#;;Flame's Impostor;;

[hotteststar]

- SCARS - jegulus microfic

"Can I..?" James had felt inadequate the moment he'd said those two words.

He'd felt wrong, he'd felt like he was forcing his hand too much. And he didn't want to force anything, especially with his Regulus. Because James knew how many times Regulus had felt forced, and he didn't want to add even one to the count. However, when Regulus' shirt had slipped off his body during one of their secret dates, revealing his arms covered in thick red and white cuts, James had to ask. He couldn't act like it was nothing, cause it wasn't.

And now, now that he'd asked, now that he was still holding his hand in mid-air to touch his boyfriend's violated wrists, James felt disgusted for not having helped him sooner, for not having noticed.

The cuts were many. Thick, he could barely see the pristine skin underneath. Some were old, healed for months now, others were new, James could tell by the fiery red color that made them look like burning flames.

After some moments Regulus had nodded very slowly, and James, almost as if he didn't want to make too much noise, had held his breath as he ran his light fingers over Regulus' pale skin.

James had caressed those cuts, had touched them softly and treated them with care. And when he had looked up, his eyes had met the other's grey ones, who could barely hold back his tears.

"It's okay, my starlight.." James had whispered softly, continuing to caress the other and pulling him closer "I love you, you know that, right?"

At that point Reg couldn't take it anymore, so he had just cried. He had cried like a little kid, sobbing, and he had thrown himself against his boyfriend's arms, and James had held him tight.

"I hate you." Regulus had muttered amidst that river of tears "I really do, i swear Potter. You're too perfect, it gets on my nerves."

And James had laughed, with that laugh of his so similar to the rays of the sun, and Regulus had smiled amidst the tears, because the sunlight had always been his favorite.

tbh i don't know what this is i just felt like writing ig

also help me is this good?? i fear i may have impostor syndrome

[bullet-prooflove]

The War Correspondent: Russell Shaw x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @Claymoresofinfamy23 @mqdhvtter @bribow010 @encounterthepast

Companion piece to: Home

Russell’s relationship with you starts because of mysterious message left on his cell phone by Marcus Madden, a retired war correspondent who used to be attached to his unit in the Army.

“Russell, I need to see you. It’s about Dex…”

Dex was a Lieutenant that was killed during a firefight back when they were deployed and one of Russ’s closet friends. Russell had been the one to escort the coffin all the way back home, to stand guard until the funeral.

When Russell turns up at Marcus’s house, he’s greeted by an inferno, cloying smoke and flames licking their way up into the night sky. The fire crew are already on the scene trying to put out the blaze but Russ already knows there won’t be any survivors.

It’s a day later that he turns up at your door. He knows Marcus had a daughter who was a Medic in the service, that when she left, she set up shop as a P.I. It’s taken him a while to track you down because you’re unlisted.

When you open the door he doesn’t expect you to be so breathtaking. You must take after your mother, he thinks as he introduces himself.

“Your father left me a message.” He begins and he’s granted access almost immediately.

It turns out you’ve been looking into articles your father was working on before he died. His laptop and hard drives may have burned up in the fire but you have access to his cloud. The two of you compare notes, he fills you in about Dex and you manage to narrow down the story your father was working on.

A motivational speaker whose earned hundreds of thousands of dollars describing his experiences as a veteran. His name Dex Hutton.

“It’s not him.” Russell tells you as he studies the documentation and images of this assholes. “The events he described are the same but Dex is dead, he has been since 2016.”

You spend the rest of the evening investigating the impostor. You manage to ascertain his name is Ray Smyth, that he worked in admin services during his time in the Army, typing up mission reports before he was rewarded with an honourable discharge, never seeing combat. He started attending veterans meetings using Dex’s name, telling his war stories before he was asked to speak during a fundraiser and his career took off there.

“He has an event tonight.” You say and Russell is already pulling out his credit card to book tickets.

The two hour session is the most excruciating thing that Russell has ever had to sit through. He listens to this asshole dictating his friend’s life, recounting those stories as if they were his own and it sends a pulse of rage through him. It isn’t until your hand comes to rest on his clenched fist, fingers slipping into the grooves of his knuckles that he allows himself to exhale because no matter how bad this is for him, it’s much worse for you.

It's at the end of the session when Smyth is signing books that he’s arrested for your father’s murder. You’d sent the evidence you’d collated to the police before you’d entered the conference room. Russ would have preferred to kill the motherfucker but this punishment is much worse for a man of Smyth’s character. He’s being eviscerated in the press, his lies exposed. It’s the humiliation that will kill him, you tell Russ and it does long before the trial starts when they discover him hanging in his cell.

Before he returns to his life with The Horizon Group, Russ leaves you his number, jotting it down on one of your post it notes.

“Just in case.” He says, squeezing your hands between his.

You don’t expect him to attend the funeral, but he does with the other surviving members of his unit, all clad in their dress blues to honour your father. He stays behind in the aftermath, helping to clean up the remains of the wake. He ends up sleeping on the couch because you spend the night drinking bourbon and swapping stories. When you wake up the next day he’s gone, the sheets and pillows neatly folded up on the arm of the sofa.

He checks in often after that, dropping by for coffee, taking you out for lunch. He tells himself it’s what your father would have wanted but the truth is he enjoys spending time with you. You don’t pull punches, your wicked smart and you make him laugh. Just the thought of your smile is enough to make his heart beat a little faster in his chest.

Lunches turn to dinner and before he knows it, Russ is in falling in love.

It isn’t him that makes the first move it’s you. He’s too aware of the circumstances of how all of this started, he doesn’t want to take advantage of the situation. When he walks you to the doorstep, he says goodnight but before he can leave, your hand slips into his pulling him back to you and that’s when it happens. You kiss him and Russell, he’s never felt anything like it.

You take him to bed that night, undressing him slowly, hands chasing all over his body with delicate, lingering touches that set his nerve endings ablaze. Everything before you has been fast, hard, rough but this is soft, tender, reverent.

He spends hours tangled up in you, his name on your lips as he loves you like he has never loved anybody else. When he wakes up the next morning, he sticks around, making coffee and breakfast because for the first time in his life Russell doesn’t want to leave, not until he has to.

“The next time you’re back in town…” You begin when it is his time to go and Russell’s palm comes to rest upon the nape of your neck, drawing you for a kiss.

“Oh honey.” He whispers against your lips. “I’ll be here at weekend if you’ll have me.”

“Always.” You promise him, your fingers running through his hair. “There’ll always be a place for you, right here with me.”

Love Russ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[knightsbrig]

Swap AU Nezuko!!! Let’s gooooooo!!!!

Part two of my swap au!

I have the designs for Inosuke, Genya and Giyuu mostly finished, so you’re gonna be getting some healthy doses of art and LORE from me about them in the AU as well.

For now though, here’s what Nezuko is up to:

Tanjirou gets sick and is unable to make the trip down the mountain, and Nezuko, being the adorable second-oldest, offers to go in his stead.

When she returns, she finds all of her family dead except Tanjirou, who is nowhere to be found.

She’s discovered by Tomioka Giyuu in an unresponsive state— she won’t talk, doesn’t react even when he carries her away to Shinobu to get checked out.

Nezuko is mute from this point forward, she can still communicate in other ways, like through writing (I could see her making her own form of sign language that those who are closest to her know as well)

Even if she can’t talk, after she learns that it was a demon who slaughtered her family, Nezuko makes one thing very clear. She wants to become a demon slayer. She is out for BLOOD.

She starts out as Giyuu’s Tsugiko

NOTE: I swapped out Giyuu and Shinobu, so while they both have kept their original sets of skills, Giyuu is still the Water Hashira, and Shinobu is still adept with poison and medicine, Tomioka is the one who hides an ocean of rage with a sweet smile and Shinobu has been plagued with an impostor syndrome so bad that she’s stepped back from the fighting side of the corps entirely (I don’t see this lasting forever, but for now she is not in any position to take up the sword again.)

This is where she meets Kanao, another one of Giyuu’s Tsugiko who I have made the bold choice of swapping with Inosuke! Which means that eventually all of you will get to see unhinged Kanao who wears a terrifying giant dragonfly mask and breaks into people’s homes.

But it turns out that Nezuko, while decent with water-breathing, isn’t actually all that compatible with it. Because she was never taught the Hinokami Kagura like Tanjirou, she has to look outwards to other breathing styles for other solutions to get stronger.

(eventual flame-breathing Nezuko eventual flame-breathing Nezuko)

That’s mostly it for this post, but if you want to follow the lore of this swap au, check out my last post on Tanjirou’s design! It also has LORE.

(I might even write a bit of a fic on this if enough people are interested?)

[bonefall]

I will cry (in a good way) if the theme of the arc is “the love was there. it didnt change anything. it didnt save anyone. there were just too many forces against it. but it still matters that the love was there”

I REALLY hope that I can do something like that. Again, BB really tries to stay in line with where canon goes and follow it while fixing its themes, but like...

With all the fixes I've done for TBC and below, where the last arc left off on Shadowsight giving up something he'd always wanted (his lightning-based connection to StarClan, blasting it back at Ashfur to hold him down) and the sacrifice of Bristlefrost to knock the holy beast out of heaven... something feels really cool about being able to follow that up with an arc that's very melancholic and painful.

Heartstar doing something DRASTIC to try and stop another Clan from falling apart, compelled to get more violent to keep her claws over it, driven by the fear of The Kin repeating itself and the fury of her dead child

Dovewing watching her sister take power in ThunderClan, knowing things are going to get VERY frustrating

Ivypool herself vowing she's not going to use this new status for personal gain... but then she kinda Does, unable to put down a DESPERATION to reconnect to a sister who doesn't want to see her

I kinda hope I can also find a way to explore Bumblestripe's feelings here, too. He JUSt had a whole journey in Ferncloud's Parting, and he comes back and LOOK! A perfect opportunity to justify how much you HATE Heartstar and Dovewing and all of ShadowClan! It would be SO easy to let your heart grow bitter again, wouldn't it? What will you decide, Bumblestripe?

Lightleap struggling with her failure to enter the Dark Forest, feelings of uselessness and helplessness, losing her best friend

Berryheart herself radicalizing a portion of ShadowClan, as Heartstar tries to prevent another Clan from falling apart, her own is pulling at its stitches.

Squirrelflight having saved Bramblestar from the Dark Forest, NO CAT LEFT BEHIND, only for him to show his true colors AGAIN and try to get into petty drama with her, her sympathy evaporating in an instant

Just. Everything with Sparkpelt and her kids. She ISN'T Firekin in BB-- she chose the names Finch and Flame WITH and FOR her mate Larksong.

Nightheart having a new name foisted on him and making himself believe it was a choice-- and then Bramblestar is dethroned, Sunbeam is telling him how much she loves his family, there's a new journey for glory in front of him, and... there's so many things to think about that he just doesn't.

And then he comes home to find they're OUT of chances to give him. And he's traveled far and is able to FINALLY internalize... he blew it. Didn't recognize or appreciate what he had, when he had it

Bramblestar isn't the big strong cool grandpa leader he thought he was, he's a disgraced elder, and he has to wonder... how much of this HATE for his family was Nightheart's own? How much was the Impostor? How much was Bramblestar? How much was his own inability to self-reflect?

Frostpaw's entire family turning on itself

Finding out that Curlfeather was behind the plot that killed her own father, Reedwhisker.

That Podlight, her funny sillyman uncle, was ALSO in on this the whole time, plus her dear friend Splashtail.

Still just a kid, left to agonize over how much of it was LOVE and how much of it was MANIPULATION. Where one ended and where the other began.

The love is there. The love was always there-- even when you didn't know it. It was strong, and it was beautiful, but it's NOT a fix-all. It isn't the hero that will save you. It isn't the medicine to fix you. It isn't the shield that will protect you. Love is mortal.

And when it dies, it dies in pieces. Like a fire in its ashes and its embers. The same love in one heart will burn forever, and for others, its cinders are quickly doused.

A painful arc, of betrayals, broken promises, last chances blown to rubble, and good intentions paving the way to hell.

[the-authoress-writes]

Wherever You Go Chapter One

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.

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

He fell in love with one of his students.

He broke her heart.

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) with no real age gap, warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

Warnings: Here be cursing, because these are people in the Navy.

I don’t think there’s anything else, though.

Author’s Note: “It’s only going to be a oneshot.”

Yeah, freaking right.

This took forever (become a church musician, they said, it’ll be fun, they said, you’re in charge of the choir for the Advent season and Christmas while the choir director is on medical leave), but I’m fairly happy with how this turned out.

I think.

The impostor syndrome do be impostoring.

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, by researching the F-14 and A-4 high and low for me.

Special thanks also to @valmare, the fact that I am writing Tom Kazansky x 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”…

And as he ate Carole’s heavenly consolation in a cookie, Tom reflected on just how he’d ended up in this position.

Two months ago…

“So, you looking forward to teaching the next generation of stick jocks like us, Ice?” Mav spoke, barely intelligible around the food he had in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak whatever language that was, because it definitely wasn’t English.” Tom deadpanned, looking up from his forkful of the fairly-decent facsimile of scrambled eggs from the famed Officer’s Mess Hall of NAS Miramar.

Mav rolled his eyes and hastily swallowed his own forkful of eggs. “I said, are you looking forward to teaching the next generation of pilots like us, Ice?”

“Like me?

Yes.

Like you?

No.”

With Slider’s approval, he had taken the instructor assignment after it was offered to him shortly after the Layton, he and Slider wanting a little stability for two or three years—maybe even four—the Layton mission having shaved off what felt like a whole decade from their lifespan.

The fact that he was going to be able to fly and show off—sorry—instruct, was a nice bonus.

And the fact that his wingman, the only other pilot who could hold a candle to him, was also an instructor, was another plus.

They’d kick the asses of the hotshots they were going to teach, no problem.

“Oh, come on, you know I’m the best,” Mav grinned, nearly maniacally.

Tom put his scrambled eggs in his mouth, and made a show of chewing and swallowing, before replying, “Second best,” gesturing with his fork.

“I’m the best and you know it,” Mav practically vibrated.

Tom squinted at his wingman. “How much sugar did you put in your coffee?”

The other pilot froze guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed—hyper Mav was even more of a chaotic gremlin than normal Mav.

The younger man had an incredibly high, almost unnatural, tolerance for sugar, but put enough of it in his system, and you got one Pete Mitchell who could fly without a jet.

Tom had personally seen the other man put what seemed like half a sugar bottle in one cup of coffee. “Why?”

Mav pouted, looking like a child, and not the twenty-four year-old naval aviator he was. “I just wanted to indulge myself a little, Ice, ‘cause, you know, we’re instructors—together—we’re gonna kick ass—it’s gonna be great!”

“I know we’re gonna kick ass, but you’re not going to be able to instruct if you’re vibrating so much they can’t even see you,” Tom chuckled, shaking his head, trying to figure out how he could burn off Mav’s extra energy before they, along with Viper and Jester, had to head to the classroom to greet their new students later that morning.

“I know—but I just wanted something a little sweet as a treat,” Mav murmured, green eyes cast down and glazed with shame, and he got a glimpse of the child his wingman must have been over fifteen years ago.

He softened on the younger pilot, and reached out to ruffle the raven hair with a soft smile. “‘m not mad at you, Mav, it’s okay.”

Mav pulled away with a grimace and a slap at Tom’s hand, before fussing with his dark hair, but the familiar light returned to the other man’s eyes, though with considerably less mania than two minutes ago.

They continued eating, but Tom’s devious side reared its head. “You do know what this means, though, right?”

“Wha’?”

Tom nearly laughed right there.

Mav had half a forkful of eggs balanced on his lower lip.

“You and I are going to go for a little run around the south hangars, to burn off that energy.”

An intense green stare fixed on him, clearly considering. “Okay, fine—I might… might have overdone it a little bit with the sugar packets.”

“A ‘little’, huh?

Good for you, bud, getting more self-aware.”

“Fuck you, Kazansky,” Mav smirked.

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Tom grinned. “Come on, finish up, so we can get a decent shower after our run.”

“You okay there, old man?” came the smug voice not far above his head.

“Two—two years, that’s all you have on me, Mav,” Tom muttered, massaging the ankle and knee of his right leg, stretched out on the bench of the instructor’s locker room, mentally cursing the old injuries he’d sustained there from a bad ejection he and Sli endured during one of their first deployments, on the Constellation, when the arresting gear failed because a new crewman didn’t check the weight on the valve of the wire.

It was why he had to wear a wrap on his knee and ankle whenever he and Slider played volleyball.

Mav continued, “You know I was gonna kick your ass running even if I wasn’t amped up on sugar, right?

Tall people wear out faster—that’s what you get for being freakishly tall.”

Tom frowned. “If I’m freakishly tall, what’s Merlin?”

Long pause.

Smirk.

“No,” Mav accusingly pointed, “I refuse to fall for that—I will not speak ill of my RIO, even though I’m his teacher.”

Tom chuckled.

Merlin had been lucky to be selected for TOPGUN again, though it was with the caveat that he wouldn’t be able to win the trophy in his session, as his pilot was going to be an instructor.

Merls had taken it well in stride, glad to be at TOPGUN, even if it meant he’d only graduate, as a reserve RIO for his session.

“Hey, did you hear?

History’s being made this session—we’re teaching the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN,” Tom remarked, once he’d eased the ache in his knee and ankle.

“Yeah, I know—and I know her; hell of a pilot,” Mav nodded. “Hell of a woman too.”

“Oh?” a blond brow rose wryly.

“Yeah, I met her two or so years ago, when the Black Aces chopped in on the Big E.

Callsign’s Thorn.

And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Mav’s voice was slightly muffled as he dug through his locker for a stick of deodorant. “Like you think I know her… carnally.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t flirt with any woman with a pulse.”

“Only most,” Tom nodded sagely, a smirk tugging his lips, even though his wingman couldn’t see it.

A finger was flipped in his direction over a shoulder. “Get in your khakis already, Icy-Hot-Man.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fuck you, Mav.”

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Mav threw back, and the shit-eating grin was audible in his voice, which made Tom secretly smile, to know his wingman and brother was happy.

After the two of them managed to get into their khakis in record time, they came up to the building with their classroom right with Jester and Viper, who spotted them and waved off their salutes. “Kazansky, Mitchell.

It’s good to see you both.

You ready.”

It was more statement than question, but despite the stoicism on the Vietnam veteran’s face, Tom could see the pride in his CO’s eyes, and the added glint of paternal pride, when he looked at Mav.

Though it made him sad to see that, reminding him of what he used to have, Tom was glad that the other aviator had a paternal influence in his adult life.

He’d had one before—Mav, on the other hand, hadn’t.

He really missed his Dedushka.

He pushed the thought away in time to see Viper gesture to follow him and Jester inside.

They all slipped their garrison caps off once they were under the fluorescent lights of the building, and the classroom door was in sight after a short walk.

“Alright,” Viper sighed, gaze running across all of them, a smile reminiscent of his callsign on his face, “time to school another batch of hotshots.

Let’s begin.”

The two wingmen exchanged a little grin, before squaring their shoulders and following Jester inside as Viper trailed behind.

“ATTENTION!!” Jester barked, striding to the front, Tom and Mav moving to the right side of the classroom, opposite the TV, following the order like everyone else in the room.

“At ease.”

At this, they all moved to parade rest, Tom and Mav having the luxury of clasping their hands before them, while Jester picked up a clipboard. “I will be calling out the driver and RIO teams.

After I call both your names, make yourselves known.

Lieutenant Solomon Bates, callsign “Warlock”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Kenneth Han, callsign “Shogun”.”

“Present, sir!” an Asian man about Tom’s height, and a tall African-American man enthusiastically chorused.

“Lieutenant Stephen Ruth, callsign “Babe”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Timothy Martin, callsign “Priest”.”

“Here, sir!”

“Lieutenant Edward Arellano, callsign “Belter”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Gabriel Presleigh, callsign “Elvis”.”

“Yes, sir!”

Lieutenant Henry Baker, callsign “Snackbar”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Matthias Novak, callsign “Links”.”

“Sir!”

“Lieutenant Julian Howell, callsign “Ash”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Randall Simmons, callsign “Igor”.”

“Up and ready, sir!”

The pilot, Howell, it was plain to see, had an arrogant, smug look on his face, almost like he felt it was inevitable he’d be at TOPGUN, and Tom sent Mav a sideways glance, which the other man returned.

Any hop with that particular pair was going to be interesting, and it was clear from the look on his wingman’s face, that his immediate dislike of the pilot was shared by Mav.

Tom looked forward to him and Mav educating Howell as to who were the best pilots, in the final hops.

“And finally, Lieutenant __ __, callsign “Thorn”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Emmett Kinford, callsign “Romeo.””

“Yes, sir!” came a resonant alto and an even, low baritone, the call jarring insofar as it was to hear a woman’s voice mixed with that of a man’s in this room, heretofore the demesne of men.

Both had even expressions on their faces, pilot and RIO gazing straight ahead, while the OCD part of Tom’s mind registered that their khakis were in better form than even his own, ribbons not the slightest bit out of place, with creases you could cut yourself on, and that was saying something.

Her hair was carefully pulled into the regulation tight bun, not a single strand out of place, and her RIO’s dark waves were also the picture of military perfection.

“You may be seated.” Jester said after a beat, casting his gaze shrewdly around the room. “I am Commander Rick Heatherly—callsign Jester.

I am the Executive Officer of Fighter Weapons School, known to all naval aviators as TOPGUN, and your Lead Opposing.

Each one of you have been selected for a very specific reason; to become the best of the best’s best.

Blinds.”

The room went dark as the blinds were shut, and the familiar video began playing, the familiar speech being recited.

Soon, Jester finished his speech, calling for the blinds to be opened.

Light flooded into the room, and Tom fought to look dignified, not squinty, even as the sun assaulted his eyes.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to your Junior Instructors, and this school’s Secondary Opposing; Lieutenant Tom Kazansky, callsign “Iceman”, and Lieutenant Pete Mitchell, callsign “Maverick”, last year’s Top Gun, and second place finisher respectively—”

Both he and Mav somehow straightened further, nodding professionally at their class.

“—and finally, our Commanding Officer here at TOPGUN, the very first man to win the Top Gun Trophy; and there is not a finer naval aviator in the world.

Captain Mike Metcalf—callsign “Viper”.”

Viper strode in and told the first class of ‘87 much the same things he did the flyboys of ‘86, and they all turned to get a good look at the Top Gun Trophy, whose newest brass plaque bore the engraving “LT T. Kazansky & LTJG R. Kerner — 1986”.

“You think your names are going to be up there?” Viper gazed speculatively at the class.

However, this time, no one filled the silence with an affirmative response—unlike Mav the year before—though Ash and Igor had hungry and yet self-assured looks in their eyes.

“Well, regardless of whose name ends up in brass at the end of these five weeks, at the end of the day, you—we—are all on the same team.

Gentlemen—and lady,” Viper nodded towards Thorn, “this school is about combat—there are no points for second place.

Dismissed.”

“Report to the quartermaster for your housing assignments, you’ll have today to get settled.” Jester called out to the room at large, “and remember, tomorrow’s first class starts at 0800.”

Most of the class quickly shuffled out of the room, but not before a few of them shot Thorn and Romeo, both of whom were still seated, skeptical—and in Ash and Igor’s case, outright dirty—looks, looks which she ignored, though one would have to be blind not to notice the protective menace emanating from her RIO despite the similar expression of indifference on his features.

But once her classmates had filed out, Thorn looked towards him and Mav, her indifference giving way to a radiant smile.

“Mav,” she exclaimed, striding over.

“Acey!” his wingman laughed, pulling her into a hug, briefly lifting her a slight distance off the floor.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you!”

“You too—it’s been too long.”

“Yeah—” here her expression sobered, “and I’m so sorry—I heard about Nick—Ro and I couldn’t believe it.”

“Nick was a great guy, it was such a shock—damn canopy of all things,” Romeo said, having walked over to give Mav a warm pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Mav breathed evenly, a bit too evenly for Tom’s liking. “Oh, uh, Thorn, Romeo, this is my f-friend and wingman, Tom Kazansky.”

All too glad to take the spotlight to give Mav time to breathe, he stepped forward, extending his hand. “You can call me Ice, it’s good to meet you.

Mav’s told me about you, Thorn.”

“Oh?

Only good things, I hope,” she said, shaking his hand.

Her hand had the same callouses he and most fighter pilots had—which gave him a bit of cognitive dissonance, because he was used to only feeling those callouses on other men—with a strong grip, and a confident posture as she looked up at him.

“Practically praised you to the stars and back,” he smiled, letting go of her hand.

“Hello, I’m chopped liver,” Romeo wryly stated as he shook Tom’s hand. “Call me Ro.”

“You’re hardly chopped liver, Ro, you’re the sixth best RIO I know,” Mav interjected, his voice and breathing seeming more like baseline.

“Thank you, I guess?” Romeo frowned.

Thorn broke in, “I gotta admit, for a second, I was kind of worried that you’d suddenly become too good for the likes of me and Ro, Mr. TOPGUN-Instructor and Three-Confirmed-Kills, I swear, Mav, that was the stillest I’ve ever seen you.”

The aforementioned man shrugged. “That’s Ice’s influence.

Got to stand still so you hotshots have a chance to admire us.”

Thorn huffed a light-hearted laugh, but Mav continued, “And I only got those kills thanks to this guy.

I had to lead some of the MiGs away so that he could have one all to himself,” Mav beamed, waggling his eyebrows.

Thorn blinked, “Oh yeah, you’ve got one too.”

Before he could reply, Mav proudly cut in, “Yes, he does—and this guy held out against five MiGs.”

“Sli and I’d have burned in if you didn’t get there in time, Mav,” Tom said, determined that his wingman would get the praise he deserved.

Said wingman turned, eyes narrowed hopefully. “Is this you admitting I’m the better pilot?”

He scoffed lightly, “Any pilot would have trouble against five adversaries, the best or not.”

“I’ll get you to admit it one day,” the diminutive pilot muttered.

Tom clapped Mav on the shoulder. “Today is not that day, buddy.”

Another huffed laugh had the two wingmen remembering that their students were still in the room.

Romeo was shaking his head in the way of those who have fondly dealt with the inimitable Pete Mitchell, and Thorn had a small smile on her face, but it was no less bright than the one she had when she greeted Mav. “You look good, Mav.”

“Uhh… thanks?

But I always do.”

Thorn scoffed, and Romeo rolled his eyes so hard, Tom was surprised the RIO didn’t pull something.

She turned to him, a look in her eyes that spoke as if he had passed some test he didn’t know about, turning the tables on him, her instructor, and they weren’t even in the air yet. “You keep taking care of this Firebird for me, huh?”

Something about receiving her unsought approval shot a bolt of feeling through him, searing through his being, like standing in the middle of a lightning storm. “Of course.”

“Good,” she breathed, her small smile turning to a grin. “I guess—I guess Ro and I better go, because I’m sure our classmates got the good housing already.”

“We’ll accompany you to your housing, once you get your assignment—the uh—” he cleared his throat and sniffed, “the housing here is laid out pretty weird.”

Tom could feel Mav’s gaze snap to him at a practically supersonic speed, but he ignored it, in favor of shooting Thorn a charming, if not slightly awkward, smile.

Her head tilted at a slight angle, keen gaze analyzing him like he was some sort of problem she couldn’t quite solve. “If that’s what you want to do with your time, sure thing, sir.”

His brain shut down on him for a split second, for some odd reason, but he managed to evenly reply, “We’re the same rank.”

“That shiny Junior Instructor title of yours begs to differ, but whatever you say… sir.”

A nudge at his side snapped him out of whatever strange fugue his brain was trying to drag him into.

He’d have to get more sleep, he figured.

“What’d I tell you, Ice?

Sometimes I wonder if Acey here should have been the Firebird instead of me—because I’m well on my way to becoming an ace, as you all know,” Mav declared.

“Imagine being deployed with this for months,” Thorn sighed, but with a teasing glimmer in her eyes.

“Imagine agreeing to get stationed with him, and being his wingman,” Tom reparteed.

“Oh, I can,” she nodded knowingly. “I have stories, by the way.”

“Oh?

Do tell,” he grinned, playfully ignoring the groan from his wingman.

She blinked, her expression frozen for a split second, before she gestured to the aisle, “Mind if we walk and talk?”

“At your leave, Lieutenant.”

She shook her head slightly, but strode onwards, their strides matching in less than half a beat. “So there was this one incident with some shaving cream…”

When the four of them arrived at the quartermaster, as Thorn predicted, her and Romeo’s classmates were long gone.

“Hello, shitty housing,” she muttered, as she and Romeo approached the quartermaster, while he and Mav stood a ways behind.

“You’re being weird.”

“What?” Tom turned to see Mav staring at him like he was an F-14 requiring diagnostics and a shit-ton of maintenance.

“I said you’re being weird—”

“Yeah,” he slowly began, “I heard you the first time, Mav, what do you mean?”

“You—you’re being… nice,” was the other aviator’s perplexed reply, accompanied by an equally consterned gesture.

It was his turn to stare. “I am nice.”

“Uh-huh, but you’re not usually this—this, to people you don’t know.

Who are you, and what have you done to my wingman?”

If Tom were to be honest, he himself knew that he wasn’t exactly acting in character, but there was just something that tugged him to… be warmer towards Thorn and Romeo.

He put it down to wanting to repay the TOPGUN students for being kind to his brother, when not many others were.

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Mav,” he said, sounding somewhat lame to even his own ears, truthful as it was.

“Okay, sure,” the other man nodded, in an extremely distrustful tone.

“Got it!” Thorn declared, she and Romeo marching up. “Let’s see what Government Issued shanty we’ll be put up in, shall we?

Looks like we’re at… 315 Vraciu.”

Tom spoke up. “That’s not bad, I think; a couple of our classmates last year were put up in that same housing—Charles Piper and Marcus Williams—and I don’t think they had any problems.”

Romeo clicked his tongue, “Well, that’s a first—less-than half-decent housing’s usually par for the course for me and Thorn.

This’ll be a refreshing change.”

Tom would never understand why good pilots were blamed for things they couldn’t change, Mav for his father’s “betrayal” and his own unconventional flying style, and Thorn for her gender, through relentless hazing and/or poor treatment.

If he ever rose high enough to change things, he swore he would.

The housing was a basic, cookie cutter home a little over a five minute drive from the main TOPGUN building, and on the way there, Thorn and Mav were seated in the back of Tom’s truck, catching up, while Romeo sat shotgun.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Tom saw that both pilots were animatedly discussing things that had happened since the last time they saw each other, including the infamous inverted-over-a-MiG situation.

“Are they always like this?” he said in sotto voce to the RIO beside him.

Romeo flicked his dark gaze to the backseat, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah.

It’s nice to see her happy.

Not a lot of people think much of her, since she’s a woman, you know.

But Mav, he and Goose, they never saw that, they just saw a good pilot, and I’m grateful.

They were the only ones who wanted to fly with us.”

Tom frowned in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

If Mav was singing her praises, she must be a phenomenon in the sky—who wouldn’t want to be part of that?

“Nope.

They were the only ones who volunteered, so they kind of got stuck with us that whole deployment.”

At this point, they arrived at 315 Vraciu, and they all hopped out, the two students carrying their seabags to the door.

Thorn unlocked the door, she and Romeo tossing their bags in the entrance. “Well, thanks for the ride,” she nodded, Romeo doing likewise behind her.

“No problem, my pleasure,” Tom replied, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I’ll see you both around, I guess.”

He imagined that her eyes lingered longer on him than they did on Mav, and… he didn’t exactly know how he felt about that.

Mav threw off a nonchalant salute while he sent a respectful nod, before they moved to go back to his truck.

They were halfway there when they heard, “Hey Mav!”

The two of them halted, turning to see the fire of challenge in Thorn’s brilliant eyes. “You gonna take it easy on me?”

Mav scoffed, “You think I’m an idiot?”

She carefully maintained a blank look, and Mav flipped her off with a grin.

Her expression sharpened, gaze landing on him, callsign all too accurate, as the edge of defiance in her voice rang through the air. “And how about you—are you going to take it easy on me?”

He had to admire her for that already.

“If you’re as good as Mav says, that’d be a damn injustice.”

Her answering smile was dagger-keen. “Looking forward to seeing you up there, then.”

Something in him thrilled to the thought of having another worthy opponent in the sky. “It’ll be a highlight of my day, I’m sure.”

“We’ll see.”

Though not unkindly, the door shut in their faces soon after.

Tom stared at the door a moment longer, before again turning to see Mav frowning.

“You’re really being weird.”

“…Shut up, Mav.”

“Alright boys—just to remind you, we have the classes in the morning, and we’re going up in the afternoon.

For the first hop, it’s going to be Jester against Thorn and Romeo, Mitchell against Warlock and Shogun, then Ash and Igor.”

An unexpected wave of disappointment washed over Tom as he realized Viper’s hop arrangement meant he wouldn’t get to fly against Thorn the first day, but he managed to keep most of the expression off his face, especially with Mav treating him like a problem to solve the whole rest of last night.

Indeed, the shorter man was and had been surreptitiously studying him.

“Which leaves me with Belter and Elvis, and you, Kazansky, with Snackbar and Links, then Babe and Priest, for the second hop.”

Just a banner day for Thomas Kazansky, wasn’t it?

Couldn’t fly against Thorn, and didn’t even get to school Ash and Igor.

“Everyone understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!”s rang through the room, and Viper nodded, pleased.

“Dismissed, then.

To your classes, gentlemen.”

Viper knocked a fist against the table twice before he and Jester departed the briefing room.

Tom gathered his folders and looked at his wingman, who was neatening a very short stack of papers. “I was hoping to have first crack at Ash and Igor,” he muttered.

“I know,” Mav smirked.

Resigned, he sighed, “Well, kick their ass extra hard for me, will ya?”

The smaller man’s smirk took on a devilish quality. “I’ll draw first blood, then you wipe the floor with them, and us together, it’ll be game over,” he stated, as he extended a fist.

“Sounds like a plan,” Tom nodded, sealing the agreement with a fist bump.

As he bent to pick up his attaché case, Tom’s eyes were again drawn to the minuscule stack of papers the other man had. “You got the material for your class today, right?”

“Uhhh, yeah, sort of,” Mav shrugged.

“‘Sort of’.

What exactly do ‘sort of’ class materials look like?”

Mav spread his hands, and he knew. “In all honesty, I was gonna just kind of wing it.”

Tom honestly should have seen it coming—but Maverick mavericking was what made Maverick, Maverick.

“Okay,” he replied, trying to hide his grin. “Sounds good.

Good—good, good.”

He managed to hold his laughter in until he reached the hall, but even then, an “Up yours, Ice!” followed him around the corner.

Tom’s class went smoothly, and after a lunch that he eagerly finished, he eventually found himself in his flight gear, fidgeting in the instructor’s ready room.

Having completed his preflight, he decided to chalk his restlessness down to the novelty of flying an A-4, a single-seater, with no Slider in his ear or backseat, as he listened intently to the comms for the first hop, Viper doing the same across the room.

Mav and Jester engaged Warlock and Shogun, and Thorn and Romeo, respectively, once the Commander called “Fight’s on!”, and Mav made short work of Warlock and Shogun, getting tone on the other pilot and RIO in a little over two minutes.

Commendable, in his opinion, for their students.

Mav called for them to knock it off and return to base, before moving on to Ash and Igor.

It was then that he realized that Jester was still engaged with Thorn and Romeo.

Romeo was evenly calling out altitudes, positions, and break directions, while Thorn composedly called maneuvers out, interrupted only by the sound of the two aviators g-straining, the F-14’s engines in the background.

He briefly turned his attention to Mav, who had engaged Ash and Igor; the two were, as he predicted, scrambling wildly for their “lives” (and based on what he was hearing, would get tone locked in a matter of seconds), in radical contrast to Thorn, who was calmly holding her own.

In his head, he could see a vague picture of what was going on up there with Jester, Thorn, and Romeo, and Tom realized that he wasn’t sure how it was going to end, the sound of Mav getting tone on Ash and Igor fading into the background.

Tom could hear the strain in Thorn and Romeo’s voices as they fought more g-forces while calling movement and other things out—they had to be at or near corner speed to make them sound like that.

Tom could hear the faint, steady beeping which warned of imminent tone lock, and he hoped she would win this, if only to prove his wingman’s faith in her skill correct.

Just as the beeping grew faster, Thorn muttered, “Just a little… come on, come on…”

He leaned forward in his seat, and realized he was holding his breath, but he couldn’t bring himself to inhale.

Then suddenly, the blare of confirmed tone.

Disappointment for her sake sank in his stomach, but only for the briefest moment, because the voice which triumphantly called out “Good lock!” was distinctly female. “That’s a kill, Commander!”

And Tom could breathe again.

Holy shit, Mav was right—she was a hell of a pilot.

Thorn managed to keep too much of the gloating out of her tone, but it was a fairly narrow thing, and in his opinion, it was justified.

A faint sound caught his attention—if he didn’t know any better, Tom could have sworn that that was a… fond chuckle that came from Jester.

“Copy kill.

Well, knock it off, Lieutenant, and RTB.”

“Yes, sir!”

Without really thinking about it, he went to the flight line, in time to see the three F-14s and two A-4s land.

His eyes were drawn to her jet as she pulled in to the flight line, and he was faintly aware of Mav’s A-4 pulling up beside his.

She’d done the impossible; Thorn, a female naval aviator, got chosen for TOPGUN, and got tone on her instructor the first day.

Technically, that wasn’t anything new—Mav had done similar—but in a sense, it was.

Women were just starting to be seen as capable of being in the military, in combat roles, to be exact, and to see a woman do something that had been the domain of men for decades, centuries, and do it just as well as a man—better even; as evidenced by the fact that in her hop, she was the only one to get tone on her instructor…

He really had to admire that—admire her.

“That good enough of an ass kicking for ya, Ice?”

Tom was snapped out of his introspection from the sudden appearance of his wingman at his side, running a hand through his hair, helmet under his arm.

“What?”

Mav grinned, “I got tone on Ash and Igor in roughly a minute or so.

How the fuck those two got picked for TOPGUN eludes me.”

Tom scoffed and shook his head in agreement. “Bet I can get tone on them faster, though.”

Mav slapped him on the shoulder, “We’ll see, Ice.”

A sudden whoop of jubilant laughter drew his gaze, and he could see Thorn about thirty paces away, coming ever closer, and his breath caught in his throat—her mouth was split in a beaming smile, wild and passionate, illuminating her from within with effervescent joy, her shining eyes endlessly reflecting her exhilaration.

Her bun was coming slightly loose, tendrils of hair framing her face and swaying in the breeze, while her flight suit clung to her figure, helmet dangling insouciantly from her fingers; it was decorated with a briar all over, red roses among thorns made of black aces, and it had her callsign across its brow.

Her eyes landed on him, and her smile took on a mischievous quality. “We got Jester, nailed him on the first day.

You gonna be ready for us?” Then, as if she only noticed Mav next to him at that moment, she amended, “Both of you?”

He grinned, just shy of showing too many teeth, nonchalantly stepping closer, shifting his weight to lean towards her, hip slightly cocked to keep his balance, barely paying any mind to the tension in Romeo’s stance behind his pilot. “We’ll see who gets tone on whom first.”

Thorn smirked as she looked him up and down, teeth tugging her bottom lip for the briefest moment before she clicked her tongue, “Good thing I’ve got front row seats for that show, then.” She pivoted on her heel, walking backwards as she sent him a casual salute, before turning to stride back to the locker room, Romeo following her with a minutely narrowed glance over his shoulder at him.

“Huh.”

He turned from watching the pilot and RIO, to see Mav again at his side, glancing back and forth between him and Thorn and Romeo.

Tom frowned, “What ‘huh’?”

“Nothing, nothing,” came the too-quick answer. “Just huh.”

“…Now who’s being weird?”

Tom’s hop with Viper was not quite as interesting as Mav with Jester’s, though he did have to commend all three pilots for holding out for a few minutes, which was more than Ash and Igor could say.

The debrief was a thing of beauty—going in reverse order from lowest to highest hop score, meant that he got to witness Mav positively eviscerate Ash and Igor as the first order of business, and the sheer stupidity that Ash displayed in the air, made Tom wonder what guardian angel or deity sent this idiot to TOPGUN.

He mentally saw a dozen different maneuvers that Ash could have done, that, while they might not have gotten him tone on Mav, they would have helped him last longer against the other pilot.

The debrief drew on, Tom stepping forward when it was his turn, not sparing the other pilots their vivisections, though theirs were not quite as harsh, by sheer dint of them not being as idiotic as Ash and Igor, and finally, it was the debrief he was waiting for; Thorn and Romeo’s.

He had an idea of what happened in the air, but he wanted to know what exactly she had done.

It was textbook and yet genius.

He was right; once they hit the merge, flying at corner speed through a series of turns, Thorn had maneuvered to force Jester to increase his turn rate, bleeding his airspeed, playing the Skyhawk’s weakness against it, before placing him in her sights.

“…all in all, great work, Lieutenant,” Jester complimented, writing her hop score of 5 on the board, the highest number of all the teams that day, sending her a nod.

Her face was impassive as she replied, “Thank you, sir,” but Tom could see the vindication in her eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve all learned something from your classes and most especially, your hops today,” Viper declared, pacing the front of the classroom. “This is only the first day, and to borrow a saying from our SEAL cousins, ‘The only easy day was yesterday’.”

The Captain stared the students down, pair by pair, searching for something in each of them.

Finally, he stated, “You’re all dismissed.”

After Jester and Viper left, leaving him and Mav, as the junior instructors, to neaten things, Ash and Igor were predictably the first out the door—just shy of storming out, while most of the others looked at Thorn with less suspicion than the day before, a few actually lingering.

While he was fixing the markers, out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Warlock step forward first, a light smile on his face. “Hey, uh, that was great, what you pulled today—I’m Solomon, but you can call me Sol or Warlock, whichever you prefer.

This is my RIO, Ken, but he prefers Shogun.”

The Asian man genially lifted a hand in greeting, “Really wish I could have seen that.”

Babe chuckled, “Yeah, that was good, wish I’d have thought of what you did, maybe I’d have had a chance against Kazansky—I’m Stephen.”

Priest, his RIO, cooed, “Aw, you embarrassed by your callsign, Babe?”

“Shut up, Tim,” Babe glared.

Priest raised both hands in surrender. “Not my fault your last name’s Ruth—I’m this stick in the mud’s RIO, Tim—call me Priest, that there’s Belter and Elvis.”

Tom almost laughed at the expression Thorn made; the momentary shock on her face was palpable, but it was swiftly concealed—the only reason it registered for him was because he was so used to reading Mav’s microexpressions.

“Thanks—nice to meet you all.

I’m Thorn, this’ Romeo, my RIO.”

Romeo shook hands with them all, a pleasant, but guarded expression on his face.

“You weren’t too bad up there yourselves, from what I heard,” she continued.

“Yeahhh, but who got tone on their instructor first day?

Not this guy,” Priest waggled his eyebrows, jerking both thumbs at his pilot, “and not any of these guys,” making the others groan or laugh.

Tom ducked his head, hiding his smile; he was glad that the others seemed to be warming up to her, he wanted her to have the same experience as he did at TOPGUN—establishing a brotherhood with his classmates.

“—Tom!”

He pivoted to see Mav snapping his fingers close to his face, and he reflexively flinched back from his wingman’s hand in his face. “What?”

He belatedly realized that he’d been saying that a little too much recently.

As if he were speaking to a particularly dull child, Mav spoke slowly. “Do you think I can erase the board now?”

“Yeah, uh, but not the scores.”

“Of course not.

You okay, Ice?”

“Yeah—fine, it’s just a… long day.”

The suspicion in Mav’s eyes didn’t fade as he sighed and nodded. “Feel up to The O Club tonight?

Maybe decompress a bit, have a drink?”

“That sounds great, actually.” Maybe a drink was what he needed, his mind seemed to be all over the place.

“‘Kay—meet you there?”

“Yeah.”

Once he finished with the room, he followed Mav out, sending a look to where Thorn was still talking with her classmates, to see that her gaze was already on him.

Her eyes immediately went back to her classmates, but nevertheless, he felt branded by her stare, like it was a tangible thing, searing through his veins, sending a paradoxical shiver down his spine.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he could admit it; he didn’t know what it was, but he felt drawn to her.

To what end… he didn’t know.

And that…

That scared him.

Tom eased his precious Chevelle into a parking spot near the door of The O Club; a rarity, but one very welcomed, given how busy the bar seemed.

(The fact that it was within sight of Mav’s highly recognizable Ninja was a perk—he and Slider had stopped one too many parking lot beatdowns.)

He reached for his Shooters, narrowly stopping himself from putting them on (Mav hated it when he did that at night; “It makes you look like a dick”, according to his wingman), instead tucking them into the pocket of his whites, carefully opening the driver’s door, squeezing himself out of the narrow gap he afforded himself.

The black metal flake paint was pristine, and he intended to keep it that way, it didn’t matter how ridiculous he may look.

The O Club was, as the parking lot showed, busy, full of people in service whites, throwing him back to last year, that first night for the flyboys of ‘86.

He cast his gaze around the bar, peering through the haze of cigarette smoke and the people, searching for his wingman’s squirrelly figure, before a call of “Ice; over here!” pierced through the sound of numerous conversations and the jukebox, before a hand flailed wildly, becoming visible over the heads of the crowd.

Mav had claimed seats at the bar; prime real estate with the place this hectic—he didn’t want to know how the other man had kept the seat next to him free when every Tom (hah), Dick, and Harry were clamoring for a seat at the bar.

He made his way through the crowd, gratefully settling onto the barstool next to Mav, also dressed in his service whites. “Hey Mav,” he greeted.

“Hey; I ordered already, I assumed you’d want your usual vodka on the rocks.”

“Thanks; you know me too well.”

“Kind of hard to miss when it’s literally what you order every single time,” Mav smirked.

Tom rolled his eyes—he was a creature of habit, sue him.

(And if vodka on the rocks reminded him of his Dedushka, what was wrong with that?)

“Seems like all of Fightertown is here tonight,” he muttered to Mav.

“You’re not too far off on that, I saw basically all of our students here,” the other man replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Only ones I haven’t seen are Thorn and Romeo, actually,” he finished casually.

Rather against Tom’s will, something in him lurched forward, his thought process halting, making him feel like he’d just snagged the third wire on the carrier deck.

Despite that, he managed a calm—at least in his opinion—“Oh.”

“Mmm.” Another calm sip of beer from his wingman—too calm.

He narrowed his eyes and sighed at Mav. “What the fuck is that ‘Mmm’ for?”

The dark-haired aviator pulled an expression like he just sucked on a lemon. “What, can’t a guy just ‘Mmm’ anymore?”

“Not when you’ve been fucking weird for the past two days,” he replied, sending the harried bartender a grateful nod as they slid his vodka on the rocks over to him.

“I’m not weird, you’re weird,” was Mav’s reply, and he narrowed his eyes at the muted shimmer of something in the other pilot’s eyes.

He was about to retort when his eyes were drawn to the door, and the bulk of Romeo walked in, his head and whites-clad shoulders peeking above quite a few people’s.

It was mere curiosity, he told himself, that led him to lean to see if his pilot was also with him.

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.

To be continued…

Previous Part Next Part

Faceclaims

Russian glossary

Disclaimer: translations are from the interwebs.

Please don’t kill me.

Dedushka: Grandfather

Two years is the real-life age gap between Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer.

The story behind Ice and Slider’s bad ejection actually did happen to a pilot-RIO pair, then-Commander William Switzer and then-Lieutenant (junior grade) David “Bio” Baranek on December 19, 1981, aboard the very same aircraft carrier that I mentioned.

You can read the detailed description of the incident here, retold by Commander Baranek, for the Ejection Tie Club of the Martin-Baker company, who specialize in making ejection seats—including those of the F-14 Tomcat—for pilots and backseaters who have ejected using a Martin-Baker ejection seat.

VFA-41, the “Black Aces”, based out of NAS Lemoore, were featured in Top Gun: Maverick as the squadron of Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, and I thought that would be nice to include that, in this universe at least, Phoenix is a member of the squadron with the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN.

Icy-Hot is a liniment that has been on the market since before 1931.

The name of LTJG Kenneth “Shogun” Han is a reference to this scene in the now-ABC hit series, 9-1-1, where paramedic/firefighter Howard “Chimney” Han, played by actor Kenneth Choi, replies that if he weren’t a paramedic/firefigher, he’d have liked to be a Navy TOPGUN graduate, with the callsign “Shogun”.

The names of Henry “Snackbar” Baker, Stephen “Babe” Ruth, and Timothy “Priest” Martin are a reference to both the original name of Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe—Henry Ruth—and the Martin-Baker company.

The speeches that Jester and Viper give are nearly word for word the same as the speeches that they gave in TG86, with some authorly variation because I didn’t want to rehash the same speeches that we heard in the movie word for word.

Again, VF-1, a now inactive squadron based out of NAS Miramar, is the squadron that Mav and Goose belonged to before they went to TOPGUN, although it must be noted that, like most of the squadron patch designs in Top Gun, the patch design as seen on Mav and Goose’s flight suits, is incorrect and not matching the squadron designation, instead bearing the insignia of VAW-110, the “Firebirds”, who flew the E-2 Hawkeye, which was shown as Comanche in TG:M.

Alexander Vraciu was a WWII Navy ace who downed 12 Japanese aircraft and sank a Japanese merchant ship with a direct hit to her stern.

The merge is a concept used in air combat, where aerial warfighters engage with enemy aircraft by steering their plane toward the adversary—this maneuver is referred to as “going to the merge.”

Corner Speed

Did anyone catch the TG:M line reference?

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

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!

[fancytigercupcake]

Will Emma look like this? The most powerful Impostor in the world?

Or can it look like something else? Feel free to choose and draw your idea.

( Let there be something from the flame on your back )

[kaimukiwahine]

Just gonna type my thoughts out based on my notes I wrote while playing the To the Moon Beach Episode. So spoilers/long ramble.

Short things:

They brought back many minor characters from Finding Paradise, thought that was very cute

References: The "Are you winning, son?" in the airport was charming but I did not expect to get a full FNAF section

I love the use of previous games OST: updated versions and the lo-fi versions

Animations were very charming and expressive; they even joke about it ("didn't have a budget for it. The dance lessons")

That inverted/hanging jellyfish planter. I need it. I need it now.

Rob learning what people are up to on the internet these days only to instantly regret it

Willis and Taima still going at it. They are lifelong couple goals: keeping the flame alive while dropping wisdom

I need that soundtrack.

Bigger things:

Johnny and River addressing what most players/general audience found concerning about the original game and overall premise of the series: Altering and overwriting of memories or basically the reality of the dying. While jokingly Johnny says he could never see himself using their services, both conclude it's their choice and they just need to accept it

This was slightly touched on in the Minisode but for it to be brought into attention by the original characters that kicked off this series, it's something.

The three books at the beginning already set forth what this game is gonna be all about: grieving and acceptance of the passing of a loved one. The first run through, Eva completely numbed her memories to enjoy the beach and time with Neil. But there was always something.

Second run, she "confronts" as Faye states the truth: Neil is dead.

It was hinted that Eva started drinking (in the store) and has been repeatedly using the machine Neil left behind that Neil becomes concerned for her. (Similar to Collin in Finding Paradise.) While she wants to stay on the beach and relive the same day over and over, it's not possible.

There was a brief mention of immortality. One being a jellyfish that reverts back to infancy as it reaches the end of their lifespan and questioning if it's still the same jellyfish or not. Then compared to humans how we regenerate new cells except the brain and heart.

Roxie finds it romantic, Eva wishes that those also gets replaced with every pass.

Neil's death was either sudden or his condition was kept secret from Eva? Eva mentioned he didn't give her enough time to prepare and Neil didn't know what to do and I think he said he made the machine just so he just doesn't disappear and to leave something behind for her.

*Edit* I completely forgot about Paper Memories. I'm guessing the phone call Eva got from Roxie was that Neil passed away (given how distressed Roxie was in that one panel). It is possible that that portion was in the machine and that Rob and Roxie were aware. That whole portion is basically like this Beach Episode.

Edit2: thinking again, the call could be him in critical condition since in the comic Neil mentions making that garden. Eva not replying to Neil on how he died makes it sound like it was traumatic. She mentioned something about a surgery when talking to Lynri and Quincy and asking how he is when he visits them but not sure if that's involved or just a throwaway line.

Neil lives on with regrets; mostly wishing Eva was his girlfriend and more. Though he isn't real in the game, he still carries the memories he had. He built her "a garden" (comic reference) but she started spending too much time. And she can't fully enjoy it because he continues to keep her at arms length.

Neil locked himself in his room, much like he did in many instances throughout the series and now canonically, all throughout the life Eva and Neil has been together. Thinking he's doing what's best for her when all she wanted is him to be "here'

He regrets those decisions but it's understandable on why he did it. In Impostor Factory, Lynri's condition was hereditary and is in Neil. Seeing Quincy's face of absolute loneliness knowing he's about to lose his wife and eventually his son, it would devastate anyone. Neil making a machine to make it so that Eva would never have to go through that, while admirable, changed nothing. If not, made things worse.

How they close the game was brutal: The world Neil created for Eva to never be alone after he has passed slowly fading away, concluding with Eva being alone, crying, as she turns the machine off.

You couldn't just leave it like this for them. Together alone on the beach.

No. It's just Eva. Alone.

[uriekukistan]

hiii first of my fics for itafushi week :3 prompts i chose for day 1 were idol au & jealousy

dust-piled crown | Itafushi | M/M | Idol AU | Mild Angst | 1/1 | 2.0k words

Megumi wishes he could dance as well as his group-mate Yuuji.

“Just be more sure with it,” Yuuji had told him. “It will look worlds better with a bit of confidence.” That was easy for him to say. He’d probably never doubted himself in his life, at least not like Megumi. Almost three years after debuting, he was still plagued by impostor syndrome, still haunted by the whispers that circulated behind his back when he was a trainee.  Unfortunately, that was how Megumi’s jealousy grew into something he couldn’t ignore, burning in the pit of his stomach, its flames licking up his throat every time he saw Yuuji and his flawless dancing in rehearsals.

[all-together-now]

Alright, Amycule members. I present to you a social experiment. One of you has been replaced with a shape shifting impostor. The real one is safe and unharmed, but will not be returned to you until you discover the fake copy. In exactly 24 hours, I will reveal the faker. (OOC - none of them have been replaced; I wanna see paranoia)

"Oh, ho ho ho, we got a mimic on our hands do we?" Surge snarled, looking between her girlfriends, "Wonder who it is..."

Flames instantly burned brightly from Blaze's hands, "Reveal yourself now, you spy. Or you shall face deadly consequences."

"Ah! Please don't burn me!" Trip flinched, "I'm really me, I swear!"

"Everyone, calm down!" Amy begged, "I'm sure there is a more productive way to figure this out!"

"That's exactly what an IMPOSTER would say!" Honey accused.

[polyamarhousgarden]

Selfshiptober Day 2

Blanket | Flame

Welcome to Day 2 featuring my design of Boromir and his secret wife, Galamdiriel! She's descended from a peredhil so she has pointed ears but not to the extent that Anoriel, a peredhil, would have!

Since the prompt I went with was for "Blanket" I decided to draw their secret wedding. By then, she and Boromir had known each other for years and while there was no courtship, they knew they loved one another when Boromir had proposed.

Since Boromir is described as looking stern, I figured this is one of the moments he'd look soft

Hope y'all like the art style, bby sister's been helping me figure things out since my impostor syndrome got a bit worse with my art so going back to my old style with a few tweaks helped me doruhgiufgsu

Taglist+Alternate image under the cut!

TAGLIST: @tex-treasures

Please tell me if you wanna be added to the taglist through the rbs or comments!!

[dayfaresthenight]

Ann's Sheet

(TWs: Mentions of Drug Abuse, Self Harm, and Suicide, alongside other generally sensitive themes.)

Name: Anneliese Woods

Special Titles: The Engineer

Username: MemoriesOfArchalia

Nicknames: Ann, Anny, Annoyance (By Her Family)

Chronological Age: 24 Age: 24 Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Pansexual

Gender: Trans Girl

Species: Elf [95%] Human [5%]

Disorders: Anxiety, Major Depressive Disorder, Impostor Syndrome, Suicidal Ideation, ADHD, OCD, Autism, Separation Anxiety, Inferiority Complex

Active Addictions: Mushrooms, Fae Weeds, Sex, "Pixie Dust", LSD, Self Harm.

Religion: No Religion in particular, but believes in the Wilds.

Job: Mechanical Engineer, Activist

Degree: Mechanical Engineering

Lives in: Her Cottage in the Feywilds.

Languages: Feyish, English, Ada, Morse Code

Height: 5'8

Race: Elf

Accent: Posh and polite sounding, very soft. Can be more firm if needed.

Powers: [???]

Weaknesses: Traditional Fae Weaknesses.

Soul: A blazing Yellow and Green Flame. Occasionally there are slight spots of black creeping on the exterior.

Weapons: [???]

Wands: [???]

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Text Color: Orange.

Main Animal: Deer.

Main Hobbies: Building, Writing, Reading, Watercolor Painting, Activism, Inventing, Singing, Gardening, Partying (If Anyone would ever accept me to one...)

Favorite Food: Lollipops, Cinnamon Rolls, Strawberry Shortcake, Candy Hearts, Chocolate Coins, Gummy Bears, Beef Sticks

Favorite Flower: Lillys

Scent: A slight, Early Smell. Occasionally Strawberries.

Handedness: Ambidextrious.

Blood Color: Red.

Awareness: Aware [Effect: Positive] Birthday: April 4th

Theme:

Playlist:

Fun Facts: She built her pair of wings herself! She plans on eventually distributing models similar to it to the disabled and needy. Special Interests: Inventing, Reading, ARGs, Workshopping, Art

Stims: Fiddling her hands, Gritting her teeth together (When Angry.)

Comfort Objects: Her Protective Gloves and the Original Copy Of the book She's working on.

Family:

"Mr. Woods" (. . .)

"Mrs. Woods" (. . .)

Friends:

Romance:

Enemies: Anyone and everyone who preys upon the innocent.

Patrons: The Wilds. I'd hope, at least...

Reincarnations: . . . ?

Brief Personality:

Ann is best described as a very upright and hardworking girl, devoting her life to charitable work and advocating for those who have nobody else in her corner. She is kind, considerate, and patient.

She however tends to let things get the best of her and often gives into her urges to be compulsive and wreckless- tending to take it to the extreme when it comes to indulging in herself. She is deeply insecure about this side of herself, although she'd never admit to it.

She is deeply lonely as well, although she rarely admits that either.

Brief Backstory: [???]

[hoe-for-daddywise]

I had you in my grip

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Warning: Death, pain, kissing, possible NSFW content in later chapters, 18+

Word count: 1798

Part one

No God, no religion. The four words that spun spirals around your head now echoing loud within the halls of the church you'd found yourself in on this Sunday morning for your best friends, daughters christening. You pondered on the fact that if there was a God, he was surely judging you right now, whilst the face of his son was staring at you from the sunlit stained glass. As the vicar invited everyone into prayer, you felt like an impostor, noting everyone joined in, knowing the words like a well rehearsed script, their eyes shut and hands together. “Amen”, reverberated off the walls from their unison, understanding their prayer was now fixed, a message to their God. Looking down at your watch you panicked. “shit.” You noticed the Vicar snap his head towards you, disapproval on his face, a small, “sorry” escaped your mouth. Your work meeting was about to take place in 10 minutes and you couldn't be late. Your friend already knew that you had to go to this meeting and that it couldn't be missed. You gave her a small wave and then quickly took off and out of the sacred building. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind you like God was kicking you out, guilt twanging in your heart that you couldn't stay for your best friend, but relief washing over you. “Hopefully I won't have to come back to one of these until someone dies”, you laugh to yourself as you unlock your car and climb into it.

Thankfully, your workplace was only round the corner so you should make it on time. Slamming your foot on the gas you speed out of the car park and join the road. You flipped down the mirror on the sunvisor and reapply your lipstick, not paying much attention to the road until a beep from your left brings you back, you'd almost gone into the other lane. Panicking, you swing the steering wheel to put you back on track, “shit”, you cursed again, catching a quick glimpse at yourself in the mirror not seeing you smudged red lipstick on your cheek in the almost accident. You wiped it off and had to slam your foot on the break as to not hit the car in front of you. “Damn what is up with me today?” You mutter. A smash was the last thing you heard before your car was being rolled sideways and down the hill on the grass banking. The world was tumbling around you, and before you even had a second to fully register what was happening, it was over everything went black.

It didn't happen like they say movies, your life didn't flash before your eyes over and again like projection, you didn't think about everything you wished you could've done and regrets never came to mind. Your life just came to an end. It was over. Your existence would soon become a shadow of what once was, and your friends and family would probably mourn you in that church you had been in today.

Darkness descended into a realm where the sun is silent and eternal flame burns.

"Welcome, Y/N." A velvet voice bellowed and reverberated back to you, rattling your being. Your eyes snapped open as your hands groped at the cold stone floor beneath your laying form. Standing, you looked for the man who had spoken your name only moments ago but had to strain your eyes as the only light describable was that of which the glow of the fire river touched. A silhouette cascaded and shadowed your much smaller figure, rendering you completely at its mercy.

"Are you the devil? Am I in Hell?" You croaked out and he tutted back at you.

"'No God, no religion', isn't that what you always said, Y/N?"

"Yes but I died, didn't I?"

"That you did." The figure edges forward.

"So, then where am I?"

"You, my dear, are in the world of the unconscious, and I am the fucking king." He stepped into the light as the fire erupted behind him and fell back into itself. His cloak of shadows trailing behind, each penumbra ricocheting off of the other until they came to a sudden stop, flowing around his tall and thin stature. On top of his short black hair sat a golden crown which reflected the fire to the side of you and relayed your own fragile image back to yourself.

"Strange." You declared.

"What is?" He laughed wickedly.

"I've spent my entire existence dismissing - no - refusing that there was a life after death, but"

"This is not life, Y/N". He interrupted. "Your life ended in that car, everything you was in the land of the living serves no purpose here. You are but an empty vessel drifting through space. Lost."

Your stomach dropped at his words, your past self was now rendered insignificant. A solitary tear fell down your cheek. The man lifted his hand up to you, and wiped the stray tear away with his thumb.

"Don't cry. Though you may have been confined here, you do not walk alone." The king whispered softly, a soothing warmth embedded within and your eyes locked. "Other souls reside here, and I will always be close by." A slight smile tucked into at the corner of his lips and disappeared almost instantly, bringing a sense of comfort to your new existence. You offered him a smile back. "Now, please follow Me." He extended his hand out towards you, which you took without even a moments hesitation.

"Where are we going?" You ask as fire from the river spluttering around you almost burnt you.

“Watch out for Phlegethon." He motioned to the fire river. "We are going on a tour."

"Is this some elaborate trick to chuck me into a room where you can torture me?" You laugh nervously.

"Torture? No." He laughed. "That is for later."

You gulped and hoped he was joking. "Do you give tours to everyone? Surely that would take forever."

"No, only to my most special guests." He winks.

It felt like hours had passed as the king takes you around a slither of the realm as he explained it would take a millennium to explore it all. You noted how a lot of it looked the same, more fire, more stone, some rooms here and there. You walked past a few of the other souls who seem to have lost all sense of purpose yet some tried to speak to you but your king would cast them aside, even chucking one into the fire in a rage. He made you aware that until you had spent a significant amount of time here, they would be under the illusion that you were alive and would try to bargain with you. In exchange for what, you didn't dare ask.

"So, I know you're my king but, do you have a name?" You question.

"Noah." His hand tightened around yours.

"Noah?" You laugh. "So not anything like Satan or Asmodeus?"

Noah tilts his head to the side. "Sorry to disappoint you, but this was my given name."

"No, I like it." You smile. "Not threatening, I suppose."

"I don't threaten you?" Noah's face changes as he slams you into a wall, arms either side of you. You shook your head.

"I am the keeper of the damned, the ruler of the underworld, torturer and punisher. I don't threaten you?" Your core burnt at the closeness. His face so close to yours, you couldn't help but note how gorgeous he was.

"No." You couldn't explain it, but there was a glossiness that cast over his eyes that dared you to carry on. "I am not threatened by you."

Noah narrowed his eyes, a flicker of anger passed through his features. "You underestimate the depths of my power, little one." He warned. "Do you not understand the consequences of questioning me? Your suffering is at my command, your mind cannot comprehend the torture I can and will inflict upon you."

"And what torture might that be, Noah?" Flirtation in your voice and a glint of playfulness in your eyes as they glanced between his eyes and his lips.

"Eager to find out, are you?" Noah lifted his hand up to your cheek and before you could even respond his lips were on yours in a heated passion. Your stomach did flips as you responded with the same hunger and your hand found its way into his hair and pulled it slightly, begging for more. He bit your bottom lip hard and drew blood. You moaned through the pain and tasted the copper liquid as your tongues collided in a fiery dance, both fighting to win dominance.

But then, a sudden jolt of pain spread through your chest causing you to break the kiss and gasp out, your eyes wide. "What did you do, Noah?" You ask as you clutch to where your heart would be.

"N-nothing." He retracts as he watches you fall to the floor and scream in pain as another bolt floods through you, an intense feeling you'd never experienced before, it felt like electricity causing through you. Noah kneels down beside you. "I don't understand what's happening! I swear, this isn't my doing." He shouts out, worry tinged in his voice and confusion painted across his face as he reaches out to grab your hand.

"Make it stop." You choke out a sob as you claw at your chest.

"I don't know how!" He scans the area to see if there's anything or any soul doing this to you.

"Fuck!" You scream in agony as another hit pulls you through the darkness.

Your eyes snap open and a breath floods your lungs. Bright light penetrates your eyes causing you to squint.

"We've got her." A woman's voice shouts out from next to you. "Welcome back to the land of the living." You notice the paddles of a defibrillator in her hands. Blinking rapidly, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings as you lay sprawled out on a road with glass and blood surrounding you. Then to the corner of your eyes you notice your car on its side and remember that you'd crashed and ended up in a different world.

"N-Noah?" You croak. "Where's, Noah?"

"Is that your boyfriend? Was he in the car too?"

"No." Had you dreamed all of this? Surely not. It had all seemed so real. Disoriented was an understatement so you tried to sit up.

"Wow wow. Stay laid down, we don't know if you've broken anything. We need to place a neck brace on you and get you on a board."

That was the last thing you remembered before you blacked out.

[lgbtqreads]

hi!! i know this has beeb asked before but not for a while and I thought there might be some releases since then, so : any Queer High Fantasy? I've been recommended Priory of the Orange Tree before. Thank you!!

Not sure when the last time was but here’s what’s currently on my radar! (You can also find these here, and an asterisk means it’s not out yet: https://lgbtqreads.com/sff/spec-fic-by-subgenre/) I bolded some of the ones that are newer or coming out in the next few months.

MG

*Splinter & Ash by Marieke Nijkamp – NB

Sir Callie by Esme Symes-Smith – NB

YA

Female Protags

The Winter Duke by Claire Eliza Bartlett

The Never Tilting World by Rin Chupeco – L

Queen of Coin and Whispers by Helen Corcoran

Of Fire and Stars by Audrey Coulthurst – L,B

Inkmistress by Audrey Coulthurst – B

The Impostor Queen by Sarah Fine – B

Noble Falling and Noble Persuasion by Sara Gaines

Rule by Ellen Goodlett

Havenfall by Sara Holland

*Hearts Forged in Dragon Fire by Erica Hollis

The Afterward by EK Johnston

Empirium by Claire Legrand – B

Belle Révolte by Linsey Miller – BA

These Feathered Flames by Alexandra Overy

The Midnight Lie by Marie Rutkoski

It Ends in Fire by Andrew Shvarts

Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria – B, A

The Third Daughter and The Second Son by Adrienne Tooley

Shatter the Sky by Rebecca Kim Wells – B

The Thousand Names by Django Wexler

Male Protags

Cloaked in Shadow by Ben Alderson

The Runebinder Chronicles by Alex R. Kahler

Skybound by Alex London

So This is Ever After by F.T. Lukens

Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria

The Sunbearer Trials by Aiden Thomas – T

Non-Binary Protags

Spell Bound by FT Lukens

Mask of Shadows by Linsey Miller – GF

*A Hundred Vicious Turns by Lee Paige O’Brien

Adult

Female Protags

A Broken Blade by Melissa Blair

Tales of Inthya by Effie Calvin

The Vanished Queen by Lisbeth Campbell

Rook & Rose by M.A. Carrick

The Night and its Moon by Piper CJ

The Unbroken by C.L. Clark

*Warmongers by C.L. Clark

The Gardener’s Hand by Felicia Davin

*The Water Outlaws by S.L. Huang

Dragonfall by L.R. Lam

The Unspoken Name by A.K. Larkwood

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

From Under the Mountain by C.M. Spivey

The Drowning Empire by Andrea Stewart (Amz)

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri

Malice by Heather Walter

When Women Were Warriors series by Catherine M. Wilson

Male Protags

Kirith Kirin by Jim Grimsley

The Cadeleonian series by Ginn Hale

Tales From Verania by T.J. Klune

A Chorus of Dragons by Jenn Lyons

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

*Dark Moon, Shallow Sea by David R. Slayton

Stagsblood Trilogy by Gideon E. Wood

Genderqueer Protags

*The Water Outlaws by S.L. Huang

[houseboywife]

The tale of the three Ornsteins: a Dark Souls identity theft story

Dragonslayer Ornstein is one of the most iconic characters in Dark Souls, and for a good reason. His design is incredible, and his fight in tandem with Smough is one of the best in the series to this day. It is therefore interesting to see how strangely handled is actual in-game presence his. I am perfectly aware that a lot of this is a result of somewhat inelegant retcons, but I will attempt to bridge all of the information together to paint a picture that I find to be, if not completely satisfying, at least consistent with what I believed happened to our good old dragonslayer.

Let's start with what we learn in Dark Souls 1, which is the most straightforward. Ornstein is a being of incredible strength as the leader of the Four Knights of Gwyn, Lordran's elite soldiers who are all unquestionably loyal to their Lord. Unfortunately, by the time of Dark Souls 1, the other Knights have either died or left, so he's left alone guarding the capital City of Anor Londo. He's however joined by his good buddy Executioner Smough: and by good buddy I mean insane psycho. Smough was considered as a candidate for the position of Knight of Gwyn, but the recruiters probably changed their minds after learning that he enjoys grinding the bones of people in his meals. Also, not a surprise, he really enjoys murder.

Anyway, the important point being is that Ornstein and Smough are guarding the chamber to Gwynevere, and fight you to the death if you want to go in. This begs a question: why exactly? Gwynevere is an illusion concocted by Gwyndolin, since she has left Anor Londo long ago. Hell, Gwyndolin is actively trying to get some poor sucker to link the fire, which would require you to get the Lordvessel, which is given to you by Gwynevere/Gwyndolin. Who also doesn't seem to be particularly concerned by the two strongest knights in the realm having just died.

So the main hypothesis is that Ornstein and Smough have been placed there by Gwyndolin to test you. After all the linking of the fire is a sacred act, and you'd wanna make sure that the person you send to do it would actually be able to: after all, as shown by Dark Souls 3, you can actually fail to link the fire. So perhaps, as I said, what Gwyndolin is doing is testing you: and I get using Smough for the task, considering that everyone hates him and he also is probably willing to prove himself to join the Knights, but Ornstein? At the twilight of the kingdom of Lordran, what use is there to having the strongest knight left sacrifice himself to test a random Undead? Well, hold on that thought. For now, let's just say that the Chosen Undead kills both and proceeds to link the flame, or walk away from it.

Back with a vengeance

So let's move on to Dark Souls 2 now. Here we are in Drangleic, a completely different land set after Dark Souls 1. Which makes it very strange that in that game you can find an "Old Dragonslayer", identical to Ornstein, chilling in a church.

Now, let's not beat around the bush here: this is probably an impostor (among us????). A couple things make it pretty clear: first off, instead of using lightning attacks he wields darkness, which doesn't mean much in itself: however the Soul that you get from this boss says that "the Old Dragonslayer is reminiscent of a certain knight that appears in old legends", I'm leaning towards him being just an imitator. After all, beings with Fire Souls (Is it even a thing? You get what I mean) aren't able to come back from death, and killing Ornstein is mandatory to the story of Dark Souls 1, which we know already happened by the time of 2. The only alternative is that the Ornstein in Dark Souls 1 was an illusion, but that would be a bit silly, right?

The Ornstein in Dark Souls 1 was an illusion

Well, uh, this is awkward. Dark Souls 3 comes in and, with extreme confidence, makes everything so much more confusing. This is becaus, after defeating Gwyn's firstborn, the Nameless King, you find none other than Ornstein's armor. But hey, it could be just a repli-

Golden armor associated with Dragonslayer Ornstein, from the age of gods, and imbued with the strength of lightning. In the dragonless age, this knight, who long guarded the ruined cathedral, left the land in search of the nameless king.

Uhhhh, let's check Smough's armor maybe?

Grotesque armor associated with Smough, the last knight to stand in defense of the ruined cathedral.

Well, at least now we know that the Old Dragonslayer was a faker????

Ok ok so, what happened? It seems like that, before the events of Dark Souls 1, Ornstein left his post to search for the Nameless King, and left Smough behind in Anor Londo. So well, the logical explanation is that the first one you fight is actually an illusion made by Gwyndolin. But! The "illusion" also drops Ornstein's own Souls behind. Now, this is a bit of a pickle.

Before I go further, let me clarify something: Gwyndolin is also a character you can kill in Dark Souls 1 that returns in Dark Souls 3, but his fight is optional, and likely considered non canonical in 3. After all, there are other characters you can murder that show up again, the difference is that Ornstein is as far from optional as you can get.

So let's entertain that the Dragonslayer is an illusion: why does he drop his Soul, then ? I have an idea of what could have happned. First off, in Anor Londo you fight sever other illusions fashioned by Gwyndolin that all drop souls upon death. This, to me, seems to suggest that our favorite god of ambigous gender can't just conjure something out of nothing: they need souls.

Here's another piece of the puzzle: in the Dark Souls universe you can totally detach at least part of your soul from your body and be none the wiser. We see this with Gwyn, who gave a portion of his Souls to the Four Kings and other loyal subjects, and with Vendrick who, perhaps in shame, locked his own Soul away in the Shrine of Amana before going hollow. So I believe that the most likely explanation is that Ornstein, before departing to find the Nameless King, left his Soul (or a portion of it) to Gwyndolin in order for them to fashion an illusory guardian out of his likeness. Smough was there too, I guess. Probably Gwyndolin just wanted to get rid of him. That makes everything work out, more or less!

So let's answer one last question. Why did Ornstein seek the Nameless King? I've seen some people say that he was loyal to him all along, and some particularly creative theories state that he transformed into the dragon that the Firstborn rides. I find this to be a somewhat unsatisfactory explanation. Particularly the dragon part, of course, because the only character we ever saw meddle in dragon transformation experiments was Aldia who is probably the smartest person in the entire world, and even he didn't really get it perfectly right. Also there is absolutely zero evidence of it. Regarding the rest, well, I suppose it would be possible that Ornstein was loyal to the Nameless King, but why? He is a dragonslayer, after all, and the King was cast away specifically for having betrayed the gods in favor of the dragons (as a sidenote, the fact that the Ring of the Firstborn in Dark Souls 1 is slightly mistranslated and it made people think that he was banished for "losing the annals" is very funny. He was lost to the annals, there's no magical item named "the annals" which he lost lmao).

Anyway, I think Ornstein left to confront the Nameless King over his betrayal: perhaps he did so once his location on the Archdragon Peak became known. Talk to him? Kill him? Who knows. But is significative that the Dragonslayer Armor is found in the Nameless King's boss arena. I think that him and Ornstein engaged in a fight and, perhaps weakened by the lack of his Soul, the latter was defeated and died there. Whether this happened before or after Dark Souls 1 I do not know, but I have a feeling that this is how the warrior met his demise.

Now, why did From Software decide to add this lore in Dark Souls 3 I have no idea, considering it's very marginal in the game itself and it could have easily been left unsaid. Perhaps this was the plan all along. I will admit that not getting to fight the real Ornstein is somewhat disappointing, but also having him show up in person in Dark Souls 3 would have been a bit much. Even then, one thing is certain: despite never actually meeting him, he's certainly a memorable guy.

[astro09-13]

Wrong Faces, Right Choice [Short Story]

Roman lay prone in the underbrush, his sniper rifle steady against his shoulder. The Forest stretched endlessly before him, thick with fog and the damp scent of earth. Through his scope, he tracked his target. A lone hiker weaving unsteadily through the trees; lost and afraid. The Operator gave no explanations, only commands, and Roman obeyed. His finger hovered over the trigger. "Do you really think this is helping?" The voice was soft. Familiar. Roman’s breath stilled. His grip tightened. "This isn’t who you are, Ro." A second voice chimed in. His muscles locked. Slowly, against his better judgment, he turned his head. They stood behind him, Madeline and Lucas. Ghostly pale, their figures flickered in the moonlight, like candle flames on the verge of snuffing out. Their hollow eyes bore into him, their expressions unreadable. Blood dripped in slow, steady trails from the clean, round wounds on their foreheads. Proof that he’d made the right choice. Roman swallowed hard, his throat dry. “You’re not real.” Madeline took a step forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "Neither was the fear that made you do this." His jaw clenched. “Don’t.” Lucas crouched beside him, tilting his head in the way he always used to when he didn’t understand something. “We weren’t impostors, Roman.” His tone wasn’t angry. Something cold curled in Roman’s chest. “They were impostors,” he said, his voice firm, resolute. “You weren’t my brother. She wasn’t my wife. You looked like them. You acted like them. But I knew.” Lucas shook his head. “We were real, and you murdered us.” Roman exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. No. They weren’t real. His real brother would have known the nickname he gave him when they were kids. His real wife wouldn’t have buttered her toast wrong. They weren’t them. They were fakes. Infiltrators. He had done what had to be done. Roman turned back to his rifle, forcing his focus onto the hiker. If he just took the shot, the whispers would stop. Madeline knelt beside him now, her presence cold, weightless. "Does he even tell you why you kill anymore?" Roman exhaled, ignoring the tremor in his hands. "I don't ask questions." "Maybe you should." A sharp wind tore through the trees, carrying a whisper. A deep, ancient voice threaded through the branches. Shoot. Roman inhaled. Steadied his hands. But through the scope, the hiker’s face shifted. Warped. It was Lucas’. Roman's breath caught in his throat. The weight in his chest tightened and turned leaden. The hands gripping the rifle, which had never hesitated before, wouldn’t move. The hiker vanished into the trees. Roman ripped the scope away from his eye, his pulse hammering in his ears. His breath came slow, measured. Madeline and Lucas were gone. Their voices lingered, whispering in the wind.

[A/N] GARY! YOU ARE GONNA READ MY CRP OC LORE AND YOU. ARE. GONNA. LIKE. IT! anyway i hope yall like roman bc i love him and need to draw him more.

[kanekoii]

Ren with reader who plays violin so they do a piano and violin duet pls? Or ren and reader in a big collab like crab game or among us and they keep teaming or clearly favoring each other? Lol

lyra’s notes -> oughhh this is gonna be a very long fic sorry in advance cuz i’m making THREE scenarios

pairing -> ren zotto x gn! reader

genre -> oughgg fluff i gotta find an excuse for angst soon

song -> rumor - aruvn (congrats to this fic for getting my favorite song ever) and listen to the song u and ren played together HERE

warnings -> joking mentions of death, ambiguous relationship in the second two (could be read as dating or just crushing), sorry i got very dramatic with the instruments part i just love writing dramatic things like this

PLAYING INSTRUMENTS TOGETHER ->

(sorry in advance i don't play violin or piano, just guitar) you and ren were sitting in his music studio, laying on the ground and just playfully bantering with the alien man. the warm sun peeked its head through the large floor to ceiling windows and reflected onto the lightly colored laminated flooring. he softly began playing piano and humming along as you slowly got up and gently grabbed your violin. the piano's tune was happy, reminiscent of the warm fuzzies that appear in your brain when he kisses you. your violin played a more sad tune, yet the two sounds needed each other. much like you and ren, needing each other and being incomplete without the other.

in his eyes, the way you looked oh-so at peace playing the violin matched his own calm with the piano. it was a story of love being carried within the notes of the song, a story of happiness and heartache. feelings one is bound to feel and the feelings that tear people apart, yet you and him wouldn't ever part ways. the way his piano complimented your violin made you smile to yourself as you continued playing. your heart beat so fast in that moment that it felt as if it was barely beating at all. time itself stood still as you and him played a wordless love song together, the definition of true beauty and love.

the song drew to a close as you looked at ren, his blue eyes meeting yours with a soft smile on his face.

PLAYING AMONG US ->

(okay done with the dramatic shit and i added among us cuz i lowkey love playing it) two impostor round, and you couldn't help but smile smugly as your and ren's avatars appeared on the impostor screen. it was obvious to everyone else that you were teaming and ren was voted out almost immediately because let's be honest he's a terrible liar. he continued to sabotage from beyond the grave, allowing you to win the round for the both of you. the way he favored you in games like this and obviously teamed with you was the catalyst to a lot of rumors floating around about your relationship status with the alien.

of course, when anyone in chat asked about it, he'd cut himself off before he said too much. it's not like anyone in the collabs were ignoring it either, they'd call him out on it constantly for teaming with you and sometimes sabotaging everyone else so you would win.

PLAYING CRAB GAME ->

you did not die for nari (if you know what this means i love you). after ren would die, he'd encourage you and congratulate you SO cutely if you win. if not, don't worry, ren will still say you tried your best and that's what matters! enna would sabotage one of you constantly and get absolutely flamed by you and ren for teaming with kyo. considering kyo and ren's (mostly one-sided) rivalry, the competition would get pretty intense sometimes and insults would be thrown with the rest of the competitors just kinda watching. sometimes, the four of you would be the only ones who'd make it to the last round and MY GOD it would get intense. any multiplayer game really, ren would ask you to play with him. but in games with such competition, he will absolutely protect you and sacrifice himself for your win.