subhuman.

Kevin Bacon: Danny, straight shooter, military ready... but a big softy.

Farrah Mackenzie: Rose/Rosie... to be seen and not heard. Creating a bubble that you live in with blinders is a happy place. It's not just about technology but a way of life. It leads to selfishness where even a simple thought of caring about an outside entity is foreign, alien. Quintessential white woman.

It's giving...

[xbuster]

The eye flame is part of White Rock Shooter’s hair…..