#seven military classics

[black-rabbit-razumikhin]

January Reading Wrap-Up

January is always the month I finish the most books in. Minimal commitments and taking advantage of specials in local bookshops will do that for you.

And I think on the most part, this year started off strong! Here's hoping the rest of it is filled with good books.

Samurai by John Man - Could have skipped. 2/5

All The Lovers In The Night by Meiko Kawakami - The relationships between the characters and the pivotal role light plays throughout the book made me feel like I was floating. 5/5

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong - Domestic, painful, beautiful. 5/5

The Analects by Confucius - I read this to a parrot I was looking after; one of the most strangely dark academia things I've done. 4/5

Red, White And Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston - As sugary sweet as the opening cake. 4/5

Boy Parts by Eliza Clark - Good in its own right, but calling it the 'female American Psycho' does a disservice to both books. 3/5

Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart - Bound to be one of the most depressing books I'll read this year. 4/5

Three Assassins by Kotaro Isaka - Pop art violence; the ending makes everything wrap up so neatly. 4/5

Find Me by Andre Aciman - Ironically, not what I was looking for. 2/5

No Country For Old Men by Cormac McCarthy - Chigurh makes me understand why slasherfuckers are like that. 4/5

The Seven Military Classics Of Ancient China by Various Men - War never changes. 3/5

Bunkai-Jutsu: The Practical Application Of Karate Kata by Iain Abernethy - I'm not a karateka, but the discussions in this book were eye-opening in their own regard. 4/5

Bunny by Mona Awad - It's Fight Club, it's The Rehearsal, it's everything that came before and something entirely new 5/5

#dark academia #booklr #reading #samurai #all the lovers in the night #on earth we're briefly gorgeous #the analects #rwrb #boy parts #young mungo #three assassins #find me #no country for old men #seven military classics #bunkai jutsu #bunny

[waves-against-a-cliff]

She-Wolf - Feral!Reader x Ghost

Content Warnings - Violence, blood, descriptions of murder, smut, afab!fem!reader

Description - Soap notices something new about Ghost.

A/N - here it is @groguspicklejar I finally made it.

That's new.

Soap has never seen that before. In the military you get used to the general disregard for privacy. You shower together, sleep in the same place together, eat together and bleed together. So Soap has gotten used to the bodies of those around him. But also, he's always noticed when things on his teammates' bodies changed.

Like when Gaz got that new scar on his thigh. And like now, with a tattoo on Ghost. Which is odd, he's never seen a new one on him before, always that same sleeve. Weirder still... Is that a tattoo of a bite on his left arse cheek?

For a moment, Soap thinks his eyes are deceiving him so he rubs them. Ah fuck- his hands had soap on them. Fuckfuckfuck. He rinses his eyes out and then looks over at Ghosts arse again. No, that's definitely a tattoo of a bite, a nasty one too. Like someone just tried to get as much as his arse cheek in his mouth at once.

Soap jabs Gaz in the ribs, "What the fuck?" Gaz hissed but Soap redirects his attention.

"Do you see that?'

"Ghosts ass? Yes I've seen it before." Gaz replies but Soap shakes his head.

"No you dumb fuck, look closer."

Gaz squints and gasps. "Oh my God."

Soap grins at him, "I know. Hold on, I'm gonna ask him about it."

"Soap-"

"Hey LT." Ghost turns his head, a single brow raised. Soap had never been more grateful that Ghost had decided to suck up the communal showers. For both this moment and not having to deal with the vague smell of his BO on the flight back to the U.K. “What's with the new tattoo?”

“Yeah my girl’s a biter.” It's said so simply, Ghost turns and resumes washing himself. The soap suds run down his body and into the drain. Like he didn’t just say the most confusing shite ever.

“What?” Gaz laughs, “A biter?” Ghost shrugs and it dawns on Soap that he’s going to pull that classic Ghost move of saying out of pocket shite ever and then not elaborate.

A few months pass and Soap would like to say that he’s forgotten about it. That the bite mark tattoo did not haunt him and he didn’t- doesn’t- look at Ghost’s left butt cheek and wonder. Then they get a new mission and its all hands on deck, another task force joins in. Task force Medea. The 141 had worked with them a few times in the past, all very successful missions. The Medea task force was made up of seven women with varying skills but one always came to mind whenever Soap thought of the task force his mind wandered to She-wolf.

You’re wild, feral almost to a degree that makes him wonder how you managed to stay in the military. But your team members love you and when you’re not gnawing at the collar your captain tries to keep on you, you’re an amazing soldier.

“For this mission,” Price begins, standing at the head of the meeting table. On one side is Gaz, Ghost, and him. On the other is you and three other members of your task force (Viper, Circe and Artemis). Soap splits his attention between Price’s briefing (A terrorist group and cartel are working together to smuggle both weapons and people across the Polish and the Slovakian border) and you. You’re tapping your finger inaudibly, you keep glancing between Price and Ghost.

Despite having worked with you before, Soap tends to forget the gruesome details. Viper and Circe were brutal in their own right, both combining their skills to gas out anyone in the building, Artemis and Ghost picked off the ones that fled. Now it was down to you and Soap to help clear out the building of any stragglers. Soap knew he was good at clearing rooms, it's how he got his call sign after all. But much like your call sign, you were a wolf. Predatory, sneaky and brutal. If you were a dog, he was sure you would be foaming at the mouth.

Soap tries not to focus on the gory details of your current appearance, (blood flecks on your face, hands soaked with blood after you gutted a man twice your size like a fish, blood smears on your pant legs from a man choking on his own blood and grasping for any sort of life line while you sneer at him), and instead clearing out the last room. 

“Steamin’ jesus.” Soap mutters and Gaz noticeably averts his eyes. Ghost, however, sighs.

“Lieutenant.” You chirp as Viper hands you something to clean your face with.

“Do you ever not make a mess She-Wolf?” Ghost asks and you bark out a laugh as you wipe the dried blood from your face.

“Nope.” You quip as he just sighs and Soap turns his attention to Gaz who is certainly not looking like he was enjoying this any more then he was.

Your fingers dig into his pecs as you pant, your thighs, already sore from the mission, scream. “Did you like seeing me like that?” You ask between pants as you bounce on Ghost’s thick cock. You swear you can feel every detail of it, the veins rubbing against your walls, his tip constantly swiping against your g-spot and the very weight of him. “Did you like seeing me covered in blood?” You ask again as his hands dig into the meat of your hips. You stare down into his eyes that are swallowed up by his blown out pupils as he nods, a whimper crawls up his throat as your nails dig into him further.

You lean over and scrape your teeth against the junction between his shoulder and neck, you revel in the way he shudders. You bite down right as the thread snaps inside you and you gush all over his cock. Your moan around him as your pussy pulses rhythmically around him, your hips slow only for a moment. Instead you grind your hips against his as the last few shocks of your orgasm echo through your body. Ghost doesn’t move as you ravish him further in marks all over him. You love that about him, that no one will know these marks are here but you. He covers himself up a nun and only you know that he’s under you every time.

Only you know that his voice cracks and he throws his head back as he fills you. “Fuuuckkk.” He whimpers, his voice cracking and breaking. Only you know this view, of tears nearly spilling from his eyes as his chest rises and falls faster as you push him further towards overstimulation. When your hips finally stop you collapse onto his chest, he holds you close as you trace the multitude of bite marks and crescent nail marks.

“Wish we got to see each other more often.” You whisper.

“We’ll see each other when leave comes around.” Ghost- Simon, reassures you.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that little tattoo you have.” You tease and pinch his vulnerable nipple. He hisses and smacks your hand away while you giggle.

#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost smut #simon riley cod #simon x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #cod simon riley

[quirkycombatants]

// also I’ve found there are two topics I love to write most with heroes/villains:

1. strategy meeting

2. training threads

because it means I can indulge in my hyperfixation on martial arts and martial strategy. 

#ooc #i'm one of those weirdos that has actually read and owns china's seven military classics #and read clauswitz because I am a weirdo like that

[heartsofminds]

Blooming (III)

“Scoot over then.”

(Y/N)’s eyes almost explode out of her skull. “You want me to what?”

“Jesus, chick. It was just a suggestion,” he chides, “Getting your panties all in a twist because I won’t sleep but then won’t let me sleep? Kinda counterintuitive, don’t you think?” or Rooster gets caught up from a hospital bracelet and she finally gets that kiss she wanted. 

Warning: Contains curse words and mentions of an age gap. 

A/N: Welcome back to part three of the Blooming series! I’m so incredibly excited to share this with you all. Thank you much for your continued support and patience. Stay tuned for more of the Blooming-verse as part four will be out soon! But for now, enjoy 10.8k words about the story of Rooster Bradshaw facing his relationship fears. 

Blooming, Blooming II

i. 

(Y/N) considers herself to be a private person. 

She’s an extremely private person, actually. But that’s only until someone wants to get information out of her and gives her that look. You know, the pointed one with the raised eyebrows and the slight smirk, the corners of their mouths serving as picks to the lock of all her inner thoughts. 

She swore she could give Ella Enchanted a run for her money by how quickly she would fess up if simply asked for the truth. 

(Y/N) partly blames herself but mostly blames her parents. Growing up in a military household with a greatly admired and high-ranked father meant that honesty and excellence were never not expected from her. And after the dissolution of her parents’ marriage, growing up with her helicopter mother who didn’t believe in keeping secrets put a nail in the coffin for her sub rosa thoughts and actions. 

Her high school friends joked around with her saying that they could never sneak out or drink or do anything outside of the agenda she had told her mother before leaving the house because the minute that someone with authority asked her for the truth, (Y/N)’s mouth was running a mile a minute with the hurried apologies following suit after. She simply couldn’t help it, and her upbringing paired with her innate desire to always do good and always do what was expected of her cemented her truth telling tendencies even farther. 

And so when she comes home in a stormy mood after being out past three AM and slams Penny’s guest bedroom door shut (waking Amelia up in the process who had school in the morning), her god sister knew something was up and was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

Amelia is mischievous and so fucking precocious. She had been raised around adults all her life so how could she not be? 

She didn’t know what the kids table at Thanksgiving looked like or what watching cartoons on a Saturday morning felt like. Hell, (Y/N) doesn’t think Amelia has ever played with a goddamn Barbie doll ever in her life, let alone relished in the thrill of going to a Build-a-Bear Workshop. 

She, much like her twenty-one year old god sister, liked the more “classic” things in life. They liked Raisin Bran and sudoku puzzles. They liked older 80s movies in comparison to their more modern remakes. They liked playing Scrabble and checkers. 

And while (Y/N)’s “refined” taste (which, the more she thought about it, really happened to emulate all that of an eighty year old man who resided in a nursing home) came from her own father and didn’t make an evident appearance until she was an older teenager, Amelia had always been this way. 

Because of that, Amelia was a bit of an odd ball to her peers but (Y/N) loved it. Her parents had split when she was eight and because of her father’s age and her mother’s anxiety towards parenting, they never dared having another kid after (Y/N). So when her Aunt Penny announced that she was having a baby,(Y/N) was more than ecstatic. 

She still remembers damn near exploding from joy when she found out Amelia was going to be a girl. 

Amelia was the closest thing (Y/N) has to a sibling and despite the seven year age gap, they’re so extremely close. It’s unusual; to have someone so much younger than you somehow be on the same page all the time but with (Y/N) and Amelia, there are no questions or genuine thinking required to read each other’s minds. 

They just knew how to. 

And despite how much (Y/N) adores Amelia or how much Amelia looks up to (Y/N), they irritate each other like no other. Getting under each other’s skin is each of their favorite pastimes and in true sister fashion, they go from ruthless screaming matches to braiding each other’s hair while sharing funny stories about their day. 

When the fighting gets really bad, (Y/N) usually drives to the closest Dunkin Donuts and buys Amelia her usual; wordlessly leaving it outside of her bedroom door. Amelia usually slips a note under (Y/N)’s door with a “One free ‘Yell at me’ coupon,” which makes (Y/N) laugh and embrace her in a huge hug stating, “I only yell with love,” which makes both of them bust out laughing at how ridiculous they both are. 

Even though Amelia is rather mature for a fourteen year old and her and (Y/N) basically share the same brain cells (even though they both joke about letting the other have ownership over them the day of a huge exam), she’s still a kid. And boy, does Amelia do all the shit that kid sisters tend to do. 

She doesn’t mean to be, but Amelia is fucking nosy. She’s always hated being out of the loop. In her humble opinion (which, okay she does admit that she’s only fourteen and that her credentials in the age category aren’t looking too hot), being the last to know is the deadliest punch in the gut. Being blindsided is the absolute worst, and if she can do anything to prevent it, she will. 

So as she lies in bed at three fifteen in the morning because (Y/N) came home pissed and slammed her door shut, Amelia knew something was up. (Y/N) had big emotions, but not big actions. Someone or something must have had to really piss her off for her to act that way and because she’s so goddamn private, Amelia knows that she won’t spill unless she absolutely has to and she won’t unless she’s made to sweat. 

And that’s what Amelia plans to do. 

The younger girl is spitting her toothpaste in the sink of the bathroom that stands between her bedroom and the guest bedroom when she notices that (Y/N)’s sour mood carries over to that morning. 

The door is closed and there’s no sign of life other than the faint sound of ocean waves in the background that (Y/N) has to put on in order to calm her mind to be able to sleep. It’s a quarter till eight, and (Y/N) being in bed still is extremely odd.

Amelia knows that (Y/N) is usually up and awake by now; having done her morning run or sunrise yoga or whatever the hell she usually does before Amelia gets ready to leave for school. She’s usually sitting on the porch with her mom by now, those ceramic mugs that have some cringey ass quip printed on them and sipping raspberry tea while they gab about life and college and boys. 

But she isn’t, and Amelia almost convinces herself it’s a good idea to knock and see if her god sister is awake before she chickens out. Her thoughts are interrupted by (Y/N) swinging the door open harshly. 

Her hair is thrown up messily and the dark circles under her eyes say that the ocean wave white noise she had on did little to assist her into slumber. The collar of the gray USD Law sweatshirt she has on sat crooked on her shoulder and her sleeping shorts are twisted. Another noticeable sign that it was a more than rough night is shown through the one sock on (Y/N)’s foot and the other being bare. 

She rubs at her face with her sweatshirt sleeve and shoots daggers at Amelia with her eyes; as if she was saying “I dare you to fucking speak to me right now” to her god sister. (Y/N) brushes by without as much of a wave or a “Good morning.”

So yeah, she’s fucking pissed and cranky. 

And Amelia is clever but sometimes her curiosity goes against her own best interest. Was it smart to follow (Y/N) to the kitchen when she had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Absolutely not, but Amelia always claimed that smart was something that she is occasionally, and not something that she is all the time. 

Also, she just had to get to the bottom of this. 

The honey-blonde teenager holds her breath as she waltzes into the kitchen, finding (Y/N) aggressively shaking the bag of Special K cereal into a ceramic bowl. Amelia goes to the fridge and gets out the almond milk. She shakes it and puts it next to (Y/N) who mumbles out a weak, “Thanks.” before filling her bowl and stabbing at her cereal with her spoon. 

Amelia leans on the counter, eyes lasered in on the back of the older girl’s head. She was gonna get her to talk and the only way to do so is to corner her. But right now her god sister’s rage emulates that of a rabid raccoon and she’s animal control with no equipment. 

She knows she’ll get her head bit off, but the void she has in her life that’s absent of her own drama desperately needs to be filled and she’ll be damned before she’s left out of anything going on with the people living in her own house. 

“Are you gonna fucking speak, Meals? Or are you just gonna stare laser beams in the back of my fucking skull like a dumbass?” (Y/N) grumbles and she knows that what she said is mean and uncalled for, but she’s just really not in the mood for her kid sister’s shenanigans today. 

Bradley Bradshaw really pissed her off last night and the feelings she feels are burning her up from the inside out. (Y/N)’s hurt, embarrassed, even because who the fuck does that? Who flirts and flirts and flirts and then unloads all their childhood stories before almost kissing her goodnight and then dipping out because she’s “too young”? 

“Too young” her ass. She’s a woman, for Christ’s sake. A smart, likable, kind (okay, well maybe not right now with how she just answered Amelia, but usually she is) young woman who is going to law school and is a college graduate. 

She’s not too young. Amelia is too young; especially to be butting her nose into (Y/N)’s business the way she is. 

(Y/N) knows that Amelia is just dying to ask her what’s wrong; hopeful to get a taste of whatever drama is brewing in the older girl’s life. She can see it now - the slightly upturned eyebrows and the small open mouthed gasp that Amelia does when she’e intently listening. She also folds her hands together in front of her and hangs on to every word that’s being said because Amelia ponders long and hard over what she hears and psychoanalyzes everything about it. 

(Y/N) would say that she hates that about Amelia but can never find herself to because she knows that she’s the same exact way. Her god sister’s nosy tendencies are simply learned behavior. 

So as she stabs at her cereal and almost grinds her teeth as she chews because of how angry she is, she tries to find it within herself to withhold taking out her anger on Amelia. She almost throws her a bone and lets her in on what had happened, but realized that she’d have to omit so many details that Amelia would never be satisfied and would keep picking and picking and picking until she finally broke and (Y/N)’s just not ready for that. She’s not letting her fourteen year old god sister know how embarrassed she is. She’s not letting her know how little sleep she got over the entire situation or how irritated and disrespected she feels.

“Wow. Aren’t you a goddamn ray of sunshine this morning,” Amelia snarls back, already having enough of (Y/N)’s piss poor attitude. (Y/N) may be pissed, but she’s not the one who got woken up at three in the morning because of some hissy fitted rage party. . 

(Y/N) drops the cereal off of her spoon back into the abyss of milk. She sets her utensil down before turning her head to the side, adjusting her vision so she can see Amelia a little bit better. 

“Language. You know how your mom and I feel about you cussing,” is all she can manage to say and seriously, when did Amelia get so sassy? 

Amelia rolls her eyes. She may be younger than (Y/N), but she’s certainly not a child. She’s always been told she’s mature for her age, so why is her god sister acting like the seven year age gap is a big deal now? And besides, she already has a mom and a dad. 

She doesn’t need (Y/N) trying to fill in for what’s missing.

“So it’s okay for you to say an entire dictionary of cuss words but the second I say some “is it or not” cuss word you’re lecturing me?” 

(Y/N) rolls her eyes. She’s totally, absolutely, positively not in the mood today. “If you’re trying to be nosy and play Nancy Drew or whatever you’re doing, please don’t try it,” she snaps, “M’not putting up with your bullshit today, Meals. Go find something else to do.”  

Amelia raises her eyebrows. “Seriously?” she quips, “You wanna be like that with me when I’m not the one who pissed you off?” 

(Y/N) groans because great; not only is she pissed, but now her appetite is ruined. “You’re pissing me off right now because you won’t butt out. Leave me the fuck alone.” She slides the stool away from the bar top counter and puts her bowl in the sink. 

She’ll just come back and clean it later. She just seriously needs to get away from Amelia right now because she’ll explode if she’s around her pestering god sister for any longer. 

“And you’re pissing me off because someone obviously peed in your Cheerios and you’re making it everyone else’s problem.” 

(Y/N) rolls her eyes again and starts to stalk back up the stairs. She knows that she’s being childish and she can’t believe that she’s about to argue with a fucking middle schooler, but she’s standing her ground. The last thing she needs is Amelia teasing her relentlessly about Bradley Bradshaw and how he basically curved the fuck out of her the night prior. 

Amelia follows her. (Y/N)’s not getting away from her without any answers just yet; especially taking into account that she really just wants to know what’s wrong with (Y/N) and how she can help. She may be nosy, but she also has a conscience.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” (Y/N) damn near growls. God, why did Amelia have to be so damn stubborn? “I’m obviously mad and you’re not making my day any better!” 

“Can’t you just not get all pissy and aggravated and slam doors at fucking-” (Y/N) shoots her a death glare before Amelia corrects herself. 

The cussing, right.

“Freaking. I meant freaking. You can’t just be all mad and slam doors at freaking three AM when I have school and you know I was asleep,” Amelia continues, “That’s just crappy, (Y/N), and I would never do that to you.” 

(Y/N) stands at the top of the stairs and angrily huffs. Amelia has a point and a pretty fair one at that but she’d rather die than back down now. That’s (Y/N)’s problem in a nutshell; she’s too goddamn hardheaded but also strives on being a people pleaser and if you asked her (or anyone on the street, really) that would be considered a combination for disaster. 

“And I would never put my nose in business that’s clearly yours. Fuck off, Meals.” 

(Y/N) stomps back to her bedroom and slams the door even harder than she had the night previously. She’s so enraged and she feels so stupid. She’s never been this embarrassed over a boy since she was a freshman in high school and she knows she’s being childish and she knows that what she said to Amelia isn’t fair or kind in the slightest, but she can’t help but fall back into that “being mad at the world” teenage narrative she had thought she left behind. 

Hell, she’s only not been a teenager for two years but the amount of growth that she’s done since then has just drastically taken a decline. She feels like she’s sixteen again and fighting with her mother about a stupid boy who convinced her to sneak out or break her curfew or lie about where she was going or whatever melodramatic teenage drama bullshit that seems like a big deal at the time but ceases to pose a real threat the minute you move out of your parents’ home. 

Amelia groans in frustration before turning on her heel. She’s not sure if her irritation is because of her lack of sleep or because (Y/N) is being, for lack of better term, a total bitch right now. The teenager slings her backpack over her shoulder, and stomps obnoxiously to her front door. 

(Y/N) lays on her stomach and puts back on the ocean wave sounds she had turned on late last night and her stomach drops when she realizes that that was the background noise to the memory that had Bradley Bradshaw cupping her face and telling her that she’s too young. 

ii. 

Jake Seresin had really done it this time. 

It wasn’t a secret that him and Bradley weren’t the greatest of friends. 

Well, actually, scratch that. 

Rooster and Hangman weren’t friends at all and that fact was made so obviously apparent to anyone who found themselves in the same room with the two pilots for longer than fifteen seconds. 

The constant banter and low blows, the “joking” that wasn’t really a joke, the more than aggressively sarcastic handshakes and back pats; it was a limbo contest of who could go the lowest without one of them jumping up and trying to beat the brakes off the other. 

It’s stupid, they know, but what else is expected when you’ve been told you were great all your life? Competition obviously rises and “survival of the fittest” starts to kick in and the sooner you can push someone out, the sooner you can be pushed into the vacancy that person had left. 

Jake is charismatic and can get anyone to do his bidding if he so much as put his hand on their shoulder and stared deep into their eyes. He has a talent for getting anyone to follow him, but he’s selfish and extremely reckless. Jumping off the bridge is certainly his idea until his loyal followers do so, and then he bails after realizing how stupid the idea was in the first place. He’s a leader who never asks for a crowd, and that’s evident once he leaves them hanging. 

Hence, the call sign, Hangman, but that doesn’t take a genius to decipher.

And call Bradley old school but that’s definitely not how military men should be and it drives him absolutely insane. 

Bradley is more calm and is the literal epitome of a dad, but a good one. He listens intently and gives everyone his full attention. He’s stubborn but adaptable. He takes his time and plays it safe always, even when he knows that he should take a risk every now and then. He’s always looking out for other people and is constantly sacrificing his happiness and successes for the well-being of others. 

Bradley is a skilled pilot; the patience and meticulous practice made him so whereas Jake was good because he was a natural (by some freakish fluke of nature). The difference between the two is their confidence and Bradley can’t wrap his head around how Jake gets a thrill from putting himself and his team in constant danger, and Jake can’t understand why Bradley acts as if he’ll spontaneously combust every time his F-18 goes up in the air. 

Bradley has a tendency to parent everyone else and he never means to, and it always just sort of happens, but being told what to do (which makes joining the Navy an odd career path for him) is one of Jake’s biggest pet peeves. It’s just annoying, Hangman thinks, how Rooster corrals everyone and is constantly playing dad. 

Jake already has a father; he doesn’t need a guy who’s only four years older than him trying to parent him. 

Their rivalry started as just friction. They have vastly different personalities and it’s not like any of that isn’t okay. It wasn’t like either of them had to be best friends after graduation. But then Jake realized that “Holy fuck,” Rooster was good and then Rooster realized that “Holy shit,” Jake was good.

And the innate, primal need to succeed, to prove who was better and who would come out on top, just started one day and it never stopped. It was a conscious effort at first, but then it spiraled into a muscle memory-like performance. 

They competed over everything. They competed over who could get their flight gear on the fastest. They competed on who could lift heavier and for longer durations of time. They even fucking competed to see who could complete a crossword puzzle fastest.  

Jake and Bradley know that they’re ridiculous and that the dick measuring contests that they always seemed to be having were quite childish for grown men. They shouldn’t be fighting like rowdy first graders at recess after eating a lunch packed full of sugar, but they can’t help it and they would rather die than lose and let the other having bragging rights.

But then somewhere along the road the competition changed into an uncontrollable beast; a means to be watching each other constantly to see what could make the other tick and thus a new game was created: Who could make who lose their composure first? 

To be totally fair, Bradley started the war by moving Jake’s things one day after a training session. He hadn’t meant to move the items in a way that would’ve set the pilot off, but he did and then Jake came barreling in and freaking the fuck out because his water bottle and shirt were placed in a different stall than he had originally put them. The thought to fess up and apologize definitely crossed Bradley’s mind, but he withheld. 

He liked seeing Jake frantic and upset. He liked knowing that he could toy with him and that he could make the blond sweat if he truly wanted. Bradley was raised better than that, he had known, and he’s sure his mother and father were looking down on him with some disappointment about being so mean, but fuck it. 

Jake Seresin was like a canker sore when you’re eating salt and vinegar chips; annoying and downright painful to be around. 

Over the years and time spent freakishly observing each other, they had learned quite a bit. Bradley hated the sound of teeth scraping against utensils and Jake made sure to find a seat near Bradley but never next to him, and would bite the hell out of his fork whenever he ate his dinner. Jake loathed the sound of styrofoam rubbing together, so whenever Bradley would get handed a styrofoam to go box, he always made sure to be around Jake before opening and closing the box repeatedly. Jake knew he was doing it on purpose but couldn’t help but wonder how the hell someone could find the willpower to open and shut a fucking takeaway box over and over and over again. 

And yes it was annoying and yes it garnered many eye rolls from their friends, but it was entertaining and always kept the pair busy. If anything, it was like a big brother, little brother relationship; irritating the hell out of each other but never going too far. 

Except this wasn’t a big brother, little brother relationship and that they were both, in fact, fighting to be the big brother because big brothers always have more respect.

And they usually never went too far until one day, Jake just did. 

He was raised by a more than conservative Baptist pastor in Texas, and Jake knew that his parents would have a cow if they ever pieced together that he was having premarital sex; let alone, premarital sex that was with someone else’s girlfriend. He was raised better and he knew it, but he was also raised in a family full of sisters and if there’s one thing he learned from having five older ones, everything was an eye-for-an-eye. 

So when Bradley off-handedly joked about fucking Jake’s ex-girlfriend one day, he couldn’t help but let the comment grind his gears until his gears started turning on the perfect way to get back at the brunette pilot. 

While what Bradley said was a joke and was exactly just that, Jake was plotting, and he wasn’t joking in the slightest. So the true hatred and resentment started when a leggy red-head (That amazed Jake with how flexible she was because goddamn, girls can bend like that?) was scratching at his back and calling him “daddy” in a supply closet, and he can truly say that that exact moment was when he knew that there were no limits to the competition he and Bradley Bradshaw had. 

“An eye for an eye” it was, and “an eye for an eye” it would always be. 

So when he notices the tension between Captain Mitchell and Rooster, Hangman can’t help but find him studying the two. He notices the golfball like bulge that emerges from Rooster’s jaw whenever he has to speak to Maverick. He notices how Maverick’s eyes nervously dart across Rooster’s face; as if he’s searching for answers in the younger man’s features without having to ask him questions. 

Jake is always looking and always scheming; even going as far to ask Phoenix if she thinks Bradley is acting weird to which she rolls her eyes and says, “If this is you trying to get under his skin, please leave me out of it. Had enough of you two dumbasses in flight school. I don’t need this shit now.” And then she slammed her locker shut before slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder and leaving the base for the day. 

But little to her knowledge did she know that her answer gave Jake all the information he needed. Phoenix had a protective streak to her, but she never stuck up for someone unless she felt they couldn’t do it themselves. So with the aggravated body language coming from Rooster and Maverick’s interactions in the past two days they had been training and Natasha’s head biting whenever he asked her a simple question, Jake Seresin had an sparkle in his eye and his smirk saying that he was up to no good. 

He snoops around the headquarters for more evidence to further solidify his suspicion and what he finds truly falls upon him like a lucky accident. 

It manifests itself as a labeled picture on the wall with Maverick Mitchell and Goose Bradshaw, arms slung across the back of each other’s necks along with Admiral Kazansky and various other pilots whom he’d encountered from his time floating from base to base; the Top Gun class of 1986. 

And holy fucking shit, did Seresin have some ammunition for Bradshaw. 

He likes to play dumb; like all he happens to be is a pretty face with a hot body but no one is that dense to not give Hangman credit for being intelligent. So he waits to unleash his findings until he knows Rooster is at one of his most vulnerable moments. 

He waits and waits and waits and then he strikes, which sends the entire fleet of pilots into a fit of gasps and has Bradley beet red and ready to wring his neck. 

Jake Seresin wasn’t afraid of many things, but the absolute anger and rage encapsulated in Bradley Bradshaw’s face was a look he had never seen before; even when he had been caught fucking that red head all those moons ago. This was different and he swears Bradley’s eyes are completely black with fury and his body emitting so much heat that Jake feels like he’s on fire himself the minute the other pilot has him by his collar. 

The knife was already plunged and it was too late to back out now; no matter how truly terrified he was of Bradley in that moment. He knows he should quit, but a job half done isn’t a job well done. 

And in true asshole-ish Hangman fashion, he has to be calm and collected and to twist the knife even more he adds a, “You know he’s not cut out for this mission,” which makes Bradley completely seethe and molt into one with his anger. 

Jake softly grins to himself as soon as the altercation is broken up and Maverick announces that they’re done for the day. He knows that he won and Bradley lost. 

Bradley can feel it too and he’s so inexplicably pissed, but nothing makes him feel more angered than the deceased father he never had the pleasure of getting to know and the stand-in, who let him down and let an entire fifteen years pass with Bradley thinking he didn’t believe in him. 

iii. 

(Y/N) likes to tell herself that she doesn’t hold grudges; that she’s understanding and empathetic and “noble.” 

Her entire life was wrapped up in achieving the nirvana of selflessness and she doesn’t know if it’s because she was raised by such charitable and giving people or if she was born with some freakish gene that always made herself put her well-being last no matter what. 

She was the kindergartener who would cry in solidarity whenever a kid scraped their knee on the playground. She was the third-grader who donated all her birthday presents to kids whose families were in need. She was the middle schooler who still invited everyone in the class to her birthday parties (even if they were weird or cruel or just downright annoying, but she could never find herself rejecting anyone). She was the high schooler who offered everyone rides home after soccer practice despite her mother yelling at her for “wasting” her gas. 

She was the girl who was always said to be kind and helpful with a sweet heart and bright eyes. 

But here she is on a Tuesday night at 11 PM about to crush a shot glass in her bare hand because of some stupid comment some pilot said about her age. If she could punch Bradley Bradshaw square in the face and break his stupid aviator sunglasses (and maybe his nose too, but then she figures that that’s too much harm to wish on someone), she would with no hesitation.

The main problem she’s finding with directing her anger is that Bradley wasn’t rude about it. What he said about her being too young wasn’t some idiotic flirtatious remark that came off creepy. It wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t even a true comment, and from the way he said it, it almost seemed like it was a thought he had had that was never supposed to grace her ears; as if he was thinking hard and his thoughts were too loud for his liking. 

There are better things to be upset about and she knows this, but she still can’t help but feel the hot anger in her chest. It’s the same kind of anger that flourishes when you’re just on the cusp of getting what you want and it’s pulled away from you; taunting you as the picture of it grows blurrier and blurrier and you’re left screaming because you’re so damn frustrated; because you were so fucking close. 

And yeah, (Y/N) does admit she’s being dramatic, but she can’t remember ever wanting someone’s attention so badly before. The last boy who she found enticing cheated on her after two and a half years together, and that was during the summer of her Junior year of college. Nevertheless, the disrespect still hurts her feelings if she thinks about it too hard and the lack of sex she’s had since then was almost insulting. 

So sue her if she was hoping Bradley could provide her with a few orgasms and some cuddles. He also wasn’t a bad storyteller and despite her anger, she wasn’t blind. He was hot as hell, too. 

But she just can’t get over the way he held her cheek that night. The way that his hazel eyes found her’s; searching for a reason to say what he said. She can still feel the gentle squeeze of his palm on her face. Her ex-boyfriend had tried to make that their “thing” when they had first started dating and it always made her uncomfortable. 

He was too rough, too unthoughtful, and ultimately too unfaithful. She thinks her feeling borderline disgusted by her ex cupping her cheek was a foreshadowing of him cheating on her. It was ironic how he was holding her face with that same hand and then smushing the face of another girl into a pillow soon after. 

But Bradley was different. 

His actions were slow and thoughtful. He was gentle, almost like a child holding his mother’s good China and not wanting to drop it. Bradley was cautious and sweet and that was something that (Y/N) had never truly experienced with a man; no matter how interested or in love with her she thought he was. 

She was dying for him to kiss her and dead she is because he didn’t. 

“You’re too young.” 

It echoes in her head and she finds her face growing hotter and her knuckles getting more white the harder she squeezed the shot glass she had in her hand. Her age and Bradley’s disdain for it rings in her ears as if it's a fact and it is one, which is the shittiest part about it all. 

“You’re too young,” patronizes her mind as if she wasn’t successful and brilliant and mature. 

“You’re too young,” taunts her and embarrasses her, as if she’s ten years old again and being banished to the kids’ table at Thanksgiving. 

“You’re too young,” screams at her as if her lack of experience and lack of opening herself up to the world is the reasoning behind why things never seemed to ever work out for her. 

And the pressure of the thoughts her mind is bogging her brain down with starts to shut off her oxygen. She can’t see the empty bar. She can’t feel the shot glass in her hand. She can’t even feel her heart beating. 

Her knuckles are white from trying to hold on for some explanation, some reason, why she can’t seem to shake this statement and there’s no other thoughts floating around in her brain that allow her to dislodge it. 

“Fuck you, Bradley Bradshaw,” she thinks. 

And she squeezes her hands together so tight that she’s snapped out of her hateful thoughts when she feels a shooting pain in her left hand and oh fuck. 

The scarlet flowing from her palm sends her into a panic and her face turns white. 

Holy shit, there’s no way this is happening. 

There’s no way this is happening at 11:15 PM on a Tuesday night while she’s closing at the Hard Deck with no one else around. 

“Penny is gonna fucking skin me alive,” she thinks, the blood dripping down her baby blue tube top-covered torso the closer she pushes her wound to her chest. The fabric is stained purple from how quickly her blood is absorbing into it. 

Napkins, she needs napkins. 

And she frantically scans the bar for a table that has a dispenser on it, knowing that Penny doesn’t keep any at the bar top. Her eyes look around almost comically before landing on the man of the goddamn hour: Bradley fuckface Bradshaw who has his eyes wide and his mouth gaped open. 

“Holy shit! What did you do?” 

iv.

Bradley knows he should stop coming to the Hard Deck when they close, but he needs to see Penny. 

He figures showing up unannounced at her house isn’t the best way to go; especially considering he hadn’t been there in close to fifteen years. It doesn’t matter if he sends her a Mother’s Day card each year or knows that she would never turn him away. Something about it doesn’t sit right with his soul. 

He tends to not do a lot of things if it doesn’t settle right in his stomach. 

He’s usually calm. He’s usually collected. He usually has it all together but ever since he received orders to come back to Miramar, he’s been losing it. The bags underneath his eyes are prominent and he’s been averaging a total of four hours and twenty-two minutes of sleep each night (per the Sleep Cycle app on his phone which he knows isn’t very accurate but he can certainly feel the exhaustion so he’ll let it slide). 

Bradley was really set off today with Jake and Maverick and the lack of sleep he’s been experiencing. He needed guidance. Truthfully, he needed his mother and he would have rather died than admit that when she was still alive and he was a prideful eighteen-year-old, but here he is now at thirty-five with an ache in his chest and a hole he’s not quite figured out how to fill. 

Penny Benjamin, his old babysitter, is the closest thing he had to a mother now and he just has to find her. 

So Bradley barrels into the Hard Deck and slams the door open on his quest to find Penny and figure out why the fuck he’s feeling this way. 

The jukebox has been turned off and all the stools are stacked on the tables. The Hard Deck is a sorry excuse for a hangout spot at this hour and the smell of draft beer and scotch that usually soaked the atmosphere was gone; dried up like water spilled on the sidewalk on a hot day. 

Bradley wrinkles his nose, using his curved pointer finger to roughly rub the end of it; a nervous tick he developed when he was a kid. 

He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous to see Penny. She was comforting and sweet; the best kind of woman and someone who Bradley could say he trusted with his entire life. He used to say the same about his Uncle Maverick, but like they say, things change. 

And things change indeed when he bursts through the doors and sees Penny nowhere in sight. 

Well, fuck. (Y/N) is Penny’s replacement, he guesses. 

The avalanche of actions tumbles down on him the minute he sees her; baby blue tube top sitting perfectly pretty on her body and her shoulders slightly shiny from either sweat or leftover tanning oil she may have put on earlier in the day. The sight makes Bradley’s mouth water with want and dry with embarrassment, simultaneously. His eyes drink in the sight of her face and his palms can feel the ghost of her cheek he held the night before. 

(Y/N) has a frown on her face and is dissociating. The shot glass in her hand and the purple rag she has in the other serve as simple distractions for her hands. Bradley takes in how she doesn’t look up at him and how white her knuckles are - almost like she’s holding onto dear life to keep her from spazzing out. 

And then it clicks that she’s probably angry with him and Bradley, despite his better judgment, decides that he needs to do some damage control. 

He’s such a fuck up, he thinks, and he can’t afford to fuck someone else up in the process too.

“(Y/N)?” he asks softly, cautiously approaching the bar top; eyes swimming in her appearance to see if she was okay. 

She doesn’t meet his gaze. She just stares ahead, her fingers gripping the glass in her hand so hard that her arms are shaking. 

“Hey! Are you okay?” Bradley asks again, footsteps approaching her cautiously. 

A small pop, a sound that could be made by someone stepping on some small fragments of glass with their boots on, can be heard and Bradley is just astonished. The crimson falling from her hand gives proof of what she had just done; her eyes widening comically and her face looking solemn like a child who had just been caught stealing cookies from the jar. 

Her face is drained of color and Bradley figures it still hasn’t clicked that he’s in front of her. She clutches her hand to her chest and the fabric of her shirt is covered in blood. Bradley’s never done well with blood and other things like that; almost threw up all over himself whenever he would skin his knees when he was little. 

But his instincts kick in and he lives up to his call sign: Rooster. He’s about to corral her and protect her the best he can. He has to. 

“Holy shit! What did you do?” he yells, rushing towards her. 

She looks at him wide-eyed and no words can rush out of her gaping mouth. She looks fearful and shocked. While he suspects her injury isn’t extremely drastic (okay well getting a shot glass crushed in your hand has to hurt like a bitch, he admits), she’s bleeding a lot and she’ll definitely need stitches. 

“I-I don’t know. Fuck, my hand,” she pauses before turning to him again, “Fuck! Penny’s gonna kill me! I got blood all over the bar. Oh my God, she’s gonna skin me!” 

Rooster shrugs off his Hawaiian shirt and pulls the white tank top underneath off by its straps. He needed to get her something to help her apply pressure and absorb the blood. He knows that the thin, poor excuses for napkins Penny has at the bar won’t do much to help, and asking her to take her tube top off to wrap around her hand would be a little too much. 

She definitely can’t have on a bra with that top. He had been around enough girls in his life to know that for a fact and besides, it wasn’t like he was here to make her uncomfortable purposely. 

“No she won’t,” he comforts. He has his shirt in one hand and folds it vertically to maximize the surface area. 

“Here,” he directs, taking her arm gently and inspecting her wound, and God, did that glass cut fucking deep. 

Two deep cuts carved their way into her left hand and the pools of crimson flowing from them tell Bradley all that he needs to know. 

She indefinitely needs stitches. 

Bradley wraps the tank top around her palm and instructs her to hold it tight. She presses her lips in a faint line and tries to calm herself. 

One deep breath in, one deep breath out. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, the-

“Where’s your purse? I’m taking you to the ER.” 

She narrows her eyes at him. Now he wants to play hero, she thinks. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be in this situation at all. 

“I can drive myself,” she snaps. 

He chuckles and shakes his head and she instantly feels patronized. It was the kind of laugh her babysitters used to do whenever she asked if ten was a grown-up age. Newsflash, it wasn’t and she came to know that pretty quickly, but not before she felt the fury and embarrassment of being chortled at; especially when she had done nothing amusing. 

“Really? You want blood all over your car? And what’re you gonna do about using your turn signals,” he tries to reason, “You don’t have the fingers to do that, chick.” 

And God, does she want to punch him in his stupid, handsome face. 

“Fuck you,” she mumbles underneath her breath. No matter how upset she was, she couldn’t not agree that he had some valid points. Being a bitch got Amelia pissed at her earlier. The last thing she needs is to be left hanging with glass in her hand with no ride home because of her own childish emotions. 

Thank God he didn’t hear her. 

“Where’s your purse? I’m locking up and taking you to the hospital.” She opens her mouth to argue with him again, to insist that she can call an Uber or Penny, but Bradley shuts her down. 

“Non-negotiable.” 

She puts her head down like a scolded puppy and points to the back by the kitchen with her uninjured hand. 

Rooster offers her a warm smile. “Good girl,” he says, patting her shoulder as he walks past her to grab the bag from the back. 

He tosses the keys to his Bronco on the bar top. “If you want, you can start the car. Just promise not to drive off with it?” He offers her a weak smile. 

(Y/N) puffs and exhales her annoyance. “Can’t promise I’ll be there still once you lock up.” 

Bradley knows that she won’t take off. She can be snippy and has proven it to him time and time again with her quick remarks and her attitude toward him right now, but to her core, she’s a good person. She would never intentionally do something like that to anyone; no matter how pissed off they had made her. 

As he hears the front door to the Hard Deck open and close with (Y/N)’s exit, he looks up at the clock. It reads 11:30 PM and fuck, waking up tomorrow is gonna be a pain in the ass, he knows. But he would rather have a late night with her than his own thoughts. 

And yeah, Bradley Bradshaw thinks he can start to get used to the smart ass girl sitting in the passenger seat of his car right now. 

v. 

“Are you planning on buttoning up your shirt anytime soon? I’m sick of the nurses coming by and gawking at you,” (Y/N) gripes, “Giving you all the attention when I’m the one with my hand damn near hanging off.” 

Bradley scoffs. “You’re being dramatic. And besides, this is kind of your own fault. No one told you to turn into the Incredible Hulk and crush a shot glass with your bare hand.” 

The emergency room is bustling with people; moms in labor, car accidents left and right, and people coming in screaming in pain. There’s no way her low “high” maintenance stitches would be taken care of any sooner than later. That was predetermined the minute they decided to drive instead of calling an ambulance. 

It’s nearing 2 AM and (Y/N) is still clutching Rooster’s white (well, dark red now) tank top in her left hand and with a sulky frown on her face. Her ass hurts from the vinyl plastic that serves as an awful mattress that makes up an ER bed. She knows that Bradley is more than uncomfortable from the way he shifts constantly in the mossy blue chair next to her bedside. 

She ignores his statement. What she had done was rather childish and she can’t come to grips with it herself, so what does she look like telling the person who caused her rage-induced tantrum? 

“You’re sunburnt,” she states. That’ll have to do for now. Bradley already knows a lot about her. He doesn’t need to know everything. 

“In a sexy Baywatch kinda way?” he jokingly asks and (Y/N) gives him a soft laugh. 

“No. Your chest is pink,” she continues, “More of a Patrick Star kind of way.” 

“You like it though.” 

“We’re here to fix my hand. Not your self-confidence.” 

Bradley laughs before starting to button his shirt up. “You’re a hoot, chick.” 

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows. In the past two and some hours she’s spent with Bradley Bradshaw (and the various other times she’s been with him, but she’s not sure that those can actually count for something) she’s learned a lot about his mannerisms. 

He’s always tapping his foot or rubbing his hands up and down his thighs when he’s sitting down. He uses old people's jargon. He leans on his right arm more than his left and he’s always checking his watch. When he gets tired he mumbles and then swipes his hand over his face before sitting up straighter. 

A big yawn comes from his pink lips and (Y/N) knows that she should speak up. He has to be up at five AM tomorrow morning for training at six. He should at least be able to go home and get some sleep. 

“Bradley?” she softly asks. 

“Hmm?” he answers, slouching down in his seat a little bit more but instantly shooting up to sit straight. 

(Y/N) chuckles softly and Bradley can’t deny that the sound makes his heart melt the smallest bit. 

“You can go home if you need to. I’ll get stitched up and figure out a ride.” 

Rooster sits up straighter; confusion plaguing his features. “Why would I leave you here?” 

Her eyes widen. Holy shit, he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. 

“You have to be up early tomorrow. Just go home. I’m a big girl,” she flexes the small and albeit mushy muscles of her right arm, “I can handle it.” 

“Are you kidding? A shot glass took you out. No way I’m leaving you at the hospital by yourself.” 

And like how it was at the Hard Deck, the look he shoots her tells her that what he said is “non-negotiable.” He was staying, driving her home, and that was final. 

“You need sleep, Bradley. You can’t just pull an all-nighter and then go and operate a plane. That’s just dangerous,” she lectures and Bradley lets out a yawn during her sentence. 

She almost says some snide remark about him being rude and how she’s not that boring but Bradley beats her to fill the silence with his voice. 

“Scoot over then.” 

(Y/N)’s eyes almost explode out of her skull. “You want me to what?” 

“Jesus, chick. It was just a suggestion,” he chides, “Getting your panties all in a twist because I won’t sleep but then won’t let me sleep? Kinda counterintuitive, don’t you think?” 

She’s at a loss for words but he can’t have the final say. No one else could ever have the final say with her. 

“Be my guest,” she says as she scoots over on the ER cot and makes enough space for him to lay down. 

Rooster smirks to himself. He didn’t think that would work, let alone work on her. She doesn’t know it and he sure as hell will never tell her, but his heart was racing during that entire interaction. The rejection would have been rather embarrassing; especially considering they didn’t know how soon she could get stitched up and that he promised to drop her off at home.

He slides onto the bed next to her but he’s too broad. His shoulder is nudging her off the bed and he knows that she’s uncomfortable but is such a giver that she won’t say so and would let him fall asleep like that if he really wanted to. 

But Bradley’s not an asshole (at least he isn’t one consciously) so he speaks up after he clears his throat. 

“Yeah, this isn’t gonna work. Not at all,” he says and turns his head to the side to look at her. Her eyes tell him that “Well no dip, shit.” but he knows that she wouldn’t dare say it out loud. Not right now when she feels indebted to him for driving her to the hospital and staying with her while she waits. 

He nudges her shoulder before sliding back out of the bed. Bradley reaches for her right hand. “Here, budge up.” 

He pulls her up as if she weighs nothing and she stands in awe as he lays down first on the bed but spreads his legs. And oh, now she knows what he’s doing. 

“Come lay down with me. You deserve to sleep some, too,” he says and she cautiously meanders her way to lay between his legs; her back pressed to his chest and her head falling into the crevice between his neck and shoulder. 

“Won’t your arm fall asleep or something? I just don’t wanna be a bother.” 

Bradley lets out a puff of air before wrapping both his arms around her front. His hands are joined together beneath her sternum. 

“(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Shut up and go to bed.” 

She rolls her eyes but she can’t fight him on it. And as they lay there she can hear the soft snores of the older man laying behind her and allows herself to drift off to a comatose state as well. 

vi. 

The doctor comes in about an hour after they doze off. 

She’s a short woman with dark hair and tan skin; some crow's feet by her eyes and the skin on her hands slightly thinned. She looked kind and motherly and as she pulls the curtain back softly, she finds the two dead to the world in their slumber. 

Doctor Tharp has to stop herself from audibly cooing. 

The position (Y/N) and Bradley are in makes her think of her and her husband years ago. Lovebirds, she thinks, and while she would rather sit there and stare at them in awe, she knows that she has to get this poor girl stitched up and sent on her way home as soon as she can. 

She nearly had a cow when she had heard that they had been waiting to see a doctor for stitches since 11:30 the night before. How the hell they had slipped through the cracks? She doesn’t know, but she makes a mental note to be extra kind to them while she performs her services. 

Doctor Tharp gently shakes (Y/N) awake; the younger girl stirring with a gasp and some anxiousness before a hand is placed on her shoulder. 

“Good morning, (Y/N). Have a good rest?” the doctor asks and (Y/N) hopes that this is who is going to stitch her up and send her on her merry way. 

“It was okay. Would’ve been better if bozo here wasn’t snoring in my ear the entire time,” she answers and that makes Doctor Tharp laugh softly. 

“Let’s get you stitched up,” she says, and (Y/N) unwraps Bradley’s arms from around her midsection and scoots closer down the bed to be near the tray that holds the instruments needed for her stitches. 

Doctor Tharp numbs the area with lidocaine and asks her to move her fingers and her thumb on her left hand and as she starts suturing the wound and picking out the shards of glass left in her skin, she finds things to talk about with the younger girl. 

(Y/N) tells her the basics that she’s seemed to be telling everyone older than the age of twenty-one these days; that she just graduated from undergrad and that she was going to law school in the fall, that she’s not from here and visiting her godmother, that she loves California and doesn’t know why she left it. 

And Doctor Tharp knows she shouldn’t and it goes against her own beliefs but she just has to know who the young man sitting behind (Y/N) is and wants to comment on how sweetly he was holding her just a few moments prior. 

“You and that boy are such a sweet couple,” she says and (Y/N)’s eyes bulge out of her skull. 

“Oh me and Bradley? No. No, no,” she starts and she knows that she’s rambling. She does it quite a bit when she gets nervous and doesn’t know what to say. 

Her damn Ella Enchanted gene is kicking in. 

“We’re just friends. Sorta just met a week and some change ago,” she answers and while what she said wasn’t a lie in the slightest (they were friends and they did just meet not that long ago) she can’t help but feel the ache in her heart that adds that she wants more than a friendship from him. 

But she can’t risk sounding ridiculous or getting ahead of herself before the race even starts, so she leaves her statement at that; just a statement and not a wish. 

“Well, you’re quite cute friends, then.” Doctor Tharp says. She can tell that what she had said had made (Y/N) uncomfortable. 

Too far. 

It takes (Y/N) all of ten minutes to get stitched up before Doctor Tharp pats her arm with a smile and tells her that she’ll have the papers for proper care at the front desk. 

“You take care. Of yourself and your heart,” the older woman says and (Y/N) knows that she should find some wisdom in her words, but they almost sound like a sort of doomed prophecy. 

Whatever, she thinks. She’s just excited to get home and to sleep in the comfort of her own bed. 

“Bradley,” (Y/N) whispers, shaking his bicep to get him to stir. He’s like a lump on a log, soft snores coming from his mouth and his head thrown back. His arms have crossed themselves over each other and made a home on his chest to replace the space (Y/N) had taken up before she moved. 

“Bradley!” (Y/N) shakes him again. 

He still sits asleep; completely dead to the world. 

(Y/N) twists his nipple through his shirt and bingo. He wakes up with a scream and shoots daggers at her with his glassy eyes. 

“M’all stitched up. We can go now,” she says and they exit the stall and make their way to the front desk where the charge nurse goes over how to properly clean her stitches and that she’d need to be back at the hospital in a week to get them removed. 

She gives the charge nurse a weak smile and her and Bradley walk back outside to his parked Bronco; the ocean breeze making the night sky chilly and (Y/N) shivers. He notices as he opens the passenger door to let her in. 

He rounds his way to the front and locks the doors before sliding into his seat. 

“Cold?” he questions and she gives him a slight nod. 

He purses his lips before turning the key in the ignition and starting the car. His hand instantly finds the heat dial and turns it up and they pull out of the parking lot. 

“Penny’s house. Right?” he breaks the silence again and (Y/N) nods, leaning her head on his window. 

The fifteen-minute ride from the hospital to Penny’s driveway is quick; the stillness of the night comfortable and washing them in warmth. 

His Bronco is parked in the driveway before (Y/N) turns to him again. 

“Before I go, I have to ask one more favor,” she says and Bradley raises his eyebrows in amusement. 

“Not gonna ask me to donate a kidney to you or something like that. Right?” he jokes and she playfully rolls her eyes at him. 

“No, you dinky dink. I just need you to rip my hospital bracelet off. They put it on my right hand and I can’t use my left to cut it off.” 

Bradley reaches over and takes her hand without hesitation and pulls at the plastic band wrapped around her wrist. 

“Thank you,” she sheepishly praises, “Thank you for everything. I could never owe you enough.” 

Rooster grins, all the anguish of the day forgotten with the dopey-eyed grin he gives her. 

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds her palm in his hand; the action muscle memory and leans forward; their forehead resting against each others. 

Her breath hitches in her throat because she swears to God if he doesn’t kiss her tonight she might rip out her stitches with her teeth and jump off of Penny’s goddamn roof. 

“Please,” (Y/N) whimpers and she didn’t mean for her request to be said out loud. 

Thankfully, Bradley ignores her words. She doesn’t know how she would live down the embarrassment of that one if he did manage to bring it up just then. 

He presses their lips together. His lips are plush and soft; the right amount of dry and moist. They move in sync with hers, molding together like the perfect puzzle. His kiss is deep but gentle, all-consuming but allowing her space if she wanted it. He kisses her once. Twice. Three times. And then he pulls away, his hand still on her cheek as he licks his slips subtly. 

She’s certain Bradley Bradshaw needs to add “perfect kisser” to his resume if he hasn’t already. 

“Didn’t take you as a beggar, chick,” he says, and fuck, there it is. That smart alecky remark she was waiting for. 

“If that’s the case, I’ll go inside and not give you my number,” she teases and Bradley feigns a gasp. 

“You wouldn’t. Don’t leave me out to dry now. Your blood was all over my shirt at some point. Too late to turn back now.” 

She gives him a toothy smile; one that’s reserved for her happiest and flirtiest moments. 

(Y/N)’s grabbing a napkin from the middle counsel of his car and a pen from his cupholder. She scribbles her phone number down on the napkin with a cute, “Text me! :)” written after it. 

She gets out of the Bronco and shuts the door, damn near running inside and waving at Bradley through the window of the living room where she can see his car in view. 

Bradley just shakes his head and smiles with glee. 

vii. 

One thing Natasha Trace was proud of was how well she could read people. 

Any boyfriends her sisters ever brought home didn’t have to get the stamp of approval from her father. Oh no, they had to get the stamp of approval from her. 

And she had always been right. She knew the ones who lied about their jobs or the ones who were chronic cheaters (because they had done it so much they were pros at hiding it, just not from Natasha) or the ones who were just downright fucking nuts. 

So if she can read people she had barely spent ten minutes with and could draw up a pretty good judgment of character, she knew that her analysis of people she knew well was never wrong. 

When Bradley Bradshaw, her right-hand man and one of her best friends, pulls up to her government-supplied housing in his Bronco at 5:25 the morning after his huge blowup at Hangman, she knew something was off. 

He didn’t have that shitty cassette mixed tape playing like he usually does and he’s basically inhaling a peach-flavored Red Bull. The thing about Bradley and energy drinks was that Bradley never drank them unless he was about dead from exhaustion. 

And from their text exchange last night, he was home at 8 PM and had all the intentions of going to bed soon. 

And well shit, that was apparent to be a lie. 

He’s uncharacteristically quiet. Rooster wasn’t a morning person but once he was awake, he was awake and was always ready to chat which drove Phoenix absolutely crazy, but the silence they’re sitting in on their way to base is deafening. She knows something is up, yet she can’t quite put her finger on it. 

“Good sleep?” she asks, testing the waters to see if Bradley would lie to her.

He curves his pointer finger and rubs it against the tip of his nose. This bastard was about to lie to her. 

She can feel it. 

“Great, actually,” he says with no delay so she knows that he’s not telling the truth. 

Phoenix knows that Rooster doesn’t do well with confrontation. He’s a born people-pleaser and anything that wasn’t able to be handled maturely made him want to get up and flee. She’d save calling him out for later.

Besides, they had bigger shit to worry about for the time being; one of those being the fact that they’re being sent on a suicide mission in three weeks. 

Natasha turns her body to the side of the car and looks out the window until something catches her eye. She turns to look at Bradley and sees that his eyes are cemented on the road. She bends down to pick it up swiftly; her movements so fast and contained that from Bradley’s peripheral vision, it just looked like she moved a little bit to get comfortable. 

It’s a fucking hospital bracelet and as she turns it around to read what’s on it, she sees a name she doesn’t recognize and her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull when she sees the birth year. 

The year starts with a 20 and she feels sick to her stomach. 

There’s no way Rooster had a little girl in here. There’s no way that that’s the reason he’s acting so weird. There can’t be. 

And then she starts counting the current year from the year on the bracelet, and then it clicks that, “Oh shit, this chick isn’t underaged.” 

She’s just young, and math has never been Natasha’s strong suit. 

She audibly exhales which makes Bradley turn his head to look at her and she stuffs the bracelet underneath her thigh before snaking it down to her pocket. 

“You okay?” he asks and Natasha eagerly nods. 

“Yeah, just a little jittery,” she answers and Bradley nods in agreeance. 

He brings his Red Bull back up to his lips before taking a swig and placing it back down in the cup holder. 

“Me too.” 

#bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #top gun #top gun maverick #miles teller #mt #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw fanfic #rooster fanfic #bradley bradshaw fic #writes #rooster

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

.........................................

Chapter 12: mirrorball

Tinsel, lights, bows, fake snow, wreaths, ornaments, and trees as far as the eye could see filled the White House and its grounds. You'd gone over holiday decorating plans until you were blue in the face. You never knew decking the halls of the White House could be so stressful. You'd chosen a traditional Christmas decor style with lots of reds and greens and golds. It was classic, with a touch of modern thanks to some LED lights and some sustainably sourced pines and firs.

Everything looked beautiful. It was perfect—it had to be. Because if it wasn't, you were sure that would be the first thing your parents would say.

You always had a love-hate relationship with the holidays. You'd hoped that you and Bradley would be able to spend a quiet Christmas Eve together in pjs, but he insisted that your parents come for a Christmas dinner along with his godfather Maverick and his wife Penny. Jake and Jaycee were also joining you because neither of their families could get a flight out in time.

You paced nervously as you went over your mental checklist one more time. Everything had to be perfect.

You took extra care with getting ready for dinner. It was semi-formal, and your parents wouldn't expect anything less.

You were wearinging a maroon dress with cap sleeves and lace detailed bodice. The dress was tea length with an a-line skirt that slightly flared. You paired it with a classic black pump and your signature low bun. The diamonds Rooster and given you this year accented the dress. You also opted to layer the pearl necklace your parents had given you as a wedding present with your pendant. You weren't fond of pearls, but you knew if you didn't wear it, you'd never hear the end of it.

Bradley could tell you were nervous. When he really thinks about it, he's never seen you like this. Your parents were always a touchy subject. The handful of times he'd met them, they seemed to be focused on your flaws rather than your accomplishments. He's pretty sure the only time he's ever heard them say they were proud of you was at the wedding.

You were touching your makeup up in the mirror when he came behind you to give you a reassuring hug. "It's going to be fine. It won't be just them there." He tried to remind you as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Everything has to be perfect." You tell him. "It's okay if it isn't." He says. "No, it isn't. Not all of us had the supportive parental figure growing up Bradley. My parents only really cared when I started getting into debate and politics. And even then, they were only interested if I was winning. Because a win was the only thing they could show off. A shiny, perfect, victorious daughter, that's what they wanted, so that's what I became. That's what I still have to be. That's the only way they'll notice me. That's the only way they'll love me." You whispered the last part before wiping away a stray tear.

"Please make sure Maverick doesn't say anything deeply offensive to my father tonight about Admiral Cain's drone program. My father is on the committee for it. I've already warned him about it as well." You say, changing from doom and gloom to perky at the drop of a hat. It gives Bradley whiplash sometimes when he sees just how fast you can turn your emotions on and off.

"I've already told him, but you know Maverick. He's five foot seven inches of unpredictable rage. I'm sure Penny will keep him under control." Bradley laughs. You roll your eyes before lacing your hands with his. "Let's get this show on the road."

You stood neverously in the foyer, waiting for everyone to arrive. Maverick and Penny got there first, both greeting you with warm hugs and a smile. Jake and Jaycee tumbled in not long after them. Jaycee whispered some words of encouragement as she hugged you. Last to arrive where your parents. Senator and Congressman Wiseman. They weren't late per say, but they made sure to arrive late enough so that their entrance would be noticed.

"Mother, Father, Merry Christmas." You greeted them. "Hello, darling." Your mother greeted you with a quick hug. Your father was bit warmer, but still cold. "Mr. President! So good to see you. How's my favorite son in law!" Your mother beamed as she went to hug Bradley. Bradley responded that both of you were doing well as he shook your father's hand.

Before dinner, you decided to give your guests a private tour of the decorations. "They're a bit dated, dear, don't you think?" Your mother critiqued you. Your shoulders slumped at her comment. "I think they look wonderful, Y/N. They're traditional and elegant." Maverick quickly commented. You whispered a thank you to him.

By the time the tour was over, your parents had picked apart the decor you had chosen, commented on the fact that you hadn't offered to let them stay the night, and criticized the last event you'd hosted for your social cause. Your father also kept trying to talk shop with Bradley, even though you kept reminding him that this wasn't a business dinner but a family celebration.

Thankfully, dinner was served quickly after, and soon everyone was eating and having pleasant conversations. You silently picked at your chicken while listening to what was being said, quickly butting in if something was about to get too heated.

You really thought you were home free by the time dessert was being served—boy were you wrong.

Somehow, the topic of your marriage came up, and your mother asked that faithful question, "When are the two of you going to have children? I've read several articles about how people would love to see a White House filled with babies again, like back in the Kennedy era."

"Mother, Bradley, and I have barely been married a year. We'll have kids when the time is right." You tell her. "Well, honey, you're thirty-one. You aren't getting any younger." She tells you as she spears a berry from her cake.

"We still have plenty of time to have children. We don't want to rush into anything that we aren't ready for." You tell her politely. Bradley can feel you tense up beside him. He places his hand on your thigh and rubs circles with his thumb to try and calm you down.

"I know you think you have time, dear, but it's your job as the First Lady, especially a young First Lady, to give the world some presidential babies." She states. "I know you think you have a career to focus on, but your time in the campaigning and staffer world is over. You're never going to be able to work, if that's what you want to call what you were doing before, in politics again after Bradley's second term is up. No one is going to take a former First Lady seriously."

Anger thrums through your body. Your leg is shaking, you have a death grip on your fork, and tears prick your eyes. Bradley turns to you to speak, but you cut him off.

"That's enough, Mother." You say. You take a deep breath and meet her eyes across the table. She narrows hers at you, as if she's daring you to say something else. "I'm never going to be good enough for you, am I?" You ask her. "What?" She looks at you with feigned confusion.

"No matter what I do, what I wear, what I say, what I accomplish, it's still not going to be enough." You tell her. "I win first place in the school debate. You tell me that if I worked harder, I could have won the state one. I graduate at the top of my class in high school? You told me that I should have had a perfect GPA. I land a killer internship in college, and you say that I shouldn't be working for a representative from such a small state. I get a no-name independent elected to the presidency, and you think the best thing I've done with that is marry him! And then even that isn't good enough now, either! I've spent my entire life being a mirrorball, trying to keep your attention for even a fraction of a second because you and dad always put everything else before me! I've tried my whole life to be good enough for you, and it still isn't enough! So, like I said, no matter what I do, you'll never be satisfied. You'll never be proud of me. You'll never really love me." With that last comment, your nerve breaks, and the tears fall. You quickly excuse yourself from dinner and run out of the room. Bradley moves to follow you, but Jaycee beats him.

He turns back to the remaining people at the table who are looking at him with wide eyes.

"I can't believe she just said that! Ted, can you believe how your daughter just spoke to me?!" Your mother gasps.

Bradley takes a deep breath and collects himself.

"Congressman and Senator Wiseman, I think you should leave. He tells them.

"Excuse me?" Your father says.

"I said I think the two of you should leave. You've both overstayed your welcome." Bradley says calmly. "You're kicking us out because Y/N is so sensitive? How rude of you." Your mother tells him.

"The only person who has been rude this evening is you, Senator." Bradley states. Your mother scoffs at him and then darts her eyes across the room to the other patrons still seated at the table. None of them speak up to defend her.

"I was only telling her the truth. Y/N has never been good at handling it." She doubles down on her comments.

"The truth? You think that was the truth?" Bradley begins to raise his voice. "No, let me tell you what the truth is." He states through gritted teeth.

"Y/N has worked harder than any other campaign manager or Chief of Staff that I have ever known. She put her whole heart into my campaign because she believed in me. She quite literally almost lost her life for my presidency. Speaking of? Where were you when someone tried to murder her? Did you even call her to see if she was okay? The night of the election, you sent her a text congratulating her, a text message! You didn't even have the decency to call her and tell her how proud you were of her accomplishment. Are you even proud of her for what she did? Because I am! And all evening, you've sat on your high horse and picked her apart bit by bit, and I'm sick of it! So you can get your things and leave. Dante will show you to the door." Bradley tells them as he exhales deeply.

"Mr. President, you can't talk to us like that. Ted, are you going to let him speak to us like that?!" Your mother asks him.

"Right now, I'm not the president, Cynthia. I'm simply a husband who is furious about how his wife has been treated this evening." Bradley states as he stands up to lean over the table.

"But as the president, I'm telling you right now that if you ever speak to her like that again, or treat her like she is some prized show pony, I guarantee that you will never see another bill that you propose get passed, I will cut off your committee funding, and I will personally endorse and campaign for whom ever runs against you in your next election. Do you understand?" Bradley says with venom in his voice.

Your parents shake their heads before being escorted out. He sits back down and shakes his head before looking at the three people who are still at the table.

"I'm sorry. I—" He waves his hands, not sure what to say. "It's fine, Bradley. You said what needed to be said. Now go check on your girl. Jake can help us from here." Maverick says as he parts Bradley on the shoulder before he leaves the dining room.

Bradley knocked on the door before entering. You were lying on the bed whimpering as Jaycee stroked your shoulder to try and soothe you. "Babe, Bradley is here, I'm going to give you two some space." Jaycee quietly whispered to you before getting up to leave.

You sat up when Bradley joined you on the bed.

"I'm sorry." You sniffled as you tried to wipe your mascara stained cheeks. "I'm sorry that I ruined the evening, I shouldn't have said those things. I know I probably embarrassed you and everyone else. My parents are going to hate me now. Everyone else out there probably hates me." You rambled tearfully as Bradley pulled you to his chest to hug you.

"It's just my mom—she kept on picking and poking and it my anxiety just kept building and building, and—" Your body starts to tremble as your breathing becomes labored. "The weight of it—its just so much to bear, and I—I can't breathe." You pant out. Your hand flies to your throat as you desperately attempt to unclasp the strand of pearls from your neck. They're a physical reminder of the grip your parents have on you.

"Bradley—I can't breathe—I —I" He sees the panic written all over your face. He's trying to help you, but you're shaking and fighting the necklace, and he can't get a grip on the clasp. Before he can do anything else, you pull at the strand and rip it off. Dozens of white orbs fly off the string and clatter unceremoniously to the floor. You let out a long exhale before slouching onto him. You grab the oval pendant you're still wearing and run your thumb and index finger over it as you calm down. Bradley sits there silently with you.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He tells you after a few minutes. You look up at him. Your eyes are still bleary from the tears you've shed. "I mean it. They were awful to you, and I should have said something sooner. If anyone should apologize, it's me." He tells you.

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. "Right after you left, I kicked them out and told them how horrible they were to you. I also made sure that they know if they even treat you like that again, at least while I'm president, it will be the end of both of their careers." He tells you proudly.

Fresh tears spring to your eyes. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." You sob over and over again as you bury your head into his chest.

"I love you, Y/N. I'd do anything in this world for you. I mean it." Bradley tells you as he kisses the top of your hair. "Love you too." You tell him. Your words come out muffled from how hard you face is pressed up against him.

"If you're feeling up to it, we still have presents to open with Mav and Penny and Jake and Jaycee." He says. You smile. "I'd like that." You tell him. "Good, but first, we need to change." He states with a twinkle in his eye. He hands you a box to unwrap, and you smile when you see what's inside.

Twenty minutes later, the six of you are curled up on couches with mugs of coca and piles of wrapping paper. You can't remember the last time you smiled at Christmas or smiled this much in general, but you know, as long as Bradley is around, you were going to be happy.

Loves, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby @wkndwlff @dakotakazansky

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw #rooster smut #tgm #lt. bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun rooster #top gun smut #top gun 2 #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm smut #red white and rooster

[bonefall]

I have a question: I haven't read DOTCs but I have read the guides, and the guides Grey Wing is my fave and I've been warned he gets absolutely destroyed in the DOTCs books..so, what are the differences in Guide Grey Wing and SOTC Grey Wing?

BOTC!Graywing only has about a paragraph or so of information on him, and it points towards him being an ancient warlord type. I really like and miss this version, because it reminds me of something straight out of the Seven Military Classics.

We know that he was specifically an ancient leader of WindClan, back before leaders took -star as part of their names. Using some simple deduction from the history we know from SOTC, this means he was a leader before there were official Clans, and before Windstar. Just warring groups without borders.

Onestar refers to him as a tactician, and explains that he invented the practice of strategic placement using stones and drawings in his den like a little kitty war room.

These tactics mostly have to do with battling in open fields, so we can assume;

There were a lot of battles taking place in the moor

Graywing the Wise was involved in a lot of battles, so he could develop and test these ideas.

It's not much, but it's interesting. Paints this idea of a Moorland Warlord... Moorlord, if you will.

DOTC!Gray Wing has a couple of scenes where he's talking strategy or vaguely referencing a tactic, but he spends 3/4ths of his VERY short life having meltdowns at the idea of combat because Hurting My Sweet Brother Makes Us Just As Bad :(

(Camera pans and Sweet Brother Clear Sky is tying a woman to train tracks and cackling maniacally)

MOST of his life is this. He's like 2 years old when he dies of asthma and he only started having opponents to plan battle against in the last few months.

Most of the fights he's involved in before that are spontaneous-- and even less are commanding armies as was implied in BOTC.

He also half leads "WindClan". He's a joint leader with Shadowstar for a while. Anyway, DOTC also tosses him a pity mate because his first two love interests got fridged. His adopted kids like their abusive biodads more; one of them even vows to avenge Tom the Wifebeater, a man she met once who got her mom killed.

Aaaand that's the difference. I think it's obvious I like the BOTC take more.

#SUCH a waste imo because godddd Wind being this Disciple of a Warlord would be so AWESOME #WHY ARE THEY SO ALLERGIC TO THE CATS BATTLINGGG #We literally could have had the zhou dynasty but the erins were not ready for that conversation #Gray Wing AU but he's like the Duke of Qi #A military genius who feels the best victory is over a battle you never had to fight #Maybe I'll let King Arc-of-Park have some of that... #Warrior cats analysis #BOTC

[city-of-ladies]

“Women were included in the ranks of this fully mobilized society. Prokopios, aware, of course, of the legends of the Amazons whose origins he traces to the region of the Sabirs, reports that in the aftermath of "Hunnic" (i.e. Sabir) raids into Byzantine territory, the bodies of women warriors were found among the enemy dead. East Roman or Byzantine sources also knew of women rulers among the nomads. Malalas, among others, mentions the Sabir Queen Boa/Boarez/Boareks who ruled some 100,000 people and could field an army of 20,000. In 576 a Byzantine embassy to the Turks went through the territory of 'Akkayai; "which is the name of the woman who rules the Scythians there, having been appointed at that time by Anagai, chief of the tribe of the Utigurs." The involvement of women in governance (and hence in military affairs) was quite old in the steppe and was remarked on by the Classical Greek accounts of the Iranian Sarmatians. It was also much in evidence in the Cinggisid empire. 

These traditions undoubtedly stemmed from the necessities of nomadic life in which the whole of society was mobilized. Ibn al-Faqih, embellishing on tales that probably went back to the Amazons of Herodotos, says of one of the Turkic towns that their "women fight well together with them," adding that the women were very dissolute and even raped the men. Less fanciful evidence is found in the Jiu Tangshu which, s.a. 835, reports that the Uygur Qagan presented the Tang emperor with "seven women archers skillful on horseback.” Anna Komnena tells of a Byzantine soldier who was unhorsed with an iron grapple and captured by one of the women defenders as he charged the circled wagons of the Pecenegs. Women warriors were known among the already Islamized Turkmen tribes of fifteenth century Anatolia and quite possibly among the Ottoman gazfs (cf. the Bacryan-z Rum "sisters of Rum")”.

Golden Peter B., “War and warfare in the pre-cinggissid steppes of Eurasia” in: Di Cosmo Nicola (ed.), War and warfare in Inner Asian History

#history #women in history #warrior women #warriors #Akkayai #6th century #historyedit #historyblr #central asia #scythians #sarmatians

[romanceyourdemons]

highly fascinated by nurhaci but also enthralled by yuan chonghuan, the babyfaced scholar lad who was REALLY interested in cannons. he rose rapidly in the military ranks despite not having any military experience outside of studying the confucian classics for the imperial exams (which he just barely passed), and fortified ningyuan with sun chengzong until wei zhongxian recalled and replaced sun for refusing to bribe wei and the replacement general ordered a general retreat back south, but yuan refused to budge and, left alone with a small force at ningyuan, faced down the jurchens and not only managed to win the first ming victory against the jurchens in almost seven years, but BLEW UP NURHACI. with their cannons. which yuan loved.

#ryddles

[dangermousie]

Oh, brother...aka keeping it in the (royal) family

I recently realized that for some reason “multiple brothers one girl” seems to be a popular category in costume dramas. I am not sure why such sharing is necessary in a polygamous society for fancy royals each of whom can get himself a whole harem, but I am not complaining that it appears any remake of the Hollywood classic “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers” would clearly be changed into “One Bride for Seven Brothers, and Some of the Brothers Spit Blood and Die” if it were a cdrama. Here are some of the dramas at issue. 

Liu Shi Shi appears to be the queen of this subgenre to such an extent that I am vaguely wondering if it’s in her contract. We are gonna start with THREE of her dramas:

Bu Bu Jing Xin - Liu Shi Shi has not one, not two, but THREE hot royal brothers, played by Nicky Wu, Kevin Cheng and Lin Gengxin, pine for her time-traveling self. Since this is an exquisite (no, seriously, it’s amazing) period piece about loss and longing, she ends up with none of them, instead of a hot vagely-’cesty gangbang as one might expect from that set-up.

Lost Love in Times - poor Liu Shi Shi, she’s a sexy witch having to pick between William Chan and his shady brother Joe Xu. To make it even trippier, the two actors look like each other, to really hammer the whole “siblings want her” theme.

The Imperial Doctress - why bust what’s not broken? It’s the true and tried Liu Shi Shi and hot royal brothers formula. She’s a doctor who spends most of her time practicing medicine, escaping barbarians and creating feminism, not noticing that as she pines for one royal brother played by Huang Xuan, another royal brother, played by infinitely hotter Wallace Huo, is pining for her.

Gong/Jade Palace Lock Heart - if Liu Shi Shi is the queen of that set up, Feng Shao Feng is the king, what with this and Military Seal, both of which star Yang Mi. Clearly, there are worse ways to make a career than stealing Yang Mi from a royal brother. Here, Yang Mi is a spunky time traveler in the middle of Kang Xi’s sons’ fight for the throne. She first falls for Four but ends up with Eight. In between, she offers to bang Four to save Eight as one does. Gives a whole new meaning to sharing is caring and “have you brought enough for the entire class?”

Legend of the Military Seal - Yang Mi and FSF strike again. FSF is madly in love with his brother’s wife, and since she’s not afflicted by blindness, she shares his feelings. Surprisingly, but delightfully, happy ending ensues. 

Who Rules the World - more like which brother rules awesome Zhao Lusi’s heart. Going by the rule of “hottest brother wins,” Yang Yang gets the girl in a drama that is pretty yum yum.

Colourful Bone - one hot seriously whumped out royal brother and one whiny immature one, oh who should the heroine pick? This drama stands for the proposition that you should protect and save abused people, especially if they are hot men, since they will always turn out to be an emperor in disguise. This drama btw is one giant kinkfest for yours truly.

The Eternal Love - you could make THREE whole seasons out of timetravel and brothers into the same girl, who knew.

Dreaming Back to the Qing Dynasty - if you’ve seen Gong or BBJX, you know the drill. Horde of queued brothers queueing for the heroine.

(Mine and all my brothers’, that is -Ed.)

Princess Jieyou - Yuan Hong narrowly escaped the curse of fancying his brother’s woman in BBJX, being about the only sibling not in love with LSS in that one. But clearly, you can’t fight fate and shortly thereafter he’s got to be a sister-in-law luster in a drama of his very own. He is a barbarian general who falls in love with a woman only to discover she’s to marry his brother. Angst and deliciousness and eventual happy ending (the husband fulfilled the uglier brother’s duty by eventually kicking the bucket.)

The Promise of Chang’an - if you want to watch brothers with the same woman but no happy ending, and have already watched BBJX, I present this recent drama where Cheng Yi gets to, as always, suffer beautifully watching the woman he loves marry his annoying brother. Pretty much everyone dies at the end of this one, going off to a great big threesome in the sky.

Twisted Fate of Love - will Sun Yi pick the delicate Tan Jianci or the sexy as fuck bastard that is Jin Han? Being a smart woman, she picks the latter and my hormones rejoice.

Go Princess Go - this is a drama that parodied every cliche there is, so why not brothers into one woman? Who is actually a man in a woman’s body making it even more delightful!

Ashes of Love - even being divine, with women from three separate realms available will seemingly not prevent love interests being a scarce resource leading to sibling love rivalry. Deng Lun and Luo Yunxi duke it out ostensibly for Yang Zi but in reality for who can suffer more prettily. Deng Lun might get the girl, but LYX wins the suffering crown, so it all more or less evens out.

Princess Silver - are siblings in love with the same woman not spicy enough for you? How about TWINS in love with the same woman? One awesome (Aarif Rahman) and one psychotic (Jing Chao) want our heroine and both marry her at one point. Only the awesome one gets to bang her though. (But the psychotic one gets to stick meathooks through his brother in compensation for not being able to stick...ummm...meathook through the heroine, so it’s all OK.)

Secret of the Three Kingdoms - and now we are gonna go REAL PERV! If twins are not enough for you, seekers of strong sensations, how about IDENTICAL twins? Ma Tianyu replaces his dead identical twin brother as the last Han emperor and gets to woo Wan Qian (whose plan it was in the first place.) At least she doesn’t need to get used to a new face?

We are gonna end here and not get into father and son sharing the same woman a la Empress of China.

(Congrats to Aarif Rahman for getting to bang both his brother’s and his father’s wives on screen. That is an interesting niche.)

#cdrama #secret of the three kingdoms #princess silver #empress of china #twisted fate of love #jade palace lock heart #lost love in times #the imperial doctress #bu bu jing xin #ashes of love #princess jieyou #the promise of chang'an #legend of the military seal #colourful bone #dreaming back to the qing dynasty #go princess go #who rules the world #the eternal love

[phoenixyfriend]

Thought- in the terracotta warriors thing, you mentioned that the Jedi archeologists brought in a specialist in mando iconography to try and work out what’s going on with the 501sts symbols- what if that outside specialist is jaster mereel? Could be pre becoming the mand’alor, could be just his side job, but either way he spends a few years studying it all and getting used to being the only mando in a base camp full of Jedi, makes friends, has academic discussions and disagreements, steals someone’s holopad to try and use the link to the Jedi archives to read all the things on tarre visla, gets into an actual argument, reconciles with agreeing to help with a historical reenactment of a Jedi mandolorian war, gets Madame nu’s comm number, introduces his new son to his comm bff who argues historical nitpicks with him, brings jango to the next summer at the site, clones react to jango somehow and/or there’s a few tubies in there who look distractingly like jango and/or someone has their helmet off and jango has a breakdown over it looking like a family member? And so on and so on

Context: Sleeping Soldiers AU

See, I don't really subscribe to the "halfway to archaeologist!Jaster" fanon. I'm especially reticent to engage with the Jocasta ship, honestly.

But... okay, here's the thing. It does feel pretty incongruous with how I've written Jaster thus far. I can believe him having like. A 'classical' education. Not actually tutored like a noble, but that he sought out the same subjects as an adult to make sure he understood how to rule once he started having a proper political angle. He's a history nerd in the way that a particularly political/philosophical aristocrat of the 18th century would have been.

Military history, philosophical history, political and even some arts... but not actually in an archaeological sense.

(Also, it raises my hackles because it's one of those things that feels like it's heavily associated with the whole "True Mandos Were Best Mandos" crowd.)

It also really depends on the era! Tarre makes more sense than Jaster, just because of the timescale! The soldiers are millennia buried by the time Jaster is born! That said, even Tarre is a few millennia late but... makes more sense than Jaster.

Most likely, there are historians and archaeologists coming by every few centuries, as new generations encounter the issue, and older analyses are lost in the depths of the archives. Frequency tapers off after a few millennia, but... by the time Jaster is around?

It's 100% a New Mandalorian with an art history doctorate. (With a military symbolism specialty, in this case.)

It's probably not a New Mando if it's an Early On moment, but it probably is a New Mando if the Jedi start getting Weird Vibes and investigating the soldiers in the decades leading up to the Prequels.

Would the New Mandalorians know more than the traditionalists? Not necessarily. Would they know less? Actually, no.

I firmly believe that the New Mandalorians are taught about their histories in a "German kids learn about WWII atrocities, going on field trips to historic sites of said horrors, so their teachers can stress that they don't repeat the mistakes of the past" kind of way. I imagine the New Mandos would have plenty of research and records in regards to actual history, with plenty of museums and such. Part of maintaining pacifism is ensuring that the coming generations understand what led them to pacifism in the first place.

Is this thousands of years in the past, and thus difficult to research? Yes, but the traditionalists would have that same problem.

More of them, even. If the New Mandos have been around for seven hundred years, like Legends claims, then the traditionalists have probably have lost a lot of history through various battles and bombings, while the New Mandalorians, while not entirely escaping large scale destruction and such attacks, are much more likely to have protected and maintained their sites, simply by not courting war as a matter of culture. The traditionalists, meanwhile, would have had a much stronger emotional and cultural attachment to legends and themes, though I'll admit those are probably prone to revisionism, much like real-world folklore and mythology.

As @atagotiak put it:

Ehhhh. The traditionalists do care about legends and history and stuff. Often in an idealized way, sure. But you could argue that they’d have more reason than new mandos to be into these stories. Which, to be clear, isn’t like, saying that Jaster is definitely a part-time historian or anything like that. It’s just I don’t think one side would have an advantage over another. (edited)

So the New Mandos and Trad Mandos are probably on an even playing ground, insofar as skill and resources and knowledge go.

But by Jaster's time, the Jedi would have more reason to think the New Mandos would cooperate. No real downside to asking them when it comes to knowledge/skill, and an upside in terms of 'not getting shot when asking.'

As Tia said:

And even if we assume Jaster is a big history nerd and would be receptive to the Jedi (and tbh there’s even less indication of the latter) there’s no reason to think the Jedi would know that.

So yeah, when the soldiers start having Vibes And The Force Becomes Suspiciously Active on that level... New Mando archaeologist, definitely.

#star wars #the clone wars #time travel #jaster mereel #mandalore #new mandalore #traditional mandalorians #new mandalorians #phoenix answers asks #trad mandos #new mandos #true mandalorians

[magicantare]

mmc magical girl AU lore dump:

The year is 20XX. The world is slowly approaching a post-scarcity utopia supported by unprecedented advances in technology and science. Quantum and classical physics have been united, asteroid mining has made electronic components cheap and abundant, medical technology guarantees a higher quality of life, and most recently, inorganic matter has been able to be converted into data and back.

Dr. Light and Dr. Wily developed a “robotic support system”, a type of protective suit integrated with incredibly advanced robotic tools for specific dangerous tasks, like rescues, handling hazardous material, or performing tasks in extreme environments. Light wants the suits to be used to help advance the frontiers of science, while Wily is more interested in its military applications despite large-scale conflicts being minimal in the present day. These support systems are integrated into the body to the point that removing them requires special equipment (think like an HEV suit), but the suits themselves are very powerful and cutting-edge. Light’s proposal to use them for scientific reasons is what ultimately wins out, and Wily is shunned for pushing for military use. Soon after this, Wily simply vanishes without a trace, which bothers Light but he can’t do anything about it.

At some point Light saves his oldest son, Blues, from dying of a heart condition with a suit prototype (LRSS-000) that regulates his heart rate and provides strength for his weakened body, but Blues had already accepted his death and doesn’t take having his body tampered with super well and ends up leaving home. Light creates generic support systems in the form of LRSS-001 and 002, proving the non-weaponized potential that the support system has, where his twin children Rock and Roll happily volunteer to demonstrate them with great success. Light then deploys LRSS-003 to 008 with handpicked candidates, qualified university graduates and trade employees, for use in scientific and industrial fields.

Wily shows up some years later and declares war on the world with his own version of the robotic support system, and a handful of 20-somethings that he’s coerced/bribed/blackmailed into piloting them, calling them “Bion Masters”. The suits are ridiculously powerful and there are far less military resources out there than in modern day due to the general state of peace in the world, so nothing can stop them. Rock and Roll both volunteer themselves to fight against Wily, but Light can’t bear to let either of them face danger after nearly losing Blues. Though Light’s Bion Masters try their best to fight back, they don’t have the same weaponized capabilities that Wily’s do and are slowly defeated and abducted one by one, each disappearance further weighing on Light’s conscience.

The most egregious act comes when Wily and Shadow Man break into the Light residence and kidnap Rock and Roll and their support systems, absolutely shattering Light’s will to fight back. Before he vanishes, Rock tells his father that he can’t give up here and urges him to resist Wily for everyone’s sake.

Light makes the difficult decision to weaponize the second series of support systems he’s been developing and seek out people who have enough courage to take on Wily’s forces. He finds the first seven users relatively quickly, but the last support system, 016, has so much dangerous potential that Light hesitates to find a user for it…

Light’s (Current) Bion Masters:

LRSS-009 “Concrete Man”

Good Point: Gets the job done Bad Point: Self-righteous Likes: Fulfilling work Dislikes: Laziness

The support system was designed for construction. In battle, he’s most effective at backline support, civilian rescue and damage mitigation, but has quite a lot of raw physical strength for defense. Concrete Shot can immobilize enemies.

LRSS-010 “Tornado Man”

Good Point: Confident Bad Point: Slacker Likes: New experiences Dislikes: Working

The support system was designed for weather management and mitigating storm damage. In battle, he acts as the leader and has quick mobility, focusing on clearing out large groups of enemies and moving victims of Wily’s assaults to safe areas. Tornado Blow can throw even heavy enemies into the air and damage them upon impact with the ground.

LRSS-011 “Splash Woman”

Good Point: Hard worker Bad Point: Moody Likes: Self-care Dislikes: Having her time wasted

The support system was designed for rescuing shipwreck survivors. In battle, she can fight up-close and excels at underwater combat and has small fish-like robots she can call on for extra support. Laser Trident can cut cleanly through metal and destroy robotic enemies.

LRSS-012 “Plug Man”

Good Point: Quick learner Bad Point: Over-exciteable Likes: Technology Dislikes: Boring tasks

The support system was designed for delicate but high-powered electronic manufacturing. In battle he’s a long-ranged fighter that can use both physical and electrical projectiles. Plug Ball can spread across surfaces and short-circuit any machines that aren’t hermetically sealed.

LRSS-013 “Jewel Man” Good Point: Stylish Bad Point: Self-Centered Likes: Interesting things Dislikes: Being rejected

The support system was designed for jewel mining. In battle, he’s a very fast and up-close brawler that can even claw metal apart. Jewel Satellite can protect him from energy shots and damage enemies on contact.

LRSS-014 “Hornet Man” Good Point: Compassionate Bad Point: Pushover Likes: Nature Dislikes: Selfishness

The support system was designed for botany and environmental science work. In battle, he’s primarily a backline fighter that provides remote support. Hornet Chaser can pursue enemies and pierce through metal with lasers.

LRSS-015 “Magma Man”

Good Point: Calm Bad Point: A little dense Likes: Traveling Dislikes: Staying indoors

The support system was designed for work in volcanic environments. In battle, he’s a very slow but powerful frontline fighter. Magma Bazooka can melt through metal armor with direct shots.

LRSS-016 “Galaxy Man” Good Point: Creative Bad Point: No people-skills Likes: Science Dislikes: Strangers

The support system was designed for performing spacewalks and maintenance on space stations and satellites. In battle, they’re highly mobile and can hit devastatingly hard, but are themself fragile. Black Hole Bomb can suck up pretty much anything that isn’t tied down or attached to the ground, so it can destroy huge groups of enemies at once.

...That's everything I have formally written down, at least, but I've also made a lot of offhand remarks when brainstorming for this.

#mmc magical girl au #if people want a lore dump. for fun

[mariacallous]

President Joe Biden on Monday touted his “unshakeable” support for “the safety of the Jewish people and the security of Israel and its right to exist,” but he also offered a stark warning about the volatility of public opinion.

“We’ll continue to provide military assistance to Israel until they get rid of Hamas, but we have to be careful – they have to be careful,” Biden told those gathered for a Hanukkah reception at the White House Monday night. “The whole world’s public opinion can shift overnight, we can’t let that happen.”

The comments from Biden come as an emergency aid package that would provide funding for Israel and Ukraine remains mired in Congress and lawmakers face pressure to act amid a new wave of antisemitism in the US as the Israel-Hamas war enters a third month.

The reception, hosted by the president, celebrated the fifth night of Hanukkah and, according to the White House, featured some 800 guests, including Holocaust survivors, lawmakers and various Jewish leaders.

“I also recognize you’re hurting from the silence, and the fear, and for your safety, because of a surge in antisemitism in the United States of America and around the world — it’s sickening,” Biden told the audience.

He added, “You know, we see it, across our communities, and schools, and colleges, and social media — they surface painful scars, from millennia of hate to genocide of the Jewish people.”

Reported hate crimes and bias incidents against Jews, Muslims and Arabs have continued to surge since October 7, according to new data from the Anti-Defamation League and the Council on American-Islamic Relations.

The ADL said it recorded 2,031 antisemitic incidents in the two months following Hamas’ terrorist attacks on Israel, including reports of physical assault, vandalism and “anti-Israel rallies that included classically antisemitic, anti-Zionist and/or terror-supportive rhetoric.” That is up from 465 such incidents during the same two-month period in 2022.

CAIR, the nation’s largest Muslim advocacy group, said it has seen a similar spike in bias incidents during the first month of the war with 2,171 requests for help and reports made to its national headquarters and chapters across the country since October 7.

At the event, Biden called “upon all Americans to make clear there is no place for hate in America – against Jews, Muslims or anybody else.”

Biden was joined on stage by second gentleman Doug Emhoff, who has made combatting antisemitism a focus as the first Jewish spouse of a president or vice president. Last week, Emhoff condemned rising antisemitism at the National Menorah lighting ceremony.

The president in his remarks pointed to his support for Israel, while acknowledging differences between himself and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. He recounted how as a young lawmaker he told the Israeli leader, “I love you, but I don’t agree with a damn thing you have to say.” “It’s about the same today,” he said Monday.

Biden highlighted the work his administration has done to secure the release of hostages still held in Gaza and the delivery of humanitarian aid to the region, saying he “personally spent countless hours” working with Israeli, Qatari and Egyptian counterparts on both fronts. 

“There’s a whole range of things going on now that are really very, very difficult,” Biden said. “We’ve gotten more than 100 hostages out and we’re not going to stop till we get every one of them home.”

Seven American men and one woman remain unaccounted for since the Israel-Hamas war began, according to the White House. Four Americans  — a 4-year-old girl and three women — have been released so far.

The United States, Biden also said, “will continue to lead the world in humanitarian assistance to innocent Palestinian civilians, to emphasize to our friends, our Israeli friends, we need to protect civilian life.”

[simplegenius042]

OC(s) interviews

Wasn't tagged but was invited by @onehornedbeast in an open tag.

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @shallow-gravy @carlosoliveiraa @strangefable @voidika @g0dspeeed @strafethesesinners @adelaidedrubman @thewanderer-000 @josephslittledeputy @vampireninjabunnies-blog @neverthesameneveranother @derelictheretic @deputyash @purplehairsecretlair @ec-10 @gaeadene @henbased @inafieldofdaisies @inthewinedarksea @jacobmybeloved @ladyoriza @minilev @wrathfulrook @direwombat @cassietrn @chazz-anova @nightbloodbix @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @corvosattano and @trashcatsnark + anyone else who would like to join in (or just read this as I am under the impression I'm a bit late)

Got three characters ready to roll out. My very late WIP post is also almost complete, but that will come at a later time... and maybe something else.

Calvin Dearing (The Untitledverse, Original Works (& Various Fandoms))

Name: Calvin Dearing

Nicknames(s): Cal, Carl. (More TBA).

Gender: Male.

Star Sign: Cancer.

Height: Around 5ft 6inch.

Orientation: Demisexual.

Nationality/Ethnicity: African-American.

Fave Fruit: PLUMS. Don't go near this man while he's having plums, he will not share and is prepared to debate or fight anyone who wants one depending on his mood.

Fave Season: Autumn.

Fave Flower: Honeysuckle.

Fave Scent: Honestly? The smell of books or the wood in studios. Brings back good memories to when he was alive.

Coffee, Tea, or HC: Caffeine fiend, just like Joaquin. Trying to replace coffee with tea.

Average Hours of Sleep: Used to be like 5 or 6. Since having died, he doesn't need sleep but does rest/meditate like 3 or 4 hours, maybe less, to conserve energy.

Dog or Cat Person: Probably a cat, but would prefer to keep something "simple" alive... like a fish.

Dream Trip: This man wanted to visit Australia, Germany, Japan and Sweden when he was alive but money was severely limited since Terrance Carmine was a greedy bastard. Being a Dream Spirit he has to deal with multiversal travel which is free but way more dangerous than simple traveling would have been.

Favourite Fictional Character: Mickey Mouse.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: One when he was alive. Now that he's dead he doesn't really feel the need for one since everything's a mess of hot and cold for no reason.

Random Fact: Calvin was one of Terrance Carmine's most loyal employees, and was even the one to insist Terrance use the opportunity of WW1 to spark popularity into their cartoons to spread propaganda to have others join the military. It was very profitable, however once the war was over, the very thing that gave meaning to the cartoons Calvin and Terrance made was no gone, and their animations irrelevant, leading to the studio bankrupting. Terrance wasn't very happy with Calvin, and invited him for one last talk before closing the studio for good.

Silva Omar (Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, Far Cry 5 + Far Cry New Dawn)

Name: Sylvester "Silva" Omar

Nickname/s: Sylvie, Silva, The Boa, The Muse, The Deputy. (More TBA).

Gender: Female (Intersex).

Star Sign: Capricorn.

Height: Around either 5ft 8inches or 5ft 9inches. She'd likely grow a little more taller from age and her father's late genetics.

Orientation: Demiromantic Lesbian.

Nationality/Ethnicity: Spanish with Arabic origins (on her egg donor's side).

Fave Fruit: The classic apple.

Fave Season: Spring.

Fave Flower: Lavender.

Fave Scent: Hot chocolate and Bliss.

Coffee, Tea or HC: Coffee, but she's moving on to tea.

Average Hours of Sleep: Very inconsistent. She has insomnia and reoccurring nightmares that keep her up/wake her up. Less than seven hours on a good night and less than five on a bad one. She does take time to rest or nap throughout the day so there's that.

Dog or Cat Person: She doesn't mind either. Before the Reaping, she'd want nothing to do with dogs, cats or any other animal because she can't really afford to keep something alive while barely functioning herself. During the Reaping she gets a dog, a cougar and a bear.

Dream Trip: Spain and anywhere in the Middle East, actually. The former because after having to repeatedly lie she was born there for majority of her life in America, she got curious about what it is actually like there, and wanted to connect connect with the culture more, without her father's input or stain on it all. The latter was mainly to connect with heritage. Unfortunately, no thanks to the Collapse, she's not going to be going to either for a long while, if at all.

Favourite Fictional Character: Frankenstein's Monster.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: Silva sleeps with two blankets.

Random Fact: Silva despises the snow and the winter, however does enjoy breezy cold nights. Also here's a sad fact; Silva doesn't really celebrate Christmas on account that most of her family and friends are dead, she's a recluse and Christmas is her late sister's (Elsa's) birthday, which Elsa died a day or two after.

Hatsukami Hinode (Life, Despair & Monsters, Miraculous Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir (+ Various Fandoms))

Name: Hatsukami Hinode

Nickname/s: Suka, Hats. (More TBA).

Gender: Male.

Star Sign: Aries.

Height: Hatsukami will tell you he is 5ft 4inches. Icarus' body's height is actually 5ft and 8inches.

Orientation: Hatsukami isn't really interested in those kind of stuff, unlike Icarus and Xavier.

Nationality/Ethnicity: Japanese.

Fave Fruit: Cherries.

Fave Season: Spring.

Fave Flower: Daisies.

Fave Scent: Freshly baked stuffed chocolate Croissants.

Coffee, Tea or HC: Milkshakes.

Average Hours of Sleep: 10 to 13 hours. He oversleeps.

Dog or Cat Person: Dog person.

Dream Trip: If he could, he would go around the world.

Favourite Fictional Character: Spongebob Squarepants.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: Three. Icarus and Xavier hate it.

Random Fact: The Hinode family assumed that Hatsukami's behaviour was a result of repressed emotional growth. They had not realised that Hatsukami was one in three alters. ALSO! Hatter (the interdimensional parasite that Xavier had unknowingly ingested while fronting) credits his name in honour of Hatsukami after bonding with the young lad.

#the untitledverse #oc: calvin dearing #far cry the silver chronicles #oc: silva omar #life despair & monsters #oc: hatsukami hinode #oc interviews #oc tag

[racefortheironthrone]

How would you make Daeron I &Baelor I interesting 3-dimensional characters?

So we do know a few things about Daeron:

he was a military prodigy, and prodigies tend to have interesting psychological issues when it comes to how they relate to their age peer groups versus adults who are more on their level.

he was close to his sister Daena the Defiant, hence the gift of the Dornish shortbow, but he didn't marry her.

he was unusually well-read, being both a keen student of military history who had studied previous campaigns against Dorne and learned from past mistakes, and being the only Targaryen king to personally author a book - a book which tends to get high marks for literary style.

Daeron is somewhat loosely based on Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar, two of the great classical conquerors, although apparently he wasn't gay and possibly did get married although never had a child.

That's not nothing when it comes to rounding out a figure who otherwise is largely a military hero figure. One certainly gets the sense of someone who was extremely confident, brave and daring, cultured and intelligent, but perhaps a bit naive and overly trusting.

As for Baelor, I think we get quite a bit of interiority in his rather tumultuous life. Certainly we get the sense of someone who had quite a few positive qualities - his barefoot trek through Dorne and his willingness to endure dangerous trials shows a rather uniquely pacifist form of bravery and determination, his commitment to diplomacy, his solicitude for the poor, and his accomplishment of effectively seizing control of the Faith of the Seven through the move of the High Septon from the Starry Sept to the Great Sept.

At the same time, Baelor's central psychological problem was that he was torn between two extreme and opposing drives - a particularly intense form of piety that demanded physical suffering and promised miracles on the one hand, and then an equally intense sex drive which he sought to completely repress, leading to an obsession with controlling women's sexuality and women's bodies.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #daeron i targaryen #baelor targaryen

[tomorrowusa]

North Carolina seems to be the vortex for MAGA extremism this year.

We thought that the GOP candidate for governor Mark Robinson was off the scale.

Meet North Carolina’s GOP Governor Candidate: A Hitler-Quoting Extremist

But Michele Morrow, the GOP nominee for North Carolina Superintendent of Public Instruction, makes Mark Robinson sound almost mainstream.

In other comments on social media between 2019 and 2021 reviewed by CNN’s KFile, Morrow made disturbing suggestions about executing prominent Democrats for treason, including Minnesota Rep. Ilhan Omar, North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper, former New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo, Hillary Clinton, Sen. Chuck Schumer and other prominent people such as Anthony Fauci and Bill Gates. “I prefer a Pay Per View of him in front of the firing squad,” she wrote in a tweet from May 2020, responding to a user sharing a conspiracy theory who suggested sending Obama to prison at Guantanamo Bay. “I do not want to waste another dime on supporting his life. We could make some money back from televising his death.” In another post in May 2020, she responded to a fake Time Magazine cover that featured art of Obama in an electric chair asking if he should be executed. “Death to ALL traitors!!” Morrow responded. In yet another comment, Morrow suggested in December 2020 killing Biden, who at that time was president-elect, and has said he would ask Americans to wear a mask for 100 days. “Never. We need to follow the Constitution’s advice and KILL all TRAITORS!!! #JusticeforAmerica,” she wrote. CNN reached out to Morrow and her campaign multiple times but did not receive a response.

But wait, there's more!

Morrow also promoted QAnon slogans and tweeted that the actor Jim Carrey was “… likely searching for adrenochrome” – a reference to a conspiracy theory shared by QAnon believers that celebrities harvest and drink the blood of children to prolong their own lives. Media Matters, a left-leaning publication, was first to report the QAnon tweets. All together, Morrow tweeted “WWG1WGA” – the slogan that stands for “where we go one, we go all” and is commonly associated with the QAnon conspiracy – more than seven times in 2020. Central to QAnon lore is the notion of the “Storm,” a belief there will be a day when thousands will purportedly be arrested, subjected to military tribunals, and face mass executions for their alleged crimes, with Donald Trump leading efforts to dismantle them alongside other QAnon “patriots.”

Morrow seems to get off on executions a lot. Her addiction to QAnon (who hasn't been around for years) is not at all out of character.

Sadly, such Republican candidates are hardly unusual these days.

To defeat such MAGA fascist extremist psychopaths it will be necessary to become more politically active in real life this year. That means volunteering, donating, and being more visible as pro-democracy Americans. And not just in North Carolina but nationwide.

My new favorite slogan this year is a classic rallying cry from civil rights activist Rev. Jesse Jackson:

Nobody will save us from us but us.

#north carolina #extremists #maga #republicans #fascists #michele morrow #north carolina superintendent of public instruction #conspiracy theories #qanon #mark robinson #adolph hitler #donald trump #election 2024 #vote blue no matter who

[opinion247]

FELA, THE UNBEARABLE REIGNING PROPHET– BY EGUNGWU C. BENJAMIN

Due to this year's Felabration music festival themed 'Question Jam Answer,' which started on 9th and will be ending on Sunday, 15th October, 2023. I decided to pen down this commemorative piece for the musical icon.

In this piece we will discuss about how the musical festival started and the brain behind it, we will also have brief background of the music icon and information about his career and achievements.

In 1998 Felabration was conceptualized by the late Afrobeat music legend's daughter, Yeni Anikulapo-Kuti just to remember his father's legacy. How he used music as a tool to speak about bad governance , exposing the hidden skeletons in the cupboard of corrupt politicians and religious institution leaders.

The music festival is hosted once every year for seven days and people comes from different states in the country, some from different countries to celebrate the Music icon at Afrika Shrine, Ikeja, Lagos State.

Brief Background of the Music Icon

 Olufela Olusegun Oludotun Ransome-Kuti Popularly called 'Fela Anikulapo-Kuti' was born on 15th October, 1938, in Abeokuta, Ogun state, into an upper middle class family.

The Late, Chief. Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti was the mother of Fela. She a very popular feminist activist during the anti-colonial movement and first woman to drive a car in Nigeria back in 1951, while his father, Reverend, Israel Oludotun Ransome-Kuti, was a school principal and first president of the Nigeria Union of Teacher.

Later Fela Kuti removed 'Ransome' from his name and changed it to 'Anikulapo' meaning "He who carries death in his pouch or hands".

This will bring us to one of his hit track, that I love so much titled 'Colo-mentality'. In the song he talked about how the British sold their culture and language to us. we took everything and abandoned ours which makes us original.

In the song he said;

" If you say you be colonial man. You don be slave man before. Them don release you now. But you never release yourself. in another stanza he said;

"Dem go proud of dem name. And put dem slave name for head. No be so?… "

This can be linked to his decision to change his English name ' Ransome' to a Yoruba name 'Anikulapo'.

Fela Kuti is a cousin to the Popular writer and laureate Wole Soyinka (a Nobel Prize for Literature winner).

Brief Music Journey

Base on my research , I found out that the Music Icon was actually sent to London to study medicine just like his brothers; are all medical doctors.

He got to UK enrolled at Trinity College London where he studied classical music and became exposed to different musical sounds by playing piano in jazz and rock bands.

However, in I960s he returned to Nigeria and formed a band ' Koola Lobitos' just as he played when he was in London and Afrobeat sound started from that group through experiment and practices.

That is why he is refered to as the King of Afrobeat which is Jazz, Funk, Ghanaian/Nigerian High-life and psychedelic rock infusion.

Most of the top Afrobeat stars in the world like; Burna-Boy who claimed that his style of music is Afro-fusion. This is inspired by Fela Kuti and he affirmed to it.

During his life time while doing Music in Nigeria, he used it as an instrument to talk c on themes like; freedom, injustice, corruption and any other social vices within the country.

Due to his doggedness and ability to withstand pressure from the Military government in power, they were looking for reasons to find him guilty and jail him.

He declared himself the head of his communal compound, which he named the independent 'Kalakuta Republic'. The place got many attention due to use of drugs, indulgence in sex, polygamy support ( he married 27 women ).

It was said that 1000 soildiers raided his house,' Kalakuta Republic' in Lagos. Thy destroyed his properties and beat up everyone in there.

During the raid Fela, 's mother, Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, was thrown out from the window. She sustained serious injuries and died at the General Hospital in Lagos on April 13, 1978 and most National Dailies reported the incident with the headline; “Fela’s Mum is Dead" or " Fela's House Burnt ".

This didn't make him stop his musical career or compromise his stand. He dropped more hit tracks like; “Zombie,” “Beasts of No Nation,” “Upside Down" and “Monkey Banana,”.

In his hit track " Zombie" he said; "Zombie no go walk unless you tell am to walk", Which Ironically, he was referring to the military or soldiers who doesn't do things they wish to do but they act base on order or instructions from top ranking officers.

This still remind me my days in Enugu, while still a kid, any time my mother is singing this song, just know you are suppose to do something and you haven't done it. (Smiles African parents still the best).

I referred to him as a prophet in this piece because his music his ever green. Everything he said when he was alive is still happening and even getting worse.

His music stirs ones mind to reflect on life unlike the the artist today that centers their music on sex and flamboyancy. Fela also sang about sex and having good time.

I am not against this kind of music everyone has there style of music and decision to choose what to sing about but once in a while they should use music as a tool to stir-up consciousness.

I dance and sing to the new style of songs, the artists are putting Africa in global map, Everyone is trying to identify themselves as an African but they should also remember that music is an art and should be used to convey message to educate and inform. It shouldn't be for entertainment purpose only.

I do appreciate Singers like; Falz, Tekno, Idris Abdul Kareem, Daddy Showkey, Late Sound Sultan, et-al .

#black art #books #government #literature #music #fela kuti #nigeria news #afrobeats #entertainment #authors