#--simply having their fate reverted.

[creaturefeaster]

This may be a stupid question, and I’m sorry if you’ve answered it before, but why do the mimes do everything they do?

Not a stupid question at all. It's a pretty broad question, however, so it may have been answered in bits and pieces in the past throughout several other asks. So I suppose this is a chance to put it cohesively:

They are of a different realm. The physical realm is not their own, and though they have existed for eons, they have only lived life in the physical part of the universe for a tiny sliver of time. So more often than not, they have almost no clue what they're doing.

They've also just finished fighting a war, and are aware that fate is not on their side when it comes to sticking around in the physical realm, so they are very ready and willing to fight. Their kind as a whole goes a bit overboard though, as I'd argue they wipe out maybe a good 70% of the living people on the planet alone within a couple of days.

The mimes in the focal lense of the story-- the ones you see me draw and talk about-- are no exception to this behavior. Some of the first things they do when they arrive is kill. Out of curiosity, fear, adrenaline, or out of a feeling of necessesity. None really out of hate, though, and none with initial malicious intent (...perhaps debatable, depending on how you look at things ^^;)

Once the crazy phase is over, about two or three days after the Fault, a lot of the immediate hostile behavior slows down. Everyone's had a chance to get used to their new world, and has had the time to understand the meaning of what life is. Though they are against the main 15 living protagonists, they actually try to avoid outright killing them. The persuasions of fate fortune the protagonists, so it makes it a little more difficult to get rid of them anyways, but a lot of the mimes often opt to thwart the living's plans rather than continue the cycle of brutal hostility.

Some mimes are just more hostile in nature though, or some more chaotic, but some are just trying to enjoy their new life. Their motives and aspirations are all over the place. Almost all of them though just want to remain despite the destruction they've already caused. The living, of course, want their world back to the way it was, so they continue on. And so the mimes must as well.

#jarna is here to hunt for sport more often than not. #calamea just doesnt give a fuck and does whatever always #rede would be so much more violent if it wasnt for Chickenstab holding him back so often #but past those three none of the main mimes are here to be brutal #twiddle acts like he is but news flash he isnt. he just thrives off of making enemies #foxglove doesnt even wanna be here at all so shes just doing what she thinks she has to #brambleramble #tyv and uppsulka pretty early on actually go. yknow fuck all this mess. idk if we might disappear again one day. #we are living out in tha middle of nowhere now. leave us alone #(alas. they cannot escape the. Shenanigans) #some mimes even help work towards the living's goal #as they accept their fate- realise they'll both be doomed if it isn't done- and that their doomed fate would be worse than-- #--simply having their fate reverted.

[daydreamerdrew]

back-up story to The Flash (1959) #310, as republished in Immortal Doctor Fate (1985) #3

#ohh my gosh #this is so interesting #the double meaning of ‘if fate permits’ #which would otherwise simply mean if circumstances outside our control don’t prevent it #if it wasn’t for the fact that Dr. Fate is the one saying it #also Inza repeatedly learning to be ok with Dr. Fate but that acceptance never being able to last #she literally ends the last issue saying that she’s learning to live with Dr. Fate #with Inza acknowledging here that ‘somehow the feeling never seems to last’ #I wonder if this is intended to be related to how Dr. Fate prevents both Kent and Inza from physically aging #it’s like… preventing them from growing and forever reverting back to the previous status quo/premise #particularly considering how the previous 4-issue arc begins and ends the same way #with Inza having to take care of a physically injured Kent after a Dr. Fate adventure #and lamenting how this happens again and again #also the line about her not wanting to look at her diary cause it just reminds her how nothing ever changes #Dr. Fate isn’t necessarily keeping Kent and Inza to be forever ok with what he does #just trapped in the same miserable cycle #dc #kent nelson #inza nelson #nabu #my posts #comic panels

[softieekayy]

Intertwined

Hannibal Lecter x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Hannibal Lecter was a stoic man with stoic impressions. He did his job, he left and he came home. Not many people knew much about him and the one who did, Will Graham, was a mystery of his own.

Having said that, there was one person who knew his entire soul, for their souls were entangled with each other. Hannibal’s wife. She knew him and his antics like the back of her hand. It was to be expected, especially since they’ve known eachother since Hannibal was a young man in medical school and her a young teenage girl with a crush on him. He never entertained it through, no, he always taught her things that she found useful later in life. It was fate who decided that they would spend the rest of their lives together.

Hannibal would do anything for his wife, she was his sun, moon and entire universe. He worshiped the floor she walked on. Not to mention that the young Mrs. Lecter was a beautiful woman with shiny hair and satin like skin. She was ethereal and people often thought she was an angel posing as one of their kind simply because of her beauty. Her beauty didn’t end physically, not at all. The young woman was a saint. She wouldn't hurt a fly, in fact, she would nourish it and then set it free.

“Why is he so hard to cut up!” (Y/n) whined to her husband, stomping down her expensively clad feet in a tantrum, blood seeping into her satin, champagne coloured shirt, staining the material. In one hand she held a butcher's knife with blood coating it, the body beneath her indicating the frustration she very obviously felt.

“Well, darling” Hannibal grunted, “cutting people with knives like this isn’t easy.”

“Yeah I see that now, my love.” She muttered back, reverting to her former position on her knees and hacking away at Mr. Zaine Lammer’s arm. A disgusting man he was, objectifying Hannibal’s wife to him. The dinner the couple held was for charity. Just because they killed people didn’t mean they were monsters. (Y/n) still loved and cared about children and would never harm them, they can be tuned and molded into anything you’d like. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for adults.

Hannibal looked over to his, completely entranced by the pure and utter annoyance on her face. She knew Hannibal killed, it wasn’t a secret to her. She’s helped with the crimes. However, (Y/n) preferred the killing and setting up the scene part, she did not like the hacking away at the body. No, she left that to her dear husband to do. Not that Hannibal minded. He’d prefer for her to not get touched by the blood of filth.

“Ugh. I give up. I can’t do this anymore.” The young woman stated, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Hannibal laughed at his wife’s reaction, making her glare at him.

“Don’t laugh at me Hans!” She told him, a small smile threatening to break out on her face. Hannibal looked at her, not saying anything but rather just observing. His wife was the most beautiful lady to have ever walked the earth. An angel that was put amongst sinners. He put down his knife and walked over to her, putting one arm around her waist and tugging her closer to his body, her hands resting on his chest.

“Hi.” She whispered softly with an equally soft smile gracing her face.

“Hello.” Hannibal whispered back, leaning down to steal a quick kiss from his wife.

He remembers meeting her like yesterday. She was a young little thing, younger than him, about 8-9 years or so. Yet when Hannibal saw her, she was the most beautiful person he’d ever set eyes on. The young woman had just been coming into the book store, soaked from the rain outside, hair sticking to her face and yet she still had a smile painted on her dark red lips. Hannibal watched her as she greeted the older man who ran the shop warmly before shedding her coat to let it hang. She turned around and caught Hannibal staring yet she gave him a smile too. Her quick movements reminded Hannibal of a cat, yet when he looked into her eyes for a brief moment, he saw his own reflection.

“I’ve never seen you around here.” She tells him, running her fingers across the spines of books before pulling one out. It was an old book with a forest green cover.

“I don’t live here, I’m just here to visit my aunt.” Hannibal didn’t tell her that Lady Murasaki was long dead and that he was just here to visit her grave. His aunt was a crucial part of his life, she shaped him into the man he is today.

The young woman nodded in acknowledgment, her hair moving along with it.

“Well it’s nice to meet you..” She trailed off, waiting for Hannibal to introduce himself.

“Hannibal lecter.” The older man introduced himself, shaking her hand gently. It was as soft as she looked. In return (Y/n) introduced herself. The two grabbed their books and spoke about everything and anything. Hannibal learned that she went to medical school here and frequented this bookstore often, hence her close relationship with the owner. Hannibal told her of Lady Murasaki and how he’s in charge of keeping her home. Before they knew it, time had passed and it was the dead of night, Hannibal walked her home and from there it took them to now. A married couple.

“We should really clean up.” (Y/n) grimaced, pulling away from Hannibal’s embrace to look at the mess on the floor. Hannibal agreed with her, the blood won’t come out easily if it’s been too long.

Hannibal pulled away from the embrace and went back to chopping up the man while his wife began to mix the solutions for cleaning.

Within another hour or so they were done. (Y/n) stood at the entrance of the basement with her hands over her hips, heaving lightly from all the scrubbing she did. Her once neatly done hair was now falling out of its place messily. Hannibal disposed of the meat in the freezer before walking back to his wife and kissing her on the side of her head, gently leading her upstairs with his hand on the small of her back.

“With all that leftover meat, we ought to have another dinner party. There’s only so much we alone can eat.” (Y/n) grumbled to Hannibal as they both reached the first floor of their home. She walked into the kitchen and took out two wine glasses before pouring her and Hannibal some.

“I agree.” Hannibal nodded. “We should invite Will, Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom for dinner these days.” He finished, taking a sip of his wine, watching his wife’s stare on him harden.

“You know I don’t like her yet you keep inviting her. Don’t be surprised if she ends up as our dinner one day.” (Y/n) warns him, anger seeping through her voice. The young brunette clearly had a crush on Hannibal, everyone around her could tell. Hannibal used that crush to manipulate her. His wife on the other hand, wasn't too fond of another woman making heart eyes at someone who belonged to her.

“You worry for no reason, even in death my heart will belong to you. Alana Bloom can’t match your intelligence or grace.” Hannibal comforted his wife, running his hand up and down her arm and she tucked herself closer into him. The younger woman hummed in response, taking Hannibal’s hand in her own and playing around with his fingers.

“I still don’t like her. That smug little face she makes towards me whenever you talk to her. All I can think about at that moment is how nice my hair pin would look coated in her blood.” (Y/n)‘s hand clutched tightly around Hannibal’s as she thought about Alana bloom. The brunette woman never failed to enrage Hannibal’s wife.

“She’s not worth you pretty little thoughts.” The older man told his wife, dragging his nose from the back of her neck to the side of her head, planting a living kiss. (Y/n) smiled slyly, turning her body to face him fully.

“You think me wanting to feel Alana’s blood on my hands is pretty?” She asked him, still smiling and toying with his hair. Hannibal latched his arm around her waist and pulled her atop him.

“I think everything you do is pretty.” He tells her and she hums. The two sit in silence for a while, sipping on their wine. No need for mindless chatter, being by each other's side was all that they needed. Hannibal knew that his wife would never betray him under any circumstances and she knew that Hannibal would never do anything to harm her. However they both knew that to drag attention away from one another, they may need to harm each other. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, it ripped Hannibal’s heart apart to even think about hurting his pretty little wife. His pretty wife with doe eyes. His pretty wife with a sinister smile. The two were a match in every sense possible, both hunters who enjoyed the art of killing. They were skilled and under Hannibal’s expertise and care, his young wife went from an amateur to someone just as talented as Hannibal.

“It's getting late, moonshine.” Hannibal uttered into her hair, nosing her hairline. She was wrapped around him, like a cat. Hannibal thought that if reincarnation was real then his wife must’ve been a cat in her past life.

“Yes, honey, I know. However there are no plans set in place for tomorrow.” She grinned, turning around and crawling onto him fully now. Hannibal held his wife by the waist, grinning.

“Are you suggesting we stay up late tonight Mrs. Lecter?” He asked her, caressing her hair. The two smiled like a lovesick teen age couple. So in love that it made others sick. Jack Crawford was one of them, he’d known the famous Mrs. Lecter since he’d met Hannibal.

“Yes I am. In fact, I’m suggesting that we go out for some ice cream.” She tells him, running a finger down the buttons of his shirt. Hannibal gasps in faux shock.

“Scandalous. You’re so very scandalous.” He tells her, shaking his head in disappointment. They both know it’s just an act anyway, Hannibal would bend over back wards for her. (Y/n) giggled before getting up and grabbing her coat. She waited for Hannibal to join her giddily, like a child who had far too much sugar.

“Shall we go?” Hannibal asked her, offering his arm for her to hold. (Y/n)’s hand softly tucked itself into the crook of Hannibal's arm as they headed out. Into the dark of the night, like wolves hunting for prey.

Tagging my lovelies: @jake-g-lockley @shawty-writes-a-little <3

#hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #mads mikkelsen #will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x reader fluff #hannibal fluff #Hannibal Lecter fluff #Hannibal Lecter one shot #hannibal lecter imagine

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

One more tomorrow, with you.

Hi. Sorry if this isn't good, it's 4 in the morning.

Warning(s): None really. This isn't yandere, and there's not really any other content I feel needs a warning. It is a bit angsty though.

Isn't it fun?

Being friends with one of the scariest people in the school had its benefits. Nobody dared mess with you, because they knew what he would do to them.

Why is Floyd so nice to you? You'd never know.

Especially not with how everything turned out.

"(Y/N)!" Some faceless classmate called your name. "I was wondering if I could practice a spell on you?"

"Oh... sure, I guess." You were unsure. You didn't want this, but you couldn't say no for some reason. Perhaps it was fate?

"Thanks. It's nothing too bad, don't worry. It's just a very simple, and very weak, time travel spell." Your classmate explained. "It'll send you one minute into the future. You'll be a bit disoriented, but nothing too bad will happen."

One minute...

A lot can happen in only one minute.

"...alright, do it."

You didn't want to agree. You felt like something was going to go wrong... but, you couldn't stop yourself from agreeing.

Your classmate pointed their magic pen at you... but just at that moment-

"Heyyyyy, what's going on here~?" A very familiar voice chimed in, as a certain someone placed his hands on your shoulders. "You threatening my little cleaner shrimp here??"

"Ah, no, don't worry, Floyd." You told him. "It's nothing major, he's just gonna test out a spell on me."

"Mmmmhh... well, it's probably nothin' good, knowing how people like to treat you... whatever you do to 'em, you do to me, alright?" Floyd asked, trying to threaten your classmate.

Floyd's threat probably worked... which could have been why your classmate messed up so severely.

They were worried about messing up. Worrying about messing up leads to concentrating on the spell even more, perhaps accidentally making it more powerful...

The spell was only supposed to send you one minute in the future, and yet...

When the light cleared...

Nothing was there anymore.

You and Floyd were met with a wasteland.

Crumbly old rocks were all around... perhaps the ruins of what was once NRC.

"...where the hell are we-?"

You remember Floyd was confused. You were too, obviously, you were only meant to find yourself one minute in the future, not... whenever you are now.

You were both panicked and confused, of course... everything (and presumably everyone) you ever knew was just... gone.

...

Floyd helped you through it.

Oh, Floyd... he either didn't care at all, or was simply very good at hiding his emotions.

On the incredibly rare occasion that he did open up to you... you were there for him, like he was for you. Or at least, you'd like to think you were.

It's a strange thing, knowing you'll be the last person to ever do something.

It's like when you throw a rock into the ocean. You don't think about it for the most part... but then, every now and again, you'll look at that rock you're about to throw... and you'll realize you're probably the last human who will ever see that rock. But then, you throw it anyways... because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter that you're the last person to walk on this world.

You made footsteps in the sand with him as you two walked through the endless wasteland, through a strange field of gigantic stone spikes...

As you walked through this field... through this wasteland... it was hard to stay alive.

There wasn't any food around, and there wasn't any water...

Floyd would one day revert and suffocate, and you would one day starve.

There wasn't anything the two of you could do about it... but that was okay. You were at peace with it.

...

Was he?

Was Floyd at peace with it?

You never actually asked him.

Would anything have changed... if you were there for him, just as he was there for you?

Could something have changed?

...probably not.

On that final day, as you succumbed to your starvation, that was the only thing you could properly think about.

Your regrets.

Nothing else, just regrets.

Then, you woke up.

You woke up in a hospital bed.

And that was when you realized you weren't hungry, it didn't hurt to breathe, you weren't subjected to the relentless heat and cold.

None of that ever happened.

None of that ever existed.

...

Floyd never existed.

But if that's true, why do you still feel such regret for not being there for him as he was for you?

#i hope people realize what i was referencing with the 'spike field' #also this was inspired by a weird dream i had! #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #floyd leech #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #twst floyd x reader #twst floyd leech #twst floyd #twst floyd leech x reader

[ghostofskywalker]

Don't Say "I Told You So"

Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Words: 1,739

Summary: Crosshair didn't need a relationship, and he had only agreed to this stupid service because all his brothers had done it as well. But a switch in his mind was flipped when he met you, he just doesn't want to admit it.

Note: this is my contribution to the fanfiction universe of @tcwmatchmakingau :) the canon divergence here is that the empire falls apart in its early days after palpatine bites it, which would still imply that crosshair spent some time in its service. i couldn't decide which clone i wanted to write so i picked six of my faves and rolled a die to decide - crosshair won :)

Clone Troopers Masterlist

“What are you looking to gain from our service today?” The overly bubbly woman asked Crosshair as he sat with his arms crossed in a chair that seemed entirely out of place in a tiny office like this. She was not bothered one bit by the way he so obviously did not want to be there, and there weren’t many people in the galaxy that could look so nonchalant on the receiving end of his annoyed expression.

“To get my brothers off my back,” he answered dryly, watching as she started to type something on her datapad.

“So you’re not looking for anything serious then?”

“What do you think?”

The woman behind the desk (she had introduced herself before, he just forgot her name) looked up at him with a glare that matched his in its intensity, and for a moment the change actually caught him off guard. “I have half a mind right now to set you up with the person I think you would dislike the most and ensure that you have the worst two hours of your life,” she said, her tone sharp and unwavering. “But since I am a professional, I will not do that. However, I expect to be afforded the same courtesy. I have a perfect track record with my matches for this company, but that does not mean I won’t throw it away for the chance to make you miserable, and that is certainly a threat. Do we understand each other?”

A silence fell over the room as her words sunk in. “Fine,” he said, swallowing his pride and allowing her to continue with the matchmaking interview. There was a part of him that wondered if he did indeed have a perfect match out there, even if he was (mostly) here because the rest of his squad had already gone through the process. Because anyone that managed to find someone who could willingly put up with Hunter was clearly some kind of Jedi, and there was another part of him that wanted to be the one to annoy his brothers, just as they had annoyed him with their new partners.

The interview was soon finished, and he left the office wondering what was going to come of all this. The woman (who had reverted back to the insufferably bubbly version of herself from the beginning) told Crosshair that someone would reach out to him with details about his date soon, even though he didn’t know if he believed her. There couldn’t be anyone in their little catalog who would willingly go on a date with him, this had to be some kind of scam.

***

But somehow the unthinkable happened, and from what Echo said when he heard Crosshair had gotten a message, it had happened in record time. And even now, if it weren't for the fact that his brothers were all stationed outside the restaurant, he might have run away before ever stepping foot inside. Wrecked would have simply just picked him up and walked him inside anyway, and that would be ever more embarrassing than simply just accepting his fate and not trying to escape.

He wasn’t given much information about you or the date, other than your first name and the fact that a table had been reserved for you two at a restaurant on the top level of Coruscant. It wasn’t the nicest place in the world, but Crosshair appreciated that there didn’t seem to be an intense pressure to get perfectly dressed up, especially since he only had a limited amount of clothing at this time. He also had a sneaking suspicion that you had picked the spot, because none of the others had ever heard of the place when he told them where he was going.

Despite the fact that he didn’t really think any kind of relationship was going to come from this, he still found himself slightly worried about how you were going to perceive him. Even though the war was over and clones were fully recognized as citizens, it was hard for him to believe that anyone would willing want to go on a date with him. He could understand how his brothers were able to find romance, they weren’t as broken as he was, and they were having a much easier time adjusting to their new lives outside of military service.

When he gave the person standing at the front of the restaurant his name, they smiled and told him to follow, as his date for the evening was already here. He was hoping that he could get by without the staff knowing the true reason he was there, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen. The sound of his comm device buzzing caught Crosshair’s attention, and he looked down at his wrist to see a message from Hunter.

Don’t kriff this up.

But of course he didn’t have time to send anything back before he had arrived at his table for the evening. Caught off guard by your beauty, he forgot for a moment that he didn’t reallu want to be there. “Hi,” you greeted him as he sat down. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

There was another version of him vying for control of his body right now, that was cruel and vindictive and could never believe that you were here to see him. And as much as he wished that version of him had died with the Empire, that was simply not the case, and he fought hard to push those thoughts away. Maybe he would never be as bright and as joyful as Wrecker, but you did not deserve to spend time with a sour version of him, especially when none of the issues he had were your fault.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he said. “Why did you sign up to do this?”

You laughed. “Honestly? My friends pushed me to sign up for an interview.”

“My brothers practically forced me to do this,” he said, watching as a smile crossed your face.

“Wow, I guess we both don’t want to be here, huh?”

Five minutes ago, Crosshair would have earnestly confirmed your statement and suggested that you go your separate ways. But now, he found himself wanting to stay, even though he had no idea how to respond. “I suppose not.”

“But since this meal has already been paid for, I think we should stay.” Thank the Maker for that suggestion.

Of course, he had to keep up appearances. “I’m fine with that.”

As the date continued, conversation moved like one of the Coruscant Guard’s massif puppies: tentative but determined, and the more Crosshair spoke to you, the more he realized how much you complemented each other.

It was so much more complicated than the roles of sun and moon, because neither of you perfectly fit into either image. You had a macabre streak to rival the dry quips he often subjected his brothers to, but there was also a brightness to your personality that he found himself desperate to learn about. As you shared stories about past relationships and told him all about the work you do, he found himself wondering how in Sith Hells it was possible that through one interview (that he didn’t even take seriously) someone had managed to find him someone like you.

The food was certainly a step up from the things he ate during the war, and the two of you indulged in drinks that were brightly colored and sickly sweet. If this was 79’s and his brothers were around, he might have cared about what they would say as they watched him take sips of a lavender colored liquid. But here, the only person whose opinion mattered to him was you, and the way you smiled as you tasted the drink for the first time was something he didn’t want to forget.

When it was time to leave, he waited with you for a hovertaxi and waved you off before heading back to the apartment he now shared with his brothers. It didn’t seem like the rest of the squad had stayed outside the restaurant for the entire night (like they had threatened to do), and Crosshair was glad for the time alone with his thoughts.

He wanted to see you again, that much was certain. The two of you had exchanged comm frequencies, and there were already tentative plans in place for the two of you to see a holofilm together sometimes, but nothing was set in stone. He knew his brothers weren’t going to let him off without interrogating him when he stepped through the doorway, so he also prepared what he was going to say.

And like he expected, Omega was the only one not waiting for him when he opened the door. The rest of the team was sitting at the table, as if they were waiting for him, and the questions began to spill out of his brothers’ mouths.

“How was it?”

“Did you like her?”

“Are you going on another date?”

“We were right, weren’t we?”

Crosshair took a seat at the table and waited for the rapid fire questioning to stop. “It wasn’t terrible.”

Hunter scoffed. “Come on, you’ve got to give us more than that!”

“No, I don’t actually,” he said. “You all forced me to do this and now it’s done.”

Echo spoke next. “At least tell us if you’re going to go out again with her, then we’ll leave you alone.”

Crosshair sighed. He wanted to lie, but he knew that eventually the truth would find a way to worm its way out into the open, and the teasing would be worse then. “Nothing is confirmed, but maybe.”

“YES!”

“I knew it!”

“You all owe me 10 credits now!”

In the midst of his brothers’ joy, the sound of his comm device beeping distracted Crosshair. He looked down to see a message from a new frequency, which he immediately knew must be you.

If you were serious about going to a holofilm, do you want to see one with me tomorrow?

He couldn’t help but smile as he typed out an affirmative reply, and that tiny change in his expression did not go unnoticed by Hunter. “Aww look Echo, Crosshair’s in loooooooove!”

“Shut up,” was the sniper’s response, but he didn’t refute the statement.

Maybe these matchmaker services really did work after all. 

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

#tcw matchmaking au #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #clone trooper x reader

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

What if the TFP Autobots encounter a mad scientist bot whose been experiencing humans to cyberform them and turn them into Cybertronians. This bot has been scared and paranoid by the war since the destruction of Cybertron and fears his peoples days are numbered. So that's why he's been trying to turn humans into Cybertronians, though he's been less than successful. While their bodies transformed perfectly, their processors weren't adapted enough to function properly, leading the new Cybertronians to act erratically to an almost feral degree.

Meeting Optimus and his team he enthusiasticly tries to show his finding and the subjects he created. How do the bots react to them and their "experiments"?

-Optimus feels a ton of different emotions. Disgust, revulsion, hatred, fear, guilt. He understands that ultimately, the actions of this bot is not driven by greed or a desire for power, but out of concern for the fate of the cybertronian race. They are afraid of cybertronians going extinct, killing each other, and wants to save their people. All of this, he understands.

-But that does not excuse or forgive them for what they've done. All these humans, people with friends and families, with lives of their own, taken from their homes and effectively tortured into madness.

-Optimus will give the bot the option of peacefully giving up but won't hesitate to use force to subdue them if push comes to shove. What he truly worries about, however, is what to do with these poor people that's been transformed. He hopes maybe Ratchet can find a way to revert the process, or at least return them to sanity.

-Ratchet, similar to Optimus, relates to the bot's fear of cybertronians going extinct. He himself have found himself unable to recharge because of this. But never, not in a million years, could he even come up with the idea of this. Kidnapping humans and forcefully turning them into cybertronians? It's madness! It's sadistic! It goes against everything Ratchet stands for as a medic.

-Because of what they've done, Ratchet can't stand the bot. Yes, they only meant well but that doesn't make their actions any less heinous. If forced to spend any kind of extended time with them, Ratchet will eventually start shouting at them, berating them for their inconsideration of human life. How many humans died before they 'perfected' the transformation? Did those lives even matter to them? Or were they just seen as collateral?

-Incredibly worried about the state of the transformed humans. While physically they appear to be in prime condition, they mental states suggests extreme alterations to the processor. While initially Ratchet tries to find a way to turn them back to humans, eventually he settles for trying to stabilize their minds. He's truly worried that even if they were to ever leave their feral states that the transformation will leave them with severe mental problems.

-Bumblebee is horrified. While he wants Cybertron and its people to live on, he doesn't want it to be at the cost of humanity. Every time he looks at the transformed humans he can't help but think of his own human friends, of agent Fowler, June, Miko, Jack and Raph. It could have been them. Just the thought of it fills Bee with cold dread.

-Tries to help the transformed humans however he can. Bumblebee tries to talk with them, hoping that maybe he can calm them down, remind them of their humanity. Until then he wants to keep them safe. Works himself ragged to get enough energon to fuel them.

-Really, really dislikes the bot that did this and does his best to avoid them, simply because he doesn't trust himself not to go off on them. Makes it very clear to Raph, Miko and Jack that they are to under no circumstances approach this bot.

-Bulkhead will straight up knock this bot's lights out. All this talk about saving Cybertron and yadda yadda yadda, he doesn't buy any of it. They are just a sadistic maniac! Only reason Bulkhead doesn't off them right then and there is because Optimus said no. But that doesn't mean he won't throw in a couple punches to make a point.

-Unless there's an immediate way to turn the transformed humans back into, well, humans, then Bulkhead suggests putting them out of their misery. Does he want to do that? Hell no. But they are suffering and energon rations are already running short. It's not an easy decision but if Optimus decides to agree with it then Bulkhead will volunteer to do it, just to spare every else the experience.

-Again, Bulkhead can't fucking stand the bot that did this. Obviously they are a smart bot yet they chose to do such a stupid thing? That makes them the worst kind of idiot; a cruel one. If the transformed humans actually end up being put out of their misery then Bulkhead might just kill the bot, no matter what Optimus says.

-Arcee is with Bulkhead on this one. If he doesn't punch their lights out then she will because what the actual fuck is wrong with them? She gets feeling scared, feeling desperate, but this is a whole other level of fucked up. Nothing is worth this pain, this sorrow and agony that they've caused.

-Like Bulkhead, Arcee suggests putting the humans out of their misery, at least at first. Like him, she knows that they can't fuel any more bots and as awful as it is, they have to prioritize the team. Volunteers doing it to make the decision easier for Optimus. But the more she thinks about it the less sure she is about the decision. In the end she admits that she can't do it anymore and wants to keep the transformed humans alive.

-Treats the scientist bot like shit. Barely talks to them and when she does she makes it absolutely clear that she finds them disgusting. Berates them, calls them sick in the head, sneers whenever she sees them.

#transformers imagine #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #bumblebee #bulkhead #arcee

[mybeautifuldelirium]

Centuries Apart || Aemond Targaryen x got!Reader part 1

Requested by: @caspianobsessed

CHAPTER LIST

A/N: so I’m obsessed with this idea and would really love to turn this into a series so let me know if you’d be interested xx

Summary: Y/N is from the game of thrones era, the younger sister of Daenerys, but after the fall of her house and the throne being taken away once again, she has no choice but to go back in time to where it all went wrong, trying to change the fate of House Targaryen. But will anyone from that era even believe her? What price will she have to pay?

Warnings: angst, idk if this would be considered incest tbh lol, game of thrones spoilers

This was not how the story was supposed to end. No, the iron throne was meant to be hers, it belonged to her, Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the house which had built this very kingdom, now burned to ashes and the rightful heir, slain by her own kin.

But it was not all of House Targaryen that had perished. There was one last dragon left, Y/N Targaryen, The Silver princess , the youngest daughter of the Mad King. The realm thought the princess had died, perhaps not long after her own sister yet she was destined to live, her limp body pulled from under the crumbled walls of the keep and brought to Volantis. Kinvara was her name, the name of Y/N’s savior, the very same red priestess who had once advised Daenerys.

“How did you get there? Why did you save me?” Y/N groaned from pain as she tried to get up.

“The Lord of Light saved you, you were meant to live” she simply replied without even turning to look at the girl.

“They betrayed her. He betrayed her. He is not a true Targaryen, Jon Snow will always be a cowardice bastard” the princess hissed, thoughts of the traitorous actions of her nephew, filling her with burning rage. “We won their battle, my sister sacrificed her dragons, her only children and now the legacy that our ancestors built once again has fallen in the hands of usurpers” tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Pulling at weeds won’t cure what was caused by a seed planted centuries ago” Kinvara recited, staring at the burning flames, as if caught in a trance.

“What are you talking about?” Y/N’s face twisted in confusion.

“You can’t change the future when it was set in stone in the past” the red priestess continued, finally turning around as she slowly walked towards the wounded princess. “There is only one way to ward off the doom of House Targaryen and that is to go back to the era, responsible for the present.

“You mean Robert’s Rebellion?” the girl inquired, still not making sense of Kinvara’s words.

“No, my dear. The damage was done many decades before” the red woman gently took her hand “I can help you go back in time, though you must know every minor action in the past is bound to change the future”

“I don’t think I understand. What am I supposed to do?” Y/N looked up, her violet gaze widened with bewilderment.

“The Lord Of Light saved you for a reason child, he will guide you there” she said, handing her a small mirror, its glass black as night “But will you ever return, I can’t answer that”

“If I’m not to return, how will I know if I’ve changed the fate?”

“You will” the red priestess reverted her gaze back to the burning flames. “But do make your own decision, there is no going back”

A great sacrifice this was for the young princess, throwing her life away, leaving behind all she’d known. But what really did she have left? Everything she ever loved, now gone, the lands of her ancestors, usurped by traitors, the magnificent dragons, sigil of her house, long perished. There was nothing keeping her here.

“I’ll do it, for my house, for House Targaryen”

-

The following moments were a foggy blur for Y/N, she had no recollection of the events after she had spoken her consent. Was it all a fever dream, caused by the milk of the poppy? She cautiously got up, all the pain from her wounds now gone, then she knew. It wasn’t a dream. She was no longer in Volantis.

Everything looked so familiar yet so different, the girl wandered through the busy streets, trying to figure out where she was. Clutching at the hood of her black cloak, Y/N then saw it, the red keep. The very same magnificent castle that just days ago had been burned down to ashes, now standing tall as the banners, blowing in the wind, displaying the dragon sigil, the sigil of House Targaryen, her house. The princess’s eyes welled up as she indulged in the scenery before her, a scenery she had started to believe her eyes would never see.

Distracted by her thoughts Y/N hadn’t noticed the civilians trying to pass by her, until an angry merchant pushed her so hard that she fell right into someone’s arms.

“Forgive me, I wasn’t-“ the girl started apologizing to the person she was thrown into but as soon as her eyes met his, all words suddenly left her.

The man had only one eye, the other covered by an eyepatch, yet as soon as that familiar violet gaze of his met her own, she knew, a Targaryen, just like her.

The man before her was left just as speechless, gently picking up a silver lock of Y/N’s hair as her hood had fallen from the push. But before the girl could comprehend the situation, her back was met with the cold stonewall of a nearby building as the man’s hands were now firmly holding at her neck.

“Who are you?” he hissed, squeezing harder as his eye widened, directly staring at hers.

“My prince, don’t forget why we came here” a dark haired man pulled at her captor’s shoulder “Let's not bring unnecessary attention to ourselves”

“Take her to the castle and make sure no one sees you” the one eyed man commanded with no emotion harshly releasing the breathless girl, leaving her gasping for air. “I’ll seek to my brother’s whereabouts”

His companion tried to object but to no avail, so he sighed, pulling Y/N’s hood over her head of silver locks and grabbed at her arm.

“Who are you, where are you taking me? Let go!” The princess finally spoke but her screams were muffled by his gloved hand so she had no choice but to oblige and follow the older man.

He led her through the crowds of people without a single word of explanation leaving his lips. As they reached the castle, he dragged the helpless girl to a tucked away passage by the cliffs surrounding the Red Keep, leading her through a seemingly endless spiral staircase then pushing her into a small chamber at the very top of the tower.

“You’re to stay here until prince Aemond returns” the man finally spoke “Don’t think of trying to escape”

“Prince Aemond” Y/N’s eyes widened, of course, that explained the eyepatch. Her brother Viserys used to tell her and Dany stories about the tragedy of The Dance of Dragons, she vividly remembered the tale of the one eyed prince, the rider of Vhagar, the kinslayer. This same man who just moments ago had almost strangled her to death, she slid her fingers over the red markings on her neck. What had she gotten herself into

The sun was beginning to set as Y/N’s exhaustion prevailed and she drifted into a light slumber on the dusty daybed only for a fumble of keys to wake her up. And there he was again, Aemond One Eye Targaryen, standing before her, a living proof that none of the prior events were a mere dream.

“Now speak woman, who are you?” The prince said with the same emotionless voice from earlier.

Y/N stood up in front of him, getting a better view of his face. Now that he wasn’t wearing his hood she could finally see the so distinctive silver Targaryen locks falling over his shoulders and across his chest. The princess had never seen any other Targaryen beside her late siblings and it was almost as if she was looking at them through his so familiar violet gaze.

“I’m Y/N. Y/N of House Targaryen” the girl replied, new found confidence in her words.

The man let out a hoarse laugh as he pushed her against the wall.

“This does not true Targaryen make” he taunted, picking up a lock of her silver hair “Now tell me, who are you really? Perhaps one of my uncle’s bastards, a daughter of a whore of his?”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his crude words, unable to contain her rage at the insult of her heritage, she slapped the prince with full force across his smug face. Aemond let out an angry growl but as he turned back his head, the girl had managed to escape his grip and was already running down the stairwell.

The poor girl was in a complete state of frenzy as she was rushing through the long corridors of the keep, not taking a moment to catch her breath. How could she fail her task so quickly, how could she let her guard down, maybe she should’ve never accepted the red priestess’ offer.

Suddenly she bumped into a cold piece of metal, the bewildered face of a guard staring down at her, the girl tried to fight back and get away but to no avail as she was being escorted to the throne room.

“Your grace, this woman was running through the hallways. I don’t know how she got here” the guard said, pushing the princess to her knees in front of the iron throne.

Y/N cursed under her breath as she lifted her head. The iron throne, the very throne her beloved sister had so deeply longed for, the very throne that was to be taken from them, the very throne that was to be burned into ashes.

A boy, not too much older than her was sitting before her, the same silver hair, the same violet eyes, she knew this had to be king Aegon II, the king who had usurped the rightful heir, princess Rhaenyra. There were two other people standing beside him who Y/N assumed to be no other than his mother, queen Alicent Hightower and his grandfather, Otto Hightower. They were all staring speechless at the princess as if she were a rare dangerous creature.

“Do not fret mother, undoubtedly one of Daemon’s bastards” Aemond spat in disgust as he had just entered the throne room.

“I’m not a bastard!” the girl yelled, finally standing up. She tried to hit the prince once again but this time he caught her hand so she spat in his good eye.

“You little-” Aemond cursed in disgust but was cut off by Otto.

“Silence” the older man stood up “You, who are you, who sent you?”

“I’m no bastard” the girl spoke throwing a glance of disgust at Aemond “I am Y/N of House Targaryen, the Silver Princess, daughter of The Mad King, Aerys Targaryen”

“What blasphemous nonsense are you speaking?” Alicent’s voice trembled with hints of dread “Is this one of Rhaenyra’s tricks?”

“I know this sounds insane, but you have to believe me” Y/N pleaded in desperation “I was sent back here from centuries ahead to change the fate of House Targaryen”

“She’s completely mad” Aegon laughed “Take her to the dungeons”

“No! Wait, please! You have to help me” Y/N screamed as she was being dragged out by the guard. She was pulling and kicking at him but he was much stronger than her and kept walking until something fell to the ground, making a rattling sound. Her little mirror from Kinvara.

A bright beam of light stemmed out of the black glass, morphing into vivid images of the past and of the future right until the very moments of Y/N’s life.

The hall had gone completely silent, everyone staring in disbelief, it felt like time had stopped.

“So you were telling the truth?” Otto finally broke the silence, his face pale as a ghost.

“Yes, I told you” the princess replied with a new stroke of confidence, finally releasing herself from the guard’s grasp “I can help you win the war. I know the future”

“Why should we trust her?” Alicent intervened before her father was able to respond “She’s a witch, what if this is all a ploy?”

“Enough Alicent” Otto cut off his daughter, a devious smirk playing on his lips as he approached the girl “She can prove us a valuable weapon”

“And how can we ensure her loyalty?” Aemond shook his head.

“Perhaps becoming your wife and bearing your heirs will keep her faithful” Otto grinned, caressing Y/N’s silver locks.

Tag list:

@ellathefriendlyalpacaaa

@believeinthefireflies95

@caspianobsessed

@hayoooos-blog

@kitkat-writes-stuff

@rhaenyracole

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #house targaryen #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic

[timotey]

So, Phaya almost drowns but will be saved somehow. From the preview we see that Tharn will pretty much revert back to his Black Suit Mode(TM), going after the bad guys all lone wolf until his team actually puts their collective foot down to stop him and shake some sense into him.

Phaya comes back - somehow ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ - and it will take time and it will be very angsty - ask Director Kru A! - but he will come back and he and Tharn will patch their ship up, more or less, though I kinda suspect it will never be as carefree again as in that one moment that one morning. But Tharn will... manage, scrape himself back together.

And then Phaya will fall off the cliff. And I wonder if this will be the last straw for Tharn, basically. The moment when he will simply stop fighting fate and revert back to Wansarut's mindset, reaching a point when he will be willing to go with Chalothon and do anything just so Chalothon would finally stop hurting Phaya.

Because I think that Chalothon can't just drag Tharn back, kicking and screaming. Maybe he needs him to go willingly. So hurting Phaya isn't just about having good ol' time for Chalothon, it's about breaking Tharn enough to force him to submit.

Hm, food for thought...

#the sign #the sign the series #mé

[sunderlust]

this is me trying iii (rooster x reader)

masterlist part 1 | part 2 | part 3 pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader synopsis: bradley bradshaw has always been the bane of your existence... and you wouldn't go as far as saying he's the object of all your desires, but he's most certainly become your rock in the storm you're weathering as you try to navigate the murky waters known as your future. poetic ramblings aside, you're determined to make it up to him and take charge of your life for once. if only he'd pick up the damn phone... warnings: 18+ ONLY, detailed description of a panic attack, explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, explicit sexual activity (piv, oral f recieving), angst, realizations, talk about therapy, happy ending <3 note: as always, so much love to seasonsbloom and gretagerwigsmuse for beta-ing, supporting, dealing with my insanity. I wouldn't be posting my writing without them, let alone have created this series, so please give them some well deserved love

Your laptop remains closed on the coffee table, taunting you right where you left it after that phone call. It’s been impossible for you to muster up the courage to open it, let alone investigate the unread emails collecting dust in your inbox. You know they most likely carry sage advice and words of affirmation from the colleagues and professors you reached out to last week, but you’re completely overwhelmed with a wave of self-consciousness, almost embarrassed that you contacted them and did grad school research. It feels like your anxiety has shut down all the hope you had for your future.

And the more you look back on that night, the more guilty you feel at the way you handled things with Bradley. It’s not like he explicitly said to you that you were destined for failure - it was more so the presumptuous tone he spoke with and his words lacking the usual energy he had when he was conversing with you. You felt like a burden, like you’d be stuck in this fucking town forever while he jetted off to be successful elsewhere, earning Medals of Honor and shacking up with pretty girls in dive bars. (You try not to think hard about why you’re so concerned with his dating escapades.)

Bradley had texted numerous times after you hung up on him. On that fateful terrible night, you ignored his messages purely out of spite, simply turning your phone off and distracting yourself with whatever film Netflix suggested to you until you drifted off into a dreamless sleep right on the couch. But by morning, the guilt settled in like a heavy fog - and by the time you clocked into work at Java and realized he wasn’t gracing the coffee shop with his presence, you weren’t sure if he wanted to hear from you. 

You don’t know why it feels like a breakup. Not when you guys were just friends, just old rivals trying to have a fresh start, just two people with a lot of weight on their shoulders- okay. It might have started becoming a little more than friends to you. And you blame Bradley for being so wonderful, and kind, and thoughtful, and pretty. It’s like you saw a completely different side to him the past week, one you saw glimpses of back in undergrad but were too proud to try and investigate further, get a closer look at the wonderful man underneath. Now you regret not giving him a chance to explain, regret your biting words, regret thinking that he’d reverted back to the Bradley who used to rub his higher exam score in your face at the end of the semester. 

Because he was so kind to you - taking you out for drinks and planning quality time with you and getting to know you and taking you on that hike. He fully honored his promise to make a fresh start with you. And you just threw it back in his face. 

The guilt swarms you, and you feel more alone than ever now that you’re back at square one, still feeling overwhelmed thinking about your career and your future. You were supposed to be leisurely treading water, but you’re haunted by Bradley’s words swimming around you, taunting you, pulling you under the surface. 

-- 

Everything comes crashing down on Thursday near the end of your shift. You’ve especially been on edge for the past few days, but something feels especially off right now: the acrid smell of burnt coffee hits your nostrils too sharply, the sound of the coffee bean grinder feels like you’re being knighted with a chainsaw over your head, and you’re hot, it’s so fucking hot in this stupid coffee shop and this stupid city and you can’t seem to cool down, can’t seem to catch your breath, can’t seem to slow down. 

The moment the clock hits one, you’re shucking off your apron in a frenzy and just barely missing the hook you usually hang it on, sending a one word farewell to Britt and Todd before dashing out the door and towards your car. With shaking hands, you pull out your keys and blink rapidly, sensing an onslaught of waterworks the moment your ass hits the driver’s seat. 

You haven’t had a panic attack in a while. In all honesty, you thought you forgot how to have them - but you realize now it feels like every little thing over the past few years has built up into a towering skyscraper that is not up to your mind’s building codes. And it’s all about to come tumbling down right now. 

As predicted, the moment you slam the door shut the tears start to fall, and you start heaving for breath and wonder if you should maybe roll down the windows - if you’re willing to risk having other people hear your biggest fucking meltdown in favor of getting a little fresh air for yourself. Do you even deserve it right now? You’re not sure. All you know now is vibrating nerves and constricting lungs and wet cheeks and for some reason you don’t know if you can remember where you are-

Ground yourself with your five senses, you vaguely recall reading about on the internet - and you try to pull your head out from where it is, try to regulate your breathing enough to remember how this fucking grounding exercise is supposed to go. 

5 things you can see. Easy enough - you open your eyes to count off your steering wheel, the silver Honda Civic parked in front of you, the old empty iced coffee in your cup holder, the traffic light at the intersection turning red, the bunny-shaped cloud in the sky. 

4 things you can feel - the leather seat under you, the California sun warming up your skin, your nails digging into your palms (unclench, you consciously think), the tears sort of drying on your cheeks. 

3 things you can hear. Cars on the street? A dog barking? Your breathing, which is slowing down now. 

2 things you can smell. Coffee on your clothes. Your favorite car freshener from Bath and Body Works.

1 thing you can taste - matcha. Caramel and matcha, because you remember thinking about trying to craft the monstrosity and tasting it earlier, and somehow it still lingers. You force out a smile, thinking bitterly about whether you’ll get the chance to tell Bradley about it. 

You’re not completely calm - not in the slightest. But you need to get out of here, get some air, and now that you’re physically stable, you finally start your car, roll the windows down, and drive. 

-- 

At a stoplight, you have an epiphany and pull out your phone to search for directions on how to get to Sunset Cliffs Natural Park - perhaps a hike would do you some good. A small part of you worries about going on your own, but you’re somehow still feeling numb enough to ignore it.

Once you park your car and step out, you feel a cool breeze whip around you, soothing your hot skin and easing some of your worries. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses, you make your way down towards the trail, thankful you wore comfortable shoes to work. Twenty minutes later, you find yourself sitting down on a rock closer to the ocean, and you glance down at how far away the water looks. 

And you think back to when there was a moment you weren’t grinding yourself down to the bone, to when you weren’t constantly itching to cross off the next thing off your to-do list, to when you weren’t so occupied with completing a project in hopes that it would secure you a ticket to a supposedly better career position - when you weren’t lost in the constant grind of a job that gave you no work-life balance whatsoever. 

The sound of the ocean rushes into your ears, and you look out to try and pinpoint the farthest point a wave starts forming and follow its journey towards land, watch as the foam crashes down on the ocean before retreating back into deeper waters. And you feel like in some sense you’ve been a wave all along, and now you’re just drifting back out into open waters to let the current carry you elsewhere. 

For the first time, you don’t wipe away the tears forming. You let them fall down, cascade down your cheeks and drip onto your shirt. The ocean breeze You feel chilly, your ass hurts, and you can’t believe you let yourself believe, for even a second, that there wasn’t more out there for you. 

-- 

After returning to the guest house, you make a beeline for your computer, ignoring how sweaty the anxiety attack and walk made you and how desperately you wanted to shower the whole drive over here. You’re filled with a sense of determination - a genuine drive to make a plan for yourself, something you haven’t felt in ages. 

First things first - you locate an email from Cam dating back to a month ago when you first settled here: therapists in San Diego, cognitive behavioral specialists and group therapy options for anxiety. It’s been on the back burner for long enough, and you resolve to ask Cam for more guidance, more support, more help because you’re realizing now you can’t shoulder the burden yourself.

After this, you turn your attention to the unread emails in response to career advice requests. Gradually, you sift through them and bookmark sites for grad school, creating an excel sheet just like you did back in undergrad when you were shortlisting all the companies you wanted to work at. 

It feels cathartic - having a clean inbox and a new sheet of possibilities. But there's one more thing on your docket: you pull out your phone and unlock it, navigating to your chat history with Bradley. Your heart sinks slightly looking at the unanswered apology texts he sent, urging you to talk to him - but you swallow down the guilt and tap the call button, listening to the rings until you get his voicemail. You frown, furrowing your brow. Maybe he’s busy? 

You elect to draft him a text message instead, hoping he’ll catch you later tonight. Hey, you type, pausing to ponder your next words. I’m sorry for how I left things and for not replying, just needed some time to think. Can you give me a call sometime? 

After hitting send, you feel an urge to launch your phone across the room, but you fight it in hopes that he’ll reply right after, that he just missed your call by accident. But you don’t hear back from him that night. Or the next morning. You sent him another text around noon (Hope everything’s okay. We don’t have to talk, just at least let me know you’re alright) - but by the time evening rolls around, you’re wound tight and ready to explode. None of your messages look like they’ve even been delivered. 

Did he fucking block you? 

“Hey!” Cam calls out when you trudge into the house for dinner. “What’s up? You look like shit.” 

You heave out a sigh and situate yourself on a barstool at the kitchen island, burying your face in your hands. “I feel like shit.” 

They look up from where they’re chopping tomatoes and nod slightly in agreement. “Sounds about right. Rough day at work?” 

You groan. “No. I sort of... blew up at Bradley earlier this week. I just wanted to call him to apologize but I think he’s blocked me or something.” 

“Oh honey, I don’t think... he’d do that,” Cam attempts to reassure, setting a kitchen knife down and leveling you with an unreadable expression. 

“Why not? I was a complete bitch to him, just went off on him because of one thing he said and I’d really like to apologize, but he’s making that a little difficult. I don’t even think any of my messages sent to him because none of them will deliver-” 

“Bradley left,” Cam interrupts, their face morphing into one of deep sympathy. Your stomach drops, waiting for their next words, assuming the worst. “Nat told me they were going off for some mission. They’ll probably be back next week though-” 

And your heart drops into your stomach, forming a pit. And you hear a faint buzzing in your ears - maybe that’s Cam saying your name? - but nothing seems to really register with you except for the fact that Bradley’s gone, and he never said goodbye and he didn’t even tell you and everyone kept saying this mission was life or death. If maybe you’d listened to him earlier when he’d called, maybe you could have instead said something encouraging, something inspiring, something to give him hope, something to make him want to come back for you. Not blown up at him for something you misconstrued as a taunting reminder of your failures. 

You’re not sure if you’ll ever get the chance to share your grad school news with him, or apologize, or make him a matcha monstrosity, or hear him call you Buttercup with his mustache cocking upwards in that endearing half smile he always sends you. 

What truly strikes a feeling of emptiness in you is the heavy, constant worry that you should be holding onto something - at first you think you’re missing your keys or your phone or your purse, but it dawns upon you later that all you want to feel is the comforting weight of his hand in yours. 

-- 

You try your best to go about your regular schedule with a hazy mind - coffee shop in the morning, grad research and emails in the afternoon, a small solitude walk down by the beach after dinner with your friends. Over the weekend, you consider numbing the pain of not knowing with a couple (or three, or six) drinks down at the Hard Deck, but Bradley’s absence at the piano would surely be noticed no matter how much liquor you down. And you’re not sure if excessive alcohol and your anxiety are the best match at this moment. 

The next Wednesday evening’s shenanigans consist of rosé and Notting Hill playing on the tv while you comb through Reddit and other forums for GRE overviews and timetables. You’re interrupted suddenly by a flurry of knocks at your door. Figuring Cam forgot their house key and didn’t want to bother texting, you heave yourself off the couch to open the door, not at all expecting to see Bradley on the other side of it. You freeze. 

“Hi,” he breathes out. He’s wearing his signature blue jeans and a white tank with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt - the same outfit from when you first met almost a month ago (maybe a different shirt print, they all look the same to you). This time, you take the time to appreciate how fucking good he looks, how he fully manages to take your breath away, how you kind of want to reach out and poke his abs to make sure he’s real- 

“Cam told me they told you about... Well, you know. We got in two nights ago. I uh.. Would’ve come earlier, but I think I crashed from all the adrenaline and shit. I think I ended up sleeping for about fourteen hours-”

This sends you into motion. You leave him on your front porch mid-sentence and dash a couple steps back into the guest house to grab a throw pillow from the indoor bench in the foyer (bless Cher for her furnishing skills, sponsored by HGTV). 

With your plush weapon in hand, you stomp back over to him, where he looks as confused as ever before you start raining blows onto him with it. “Are - you - fucking - KIDDING - me?!” you grit out, punctuating each word with a hit from the pillow. Bradley’s holding up his hands to shield his body, and if he weren’t so caught off guard he probably would’ve had the bright idea to wrestle the offending object away from you. Maybe he also felt like he deserved it. “You go hop off on a mission without telling me! Without a heads up! And you come HERE,” - three hits in succession - “What the fuck, Bradley!” 

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry!” Bradley cries out, finally reaching a hand to tear it away from you, holding it behind him just out of your reach. He finally looks up to meet your angry gaze and his confusion softens, melts into compassion and warms you up from the inside out. 

Jesus Christ, you’re crying. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, slowly lowering his hand grasping the pillow. “I just... I didn’t want to make you worry. And I thought you were angry with me and I didn’t want to make things worse-” 

“Right,” you whisper, closing your eyes and trying your hardest to find your breathing exercises to help regulate your rapidly increasing heart rate.

“I didn’t want to make you feel obligated,” he says quietly. “Believe me, I kept trying to remind myself of that, but as soon as I was up in the air-” 

“Oh my god,” you groan and squeezing your eyes shut, remembering the gravity of the situation - life or death mission echoes through your head on repeat and you feel all the anxiety you had shoved down start bubbling up, all your muscles clenching-

“I’m here right now sweetheart,” he reaches out to grasp your hands - which you’d started unconsciously nervously wringing and squeezing together like a kitchen sponge - and he takes a step closer towards you. His right thumb is rubbing gentle circles over your pulse point, and it’s somehow doing a much better job at calming you down than those stupid exercises you got from the internet. You breathe him in - all woodsy and musky mixed with a hint of sunscreen and vanilla. “Is this okay?” he asks with bated breath. 

You nod in an answer and at last, you open your eyes, finally agreeing with what your eyes were showing you, finally accepting the reality that he was standing there safe and sound in front of you, yet you’re still unable to find any words; even if you could, you’re not sure you possessed the energy to be able to sound them out. 

“Can we go inside? We can sit down for this, maybe get you some water.”

Again, you nod, vocal chords still frozen. Bradley hums soothingly in acknowledgement, takes a soft hold of one of your wrists and leads you back into the house, makes sure to close and lock the door behind you. With his tangible presence and the grip of his fingers, you can feel your mind feel less fuzzy, more alert, more aware of Bradley gently pulling you towards the kitchen. 

“Where do you keep your cups?” he asks finally, opening up a cupboard at random and wrinkling his forehead upon seeing an air fryer instead. 

“I can make us some tea, I think,” you say, stepping around him to grab a couple kitschy cat mugs from the cupboard next to them. “Think some chamomile might do me some good.” He nods, moving to the side to let you take charge. You flip the electric kettle on and pull out tea bags and honey while the water heats up. 

“I got your texts. Didn’t have access to our phones on the ship but uh... I’m sorry to have worried you,” he says sheepishly, leaning against the kitchen island with his hands in his pockets and you hum, not wanting to let on to the fact of how terrified you were (as if he didn’t already know, as if he didn’t see you completely freeze up and almost lose your mind at the actual sight of him). 

The kettle clicks, and you reach over to pour the hot water into the mugs to steep the tea. “I just...” you start, and fiddle with the mugs, pushing one with a cartoon cat drinking coffee printed on it towards him along with the bear-shaped bottle. Bradley accepts with a small “thanks,” and then goes on to squeeze an egregious amount of honey into the mug, clinking the metal spoon loudly against the ceramic as he stirred. You raise an eyebrow, then shake off the judgment - a topic for later. (Seriously. That had to be, like, four tablespoons. Is he okay?).  

“I wanted to apologize,” you say to him, and his eyes dart up to meet your determined gaze. “I think I - rather unfairly - lost my temper with you. I think that conversation just reminded me that I’m still sort of stuck in this limbo with my career, with my life being completely on hold. And I wrongly assumed that you were trying to let me down easy, that you had your own misgivings about me making my way out of here. I’m sorry.”

Bradley nods slowly with a furrowed brow, bringing his mug up to blow lightly over the surface of his drink before taking a tiny sip. “I think... I replayed our conversation in my head the entire night and I saw where you might have gotten that idea- I mean, first things first, I was just worried about the mission. And getting too close to you and leaving you here if things went south. I just didn’t want my whole shit with Maverick and the mission to get in the way of you finding yourself, because you’re just treading water, right?” 

You’re silent for a minute, grasping your mug just a little bit tighter and choosing your next few words carefully. “That was the plan. But I think I’ve had... an epiphany, of sorts...” he nods, encouraging you to continue. “I was thinking about going back to school. I think… I love engineering, but I hated industry. So I thought maybe I could go back for my masters, PhD after, maybe become a professor. Or do research. I thought Caltech or Stanford would be amazing, since I’m starting to like the west coast now. And I’ve already reached out to some colleagues and professors who think it’s a good idea.” 

A week ago, it felt silly to even say out loud. But here and now, with Bradley nodding encouragingly and with the hint of a smile on lips, you wonder why you always berate yourself for wanting to be open about your dreams. 

“That sounds perfect for you, sweetheart. Are you… are you gonna go for it?”

You take a sip, ignoring the butterflies taking flight at the term of endearment. “I think so. I just... I don't know if I’m good enough for it. Plus, I’m not sure if being back in that environment would be good for me, especially being so much older going in. There’s a lot of shit I have to get through which is why...” you pause, wondering if you’re ready to admit this to him. “I’m looking at therapy. Cam had some suggestions for some San Diego specialists and I made some calls yesterday, but I’m trying to figure out where I might end up long term first.” 

He nods slowly, puts his mug down, ponders the news you’ve just broken. At long last, he looks up at you. “I think that’s really great for you. And it means a lot to me that you felt comfortable enough to share that.” 

You look down bashfully into your mug, trying to lose yourself in the steam trails rising up from the water. “You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” you admit and immediately cringe at how lame it must sound, how clingy you must seem for wanting to divulge all your future plans to him. 

“That means the world to me,” he says softly, and you look up to see his serious, thoughtful expression. “I uh… I think that’s something I’m looking into now too. Therapy. I mean. I did some grief counseling when my mom passed away - wasn’t too big a fan of group sessions, never really liked talking in front of so many people about my crap. But the individual talks helped, just never really stuck with it when things got busy. And I figured I was okay until... this assignment, I guess. All the shit with Maverick - which, we’re okay now. But I think I have some doors I want to close. So... same boat, huh?” 

You hum in acknowledgement, taking a few steps forward to lean against the countertop across from him. 

“You don’t have to go into the details,” you say softly, swirling the tiny amount of tea remaining in your mug. “But... are you okay right now? After getting back?” 

Bradley shrugs his shoulders. “Still feels like a dream. Sometimes I close my eyes and I find myself in the backseat of that F-14 trying to figure out the radio - but, again, I’ll be unpacking that in a more professional setting soon,” he sends you a crooked smile. “But ah... I feel terrible about not telling you-”

“Oh, that’s fine! I understand-” you interrupt, putting your mug down and waving him off, but he cuts you off again with further rambling, waving his arms around as he speaks. 

“No, really, I do! I should’ve told you, and the moment we were on the home stretch and flying back I was thinking about what the hell I was going to say to you - oh, and I didn’t even mention that then morning of Jake said he patched things up with his girl and I was fucking pissed that Jake of all people managed to say goodbye but I was too much of a coward to do the same - and I’m just so sorry, sweetheart-” 

You surge forward to cut him off, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a bruising, crushing kiss. Because fuck it if you’re not going to show him how much you don’t care that he didn’t say goodbye, that he didn’t even send a text because he’s here right now and it feels like everything’s all right.  

Bradley kisses back with fervor, reaching around to press his hands on your lower back and pulling you into him, and you can’t get closer, can’t get enough of him, almost want to have your hands handcuffed around his neck so that you never have to let go. His lips are chapped but warm and they leave yours tingling with every brush together and he smells so fucking good, just as you remember from your hiking day and he tastes so fucking sweet because of all the honey he poured into his tea before (you really have to check with him later to see what kind of sweet tooth you’re signing up for). 

Your hands travel upwards to tangle into his hair, tugging slightly and making him gasp into your mouth. He pulls away slightly to rest his forehead against yours - “Fuck,” he groans out your name - your real name - and you think you might explode because your name has never sounded so beautiful rolling off someone else’s tongue, and because the last time he said it he was breaking your heart and now here he is, holding you together, supporting your whole body now that you’ve gone completely weak kneed. 

It’s certainly been a long time since you’d been kissed this fucking good, so you linger in the moment just a little bit longer, breathe in his cologne one last time. With your lips still tingling and your hands still tangled in his hair, you open your eyes to see his blissed out expression. His eyes are still shut, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath and he’s still fully holding you up - if he lets go, you’re sure to collapse in on yourself. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, feeling a little bashful at having attacked him like that, but Bradley squeezes you tightly and presses his forehead into you. 

“Don’t be, I’ve been... I’ve thought about that for a long time,” he smiles, and you huff out a laugh.

“Sure.” 

“No, seriously! Even in college I was thinking about it-” 

“What?” you interrupt, pulling away to look at him, aghast. “In college? You had a thing for me then?” 

Bradley’s eyebrows raise so high you’re surprised they don’t shoot off his face. “Y-you’re kidding, right? I told you I was trying to impress you back then-” 

“What, that’s supposed to mean you were into me?” 

“Yeah!” he defends, pulling away further to look you straight in the eye. “I was totally into you! Why do you think I asked you to Formal?” 

“To be an ass!” you tell him like it’s the most obvious answer in the world - and it is, because all you remember about that day was him coming up to you with a bouquet of buttercups and delivering what sounded like the most rehearsed speech you’d ever heard. It wasn’t like he’d ever indicated any interest in you before, so why would he even bother asking you? 

Bradley looks annoyed now, if his mustache is any indication. “Buttercup, I... I don’t know what else I can say but Jesus Christ - I was into you. You just had so much integrity and dedication and you were so smart and so fucking pretty. I didn’t know how to talk to you then, and even after fifteen years, when I saw you in the bar and at the coffee shop I still managed to make a fool out of myself in front of the brightest fucking girl I’ve ever known-” 

You cut him off again, unable to handle being apart from him and not being able to feel him and breathe him in and it’s cliche and way too fast but you’re so fucking sick of being stuck in your head all the time and second guessing every move you make. For once, you just want to be a girl standing in front of a boy and kissing the ever loving bejesus out of him because that’s all your mind is telling you. 

Again, Bradley matches your intensity, pressing his mouth to you and this time lightly tracing your bottom lip with his tongue - the contrast between his soft mouth and the sharp bristles of his mustache and the feeling of his hot skin against yours makes wetness pool into your underwear, sends tingles throughout your body. You don’t think you’ve felt this crazy, this horny for a guy in fucking years. 

Bradley’s gripping your hips tightly, and suddenly he’s steering you backwards towards the kitchen island, and when your back hits the edge of the countertop you ignore the pain and reach a hand back to steady yourself on the smooth surface, trying to maneuver hopping up on the granite without letting your slips disconnect from Bradley’s. You think you might explode if you ever stop kissing Bradley. 

He pulls away slightly (kaboom, you mourn sadly), a smirk playing across his features. “May I?” he asks, sliding his hands down to the back of your legs, right below where your thighs meet the curve of your ass, and you nod quickly. 

You’re surprised at how empty your head is, how easy it is for you to go with the flow and let Bradley give you the makeout session of your life. But you’re even more surprised at how easily he’s able to lift you onto the countertop, then subsequently situate himself between your knees, grab your face in his hands, and pull you in for another kiss. 

Holy fucking shit if you don’t get this man’s clothes off him right now you’re going to explode. Again. 

So you mindlessly let your hands trail to the collar of his Hawaiian shirt, gently nudging it off his shoulders, now letting your lips trail kisses down his jawline to his neck. Bradley starts to remove the button-down, then pauses. You freeze. 

“You sure about this, honey?” he asks you, and you look up at him with a terrified expression, wondering if you’ve gone too far, hoping you can try to dig yourself out of this- but it’s like Bradley can see the fear strike in your eyes and he quickly backtracks. “I mean, do you want to do this?

“I don’t... I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” you confess in a whisper, nervously toying with the fabric of his shirt before pulling your fingers away. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking-” 

Bradley shakes his head, placing a hand on your chin and tilting it upwards. “Let me rephrase: do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, and it’s so brazen and open and you’ve never heard someone ask you this openly for your consent, haven’t felt this comfortable with someone in so long, and without another thought you start nodding your head. “Use your words, sweetheart. Can I? I mean - do you?” 

You gulp, closing your eyes and nodding again. “Yeah,” you breathe out, and the smile on Bradley’s face makes everything go away, makes your anxieties disappear. Suddenly he’s shedding his button-down and draping it over the barstool next to you, then shucking off his white undershirt and holy fucking shit he’s jacked, he’s tanned and muscled and you remember seeing this before, but the close up view is so much better than the memory from volleyball that you’ve replayed in your mind over and over - 

“All good, Buttercup?” he’s smirking, leaning in to peck your lips and you roll your eyes and move to take off your old UVA t-shirt. 

“If you call me Buttercup, I’m calling you Rooster,” you threaten between kisses, now fighting to take off your bra.

He laughs. “Sweetheart, I won’t complain if you call me Rooster in bed,” he reaches both hands around to bat your hands away and gently unhooks the stuck clasp. His hands, as warm as his gaze, slowly move down your body to return to your waist as you slide the straps off. Bradley’s eyes darken at your chest, his fingers dig into your skin. “Goddamn, Buttercup.” 

“Shut up,” you say bashfully, glancing down at his beautifully sculpted chest, the deep lines of his abs, and the silver chain carrying his dog tags glinting in the kitchen light. You feel the nervousness settle in, feel incredibly shy being this exposed in front of him, being this naked in front of another person after a long time. 

“It’s, uh...” you start, folding your arms over your chest. Your eyes dart around; you don’t want to look at him, don’t want him to see the scared glint in your eye, don’t want him to sense the nervousness boiling inside of you. You’re all up in your head again, thinking so much and suddenly he brings you back down again, just as easily as he always has. 

“Hey,” he taps your hip with one finger and that grounds you a tad. Bradley’s voice is gravity, pulling you down from where your anxiety sent you, unpinching your tensed nerves one by one. “Tell me, honey.” 

“I just... haven’t done this in a while,” you confess and you can barely hear yourself say it, the shame and anxiety buzzing loudly in your ears and drowning out everything. But Bradley doesn’t react with disgust or discomfort like your brain is preemptively warning you he will - instead, he looks up to meet your gaze with a soft, yet determined look. 

He reaches up to softly brush your cheek, and you close your eyes to lean into his touch. “Sweetheart,” he tells you. “We don’t have to go any further. But let me take care of you. Get you out of your head for a bit,” his words shake you to your core and you feel another gush of wetness at the realization that he is wholly and entirely here for you. 

You nod again, turning your head to press a soft kiss to his palm, and Bradley smiles at your gesture. “I want you to fuck me,” you admit, and you swear you see his eyes darken, pupils enlarging as he lets out a low groan. 

“As you wish, Buttercup,” he replies and it sounds familiar, it sounds like straight from William Goldman’s novel and the Cary Elwes film and you resolve to ask him if that’s why he calls you that. “I think I’d much rather fuck you into your mattress, though,” he murmurs lowly, and you clench down on nothing, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to steady yourself. 

“Oh,” you hear yourself say, like you’re across the room - but you’re not. You’re with Bradley, and now he’s gently helping you hop off the island and kissing you fervently, letting you pull him towards your bedroom. 

“Shorts,” he orders softly into your mouth and your brain short-circuits, wondering why the hell he’s bringing up the most useless numerical data type in programming until you realize he’s talking about your bottoms, about taking them off and exposing yourself further in front of him. 

“O-okay,” you whisper and pull away slowly, hooking your fingers into the sides of your athletic shorts and pulling them down to pool on the floor, and then your step out of them wondering if there was a sexier way you could’ve gone about that. But Bradley’s eyes are locked onto your face and he’s smiling like he’s got everything he could ever want right in front of him and he’s steering you backwards to your bed. He then gently nudges you down to lay down on the mattress, following suit and kneeling down on the bed and hovering over you as he presses hard kisses down the side of your neck. Another hand reaches up to knead your breast, fingers pinching and rolling your nipple and you exhale shakily. 

And your brain short circuits again when you feel his hardness pressing up against your cunt; the sizable bulge in his pants make you let out an involuntary moan. Bradley’s teeth come down on your neck and you can feel his mustache pressing against your neck as he smiles. 

“Sweetheart, let me eat you out?” he asks. You freeze, thinking about whether you had ever been with a man who offered to eat you out before anything else, who wanted to make you cum first instead of jumping into jackrabbiting for a miserable five minutes and passing out right after. Bradley’s not like them. Not in the slightest. “Y-yeah. You can.” 

He hums, hooks his index fingers into your underwear and attempts to slide them off after you lift your hips in an effort to help. “I mean, you really don’t have to, Bradley,” you say, feeling embarrassed once the cold air hits your core and you’re made aware of how your slick must look smeared across your folds and leaking down your thighs. 

But in true Bradley fashion, he just raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, then trails a series of kisses down your stomach and presses his hands into your thighs. “I’d never turn down the chance to make you feel good. Relax, pretty girl,” he replies. And as you lock eyes with him between your legs, he hesitates for a moment - waits for a sign that you’re okay with this, that you want him to consume you. 

Finally, you nod, and Bradley wastes no time diving in. He leans forward - the warmth of his breath on your wetness makes you shiver, and the laugh he huffs out sends another jolt up your spine. Impatiently, you raise your head to look at him and see what the hell’s got him so distracted, but suddenly he’s pressing his broad tongue against your folds and tracing a long line up towards your bundle of nerves and your head slams down against the mattress, a squeak leaving your lips. His mustache rubs hard against your skin, but the prickles feel so damn good and a part of you wonders what it’ll look like when he comes up with his facial hair soaked in your release. 

“Taste so good, Buttercup,” he says and instinctively, your legs start to close in on his head but Bradley repositions his hands to the inside of your thighs. He pushes them further apart and keeps them separated long enough for him to lick another strip up your cunt and begin kitten licking your clit eagerly, excitedly, desperately. He alternates between flattening out his tongue and fashioning it into a point, and each motion sends a new wave of pleasure throughout your body, setting fire to your nerves and making you clench down on nothing. 

Then, as if he can sense the emptiness, he removes his hand from its position on your left thigh. You realize just where he plans to settle it when you feel his palm on your stomach, thumb joining his tongue near your clit, and he starts circling it slightly while he shifts his tongue to move down to your opening. He’s slurping, it’s messy and loud and the brush of his mustache is adding an extra layer of pleasure. You're almost embarrassed at how wet this has made you but it doesn't matter because Bradley is diving in, pressing his tongue into you and coordinating the movements with his fingers.

“Bradley, fuck, it’s too much,” you tell him and he shakes his head, the movement making you clench. 

“You can take it,” he replies, and you believe him as he continues his ministrations, continues fucking you with his tongue. “You sound so fucking pretty, honey,” he adds, and you suddenly realize that in addition to the slick sounds echoing out through the room, you’re whimpering, moaning, cursing out Bradley’s name and trying to make sense of what the hell is going on, how you're able to feel this much pleasure, how a man is this willing to make you lose your mind like this. And Bradley’s shaking his head, letting his tongue hit spots inside of you that you never knew existed and your back is arching off the bed, head pressing so hard into the mattress it hurts. 

“Sweetheart, this feel good?” you vaguely hear him say, vaguely feel the vibrations of his words shake your core. 

“Mmhmm,” you manage out, punctuating it with a gasp as he moves his fingers down to prod at your entrance slowly and slide through your folds easily. And it suddenly becomes too much, too good, too wonderful and you know it’s entirely because you haven’t been with someone (besides your vibrator) that’s this attuned to all your spots. With a cry, you feel the white-hot tell-tale sign of your high coming and you arch your back again, moving your hand down to grab Bradley’s head and push it into your core, almost grinding your cunt against his mouth and nose and fingers. He doesn’t cease his motions, doesn’t stop, just moans again into you and lets you ride out the wave. He reaches out his other hand to grasp your free hand where it’s fisting the bed sheets and squeezing comfortingly. 

And suddenly, it’s quiet. You’re catching your breath. You’re holding his hand and he’s removed his face from your pussy, looking up at you carefully, gauging your response.

And once the nervous thoughts start rolling in your head, you banish the anxious ones and focus on telling him exactly what you want him to do. “Pants off, Bradshaw. I need you inside me,” 

Bradley laughs, eye crinkles making their signature guest appearance and making you feel giddy. “Yes ma’am,” he chuckles and he stands up, then starts undoing his belt buckle and removing his pants and boxes in one fell swoop. He steps out of them just as you did with your shorts (huh, maybe you can look sexy doing it that way). 

When you catch sight of his cock, your eyes widen, and you’re not sure if you’ll even be able to handle it. But he just smirks at your expression, takes note of your eyes on his cock, and settles down at your headboard to wait patiently for you to join him. 

“Take your time, Buttercup,” he says, eyes full of mischief. “Or I’ll take care of it myself.” 

You level a glare at him, finally mustering up the energy to sit up and crawl over to him. "I, uh... I have an IUD. And I'm clean. But I should have condoms in-," you start but Bradley cuts you off.

"Nah, I mean... I'm clean. Tested last month. I'm okay without if you are?" he asks and you nod, kissing him passionately and letting his tongue slip into your mouth as you position yourself over him.

You settle a knee on either side of his thighs and take his cock in your hand, pumping it briefly. A honey-like moan sounds out from Bradley and it’s all the encouragement you need before you align his cock with your entrance and slowly sink down on it. The two of you moan in unison - and the stretch isn’t painful, but there’s no way you can take it all at once without something hurting, so you take your time, lowering down slowly inch by inch until you’re fully seated on top of him, feeling full and warm all over. 

Bradley has his eyes locked on you, eyes lidded as he tries to control his breathing. You look up at him, sending him a sly smile before reaching up to grab his shoulders and rooting your knees into the mattress before rising up slightly and sitting back down on him. The friction is mind-blowing, but the sound that Bradley makes is even more incredible. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, moving his grip to your hips and squeezing tightly. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes as you start to bounce up and down on him, reveling in the feeling. 

“Your cock feels so good,” you tell him, swinging your hair out of your face and increasing your pace just a little bit, angling your hips more so that his tip brushes just right against your most sensitive spots. 

“It’s yours, sweetheart,” he groans, firmly grasping the soft skin on your hips and reaching his thumb to stroke your clit in circles. The contrast between his bruising grip on you with one hand and the gentle touch of his thumb sets every cell in your body on fire. “You’re s-such a fucking tea... tease,” Bradley gasps as you bounce on his lap, rising off his cock slowly and slamming your cunt back down on him with a swirl of your hips.

“Bradley, if you can’t handle it,” you lean down to murmur in his ear, adding a counterclockwise swirl for good measure. “Maybe you should take charge.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, gaze trained on you, hands moving up to the bottom of your ribcage. He’s got a mischievous glint in his eye mixed with pure awe - like you’re a goddess claiming her throne. 

You nod into him. “Yeah. Might be for the best, my legs are starting to- Oh!” Bradley quickly pulls you into his chest, rolling over and twisting so that you’re on your back and he’s on his knees between your legs, cock still buried deep inside you. He first hikes your legs up so that they wrap higher around his waist, then he snakes his left hand underneath your back to grip you tightly. He leans down to deliver a bruising kiss, pumping his cock in and out of you languidly. He’s all around you and inside of you and the only thing keeping you from overheating, from completely combusting 

“Such a pretty girl,” he grunts out against your lips, hips undulating slightly faster - forget treading water, you’re just riding the fucking waves as they come - “My girl, my pretty little- Jesus Christ.”

You let out a long, breathy moan as Rooster tightens his grip on you and starts mercilessly pounding into you. The slap of your skin together echoes throughout the room - and you can feel just how wet and sticky and warm it is down where he’s driving his cock into your soaking cunt and it’s too good, too fucking good it’s all him and you and he’s suddenly burying his face into your neck, his mustache prickling your damp skin and sending tingles throughout your body, making you clench down on him- 

“Fuck,” he grunts out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Is this good for you sweetheart?”

If you could, you’d roll your eyes. Is this good? he asks like he’s not fucking you so hard you’ve forgotten your own name. “Oh, I think it’s okay,” you manage to sarcastically bite out, 

“Such a brat,” he huffs out, slowing down his thrusts slightly to give you a look. His mustache even manages to look unimpressed, and you lazily smile back, taking in all the pleasure until he pulls your nipple teasingly. 

“What, you gonna punish me? Teach me a lesson?” you manage to choke out half-jokingly, and you swear you feel his cock twitch inside of you as his eyes painfully scrunch closed. 

“Fuck,” he grunts out. “No. Next time. If you want.” And you’re lost in the meaning behind that, in the possibility of more, the idea of being this entwined with him for the rest of your life until suddenly, Bradley leans back and unwraps your legs from around him. Breathing laboriously as he tries to keep the same pace, he hooks both over his shoulders and presses in, folding you nearly in half in the process. He balances his weight onto one hand that’s fisting the sheets next to your hips and sneaks the other hand down to circle your bundle of nerves. 

“Ohmigod,” you whimper, his cock now grazing your g-spot on every thrust, the touch of his hand on your clit setting you aflame. The sound of skin on skin reverberates through your ears and it’s so fucking hot and you don’t remember your own name- 

“I’ve got you, honey,” he reassures, not slowing down his thrust or the circles on your clit. “Just let go.”

“I-I’m yours,” you babble, gripping his back tightly, almost digging your nails in. You feel so full and you can’t get enough of him, can’t imagine being without him, can’t imagine letting go because this is the most whole you’ve ever felt in a long time - “I’m yours, Bradley. Fuck.” 

With one last brush of his finger on your clit, one last push inside of you, you peak and cry out his name again. It’s instantaneous, the wave of pleasure that washes over you as you cum and you don’t remember a time when you or anyone else was able to make you feel this level of toe curling, eye rolling, body tingling sensation of a full-blown orgasm. The only thing grounding you now is the weight of Bradley’s body on you, his dick inside of you, the sudden warm, familiar feeling of his hand in yours as you gasp out his name over and over again. 

“Fuck, you’re everything,” you breathe out, and Bradley groans loudly into your ear. 

"Where do you want me to cum?" he chokes out and you move your hand from his shoulders down to the trough of his lower back, clutching him tightly.

"Inside. Please, give it to me Bradley," you beg and with another moan of your name, he climaxes, burying his face into your neck and pushing deep inside you. You feel him come undone, his warmth shooting into you in hot spurts, heating you up even more than you thought you could feel. He shifts his hips in and out as he rides out his orgasm, pressing small kisses to your neck the whole time. You smile lazily at the feeling of his mustache hairs brushing the underside of your jaw, remembering how it felt between your legs. 

As you catch your breath, all the events just overwhelm you, making goosebumps appear on your arms, making you feel cold. “Can you...” you trail off, suddenly embarrassed to ask the question, but Bradley’s been pretty well attuned to your nervousness tonight and he nuzzles you gently to continue. “Can you just... kiss me?” you ask and it feels juvenile, almost lame to ask, but Bradley already placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head upwards to press a slow, loving kiss to your lips that warms you up all over again, brings you more comfort than you could’ve asked for. 

And later, after he’s taken the liberty of gently cleaning you up with a warm washcloth from your bathroom and you pulled on fresh pair of underwear you’d managed to grab on wobbly legs (Bradley seemed all too pleased to watch you stumble around your bedroom like Bambi) - you’re tangled up together underneath your sheets with him laying on his back, arms around you and your head resting on his chest. 

And the subtle beat of his heart is the most grounding sound, a metronome you wouldn’t mind falling asleep to every night. 

A thought strikes you, something he said earlier in the night coming back to you. “Hey, you said something about Jake and his girl before?” 

“Oh,” he taps out a pattern on your bare back. “They patched things up.” You think back to when you last saw them - remembering a heated conversation at the Hard Deck ending with her looking absolutely broken, him looking barely unsettled. 

“Didn’t he break it off with her at the bar two weeks ago?” 

“She dumped him,” he corrects with a half smile. “And he kept telling us it was nothing, but then they were friends and then they weren’t and it’s a whole mess - they got it all worked out the night before we left. And I realized when we got back that it would’ve been really embarrassing if Jake, of all the jackass pilots I know, was able to patch things up with his girl but I couldn’t with mine.” 

You nod slowly, tracing patterns on his chest thoughtfully. “I’m your girl?” you ask softly with a smile, and Bradley looks down at you hesitantly. 

“Do you want to be?” he asks in earnest, and you think about it for a moment. 

“Is this what you call patching up?” you gesture towards your naked bodies twisted in the bedsheets and he shrugs. And you’re joking, really - but it’s not like everything between the two of you gets resolved with mind blowing sex and real orgasms. 

He snorts. “You’re not mad at me anymore, right?” he states matter-of-factly and you roll your eyes, resting your head back on his shoulder. “No,” he continues. “I know you’ve got a lot to deal with - grad school and GREs, and therapy. And I’m not sure where I’m headed next, but... I’ve put in a request to stay on North Island for some time. So I can be here. If you stay on the west coast.” 

You feel the hope in your chest bubble up again, feel so incredibly touched that he decided to make that career choice (didn’t he say he might get moved to Panama? Myanmar? Manama - that sounds right). But what really does your heart in are his next words - “You can stay here and be a barista for the rest of your life sweetheart - I mean, if you did, I’d love if you could use some kinda employee discount for me, shit’s getting expensive. Or you can study for your GREs and go to grad school wherever you want or go back to working in industry - or honestly, if you wanted to go up to LA and start taking mime classes, I don’t fucking know - I’m here for the long haul. You’re the most hard-working person I know. And I’m behind you whatever you choose to do. So like... I’d love it if you’d take a chance on me, Buttercup.” 

You feel tears rolling down your cheeks now, and you move to straddle Bradley and bury your face into his neck. His arms wrap around your back and he holds you as you clutch his chest. It’s overwhelming how glorious this man is. “I don’t fucking deserve you,” you choke out, not sure if he can make sense of your garbled words but you feel him shake his head in response. “Really. I’m sorry I kept holding a grudge and didn’t see it before but if you’re willing-” 

“I’m willing,” he says, rubbing your back and pressing a firm kiss to your temple.

“Shut up,” you smack his chest lightly. “If you’re willing, I’d like to see where this can go. And make it up to you.” 

“... So you mean you’ll be my girl?” he asks, and you choke out a laugh through a watery smile, looking up to see the most giddy smile on his face. It warms you up for a third time tonight, makes it feel like the sun has burst through your window and is bathing the two of you in its light. 

You press a kiss to his lips, smiling all the way. “Yeah. I’m your girl, Bradshaw.” 

simultaneously so happy and sad this series is (mostly) over! I'm working on a lil snippet of bradley's pov in which we hear about what he lamented to phoenix after their first fight at the coffee shop.... and in jordan's wonderful words, it'll really highlight the 'this is me trying - nothing new' ennui of this series! thanks to everyone who commented and reblogged!

For anyone who missed it, Jake’s girl is Mojito from Bad Habit by seasonsbloom - they’re all in the SCU (Soy (Sol + May) Cinematic Universe). This quite possibly the greatest crossover since That’s So Suite Life of Hannah Montana (eat shit, marvel) (i’m half kidding i love u bucky barnes) 

#rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #topgun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #mine

[itsclydebitches]

Re: RWBY outfits in v9: Hey wow it's strange that Jaune gets a completely new helmet and hairstyle and altered face AND his armor is significantly retextured to the point of looking completely out of place with the flat-colored outfits the girls have in shots where they're together. I'm sure this has nothing to do with where the narrative focus of the Volume actually was. But it's fine if we don't at least partially take the girls out of their cold weather gear???

This!

Also, people frequently fail to acknowledge how much this snowballs.

RWDE: Why did Jaune get the new texture and hairstyle? Push-back: Duh, because he's the one who's been living in the Ever After for decades. RWDE: Yeah... and why did he get to do that again? Push-back: Because he killed Penny and the story needed him to have a significant arc in response to that. RWDE: Uh huh, and why did he get to do that? Push-back: Because Jaune is the one with the super important healing skill that beautifully contrasts their violent career! RWDE: ... are we not sensing a pattern yet?

Putting aside the fact that Ruby could beautifully fit any of these emotional beats with a bit of tweaking (she falls early, finds the time tree, the emphasis is on the contrast of Penny's first friend having to kill her, silver eyes are somehow significant to that moment, etc.) I think too often fans get caught up in not only the supposed necessity of any one scene —treating the RWBY gang as real people bound by the whims of fate, rather than characters 100% controlled by the writers — but also the ways in which, yes, past work does have an influence on what occurs later. If you make Jaune a team leader equal to Ruby, if you give him a big arc at the very start of the show, if you make him OP in regards to energy, if you give him the most useful skill in the entire group (given that they're fighting humans more than grimm nowadays, silver eyes are all but useless in most fights. ESPECIALLY when Ruby will randomly not use them against Cinder), if you make him the emotional focus of Pyrrha's death, if you give him the revenge quest, if you have him kill Penny... yeah, you're setting up future scenarios where he "has" to remain in the narrative spotlight. That's the problem: not only that RWBY refuses to pull back from Jaune's position in the story, but that it started that trend so early that now they have built-in excuses for why it "has" to continue. We knew going into Volume 9 that Jaune would be a problem because Volume 8 had already introduced the problems of a) having him kill Penny and b) having him fall with the title team. We're going in circles and continually winding up in scenes like, "Well, Jaune has to have an emotional breakdown that detracts from Ruby's because he's the one who has suffered for decades and he's the one who just lost an entire village to deliberate drowning. Not giving him that focus would be bad writing." Yeah, I know it would, hence the frustration that RWBY keeps backing itself into that corner!

The design issues are a like a mini-example of that. You're right, it would be ridiculous to have Jaune living in the Ever After for most of his life and somehow coming out of it looking exactly the same... but if you're going to continue capitalizing on the focus he got all the way back in Volume 1, at least give the girls equal treatment. I don't like that Jaune had a breakdown that undermined Ruby's, but given that I also would have disliked the story ignoring his clearly traumatic experiences lately, I'm glad they at least gave Ruby her breakdown alongside his (even if, as stated elsewhere, there are additional problems with how it was framed). The clothing does the opposite where Jaune gets his logical change AND the story does nothing to try and bring Team RWBY up to speed with him.

Chucking onto that pile: the fact that so many were expecting/hoping for Ruby to come out visually changed from her time in the tree, but she simply reverts back to where she was a few episodes ago with her rose pendant. Jaune, meanwhile, leaves the Ever After as the only one with a visual cue that he's undergone any growth.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas #honestly this is why it's so frustrating #when others are like 'RWDE is just obsessed with Jaune' #they want the story to be all about him because he's a man #no #RWDE (which is not a monolith!) generally wants consistency #which requires acknowledging when the show has to follow up on the conflicts Jaune has been given #something we generally dislike because we WANT the focus to be on the girls #but they're already not the focus so often that we're at least aiming for some logical follow-ups #seriously though Penny's death would have been SO EASY to give to Ruby #and not having Jaune fall would have likewise been a piece of cake #when the show is already setup having only developed one relationship for Penny (with Ruby) #and already structured this trip to be solely about the main team (Team RWBY falls) #you have to *work* to cram Jaune in there at the last possible second #there was a conscious choice on their part #not something that “had” to happen

[seventh-fantasy]

I already adore fdb/princess zhaoling since the first watch but I've only gotten around to thinking about them a lot more lately. for reasons.

they have unmatched compatibility because they're essentially very similar people, you know, in a world surrounded by everyone else more experienced and different from them. two sheltered and privileged, initially naive kids who yearn / enjoy freedom and dares to seek out for it. (though zhaoling pursues after that lifestyle less actively than fdb.) and they are both very loved and protected by the adult figures they met outside of the mainstream system they were born into. as a sign of defiance, zhaoling submits the chicken feet, which fdb chose over any other conventional option -- was their moment of connection to each other, even unbeknownst to themselves.

it struck me that in their first interactions with each other, zhaoling as qing'er was seen frequently serving fdb - practically emulating traditional husband and wife roles. in the same patriarchal microcosm of girls mansion, fdb played the husbandly role with a duty to protect his wife - in fact he was the only person who had the power to do so while she wasn't allowed to fend for herself. this power dynamics switches over completely when zhaoling was revealed to be the princess, fdb becomes totally reserved around her and puts himself beneath her while she, the only person with the power to save everyone else.

however, in between those two points in their relationship, zhaoling was able to reveal her true personality while he acted comfortably with her. in their private moments at girls mansion, she commanded fdb around - he heeds obediently but still felt comfortable enough to voice his opinions to zhaoling. she was possibly the only person who could match up to fdb's 本少爷 young master attitude, while also being the one who can fully admire his qualities without any other considerations. they were able to play off each other freely - and this is most likely how the both of them would have interacted with each other as individuals without any inhibitions of the social roles/identities they were tied to. at their most comfortable with each other.

(the twist in) their ending in the show is hopeful but their fate is as unknown as the ending of anybody else in this show. just as what fdb said to princess, "who is to know now what will happen in the future?"

I love that zhaoling respected his will and that we were given an open reading. but at the same time, any thought of their possible fate beyond this point can't help but be coloured in tragic tones more than not:

over the course of the story after the girl's mansion arc, their dynamics gradually levels again, but I am not sure if it ever managed to revert to the aforementioned ideal state of their private moments together in girl's mansion.

the wait is indefinite. what would be "enough" for fdb? can you really get enough of jianghu? how long is it going to be?

if they wanted to be with each other at all, there is still sort of an expectation that he was to come back to her (not her to him) - the problem not being her as a person, but that being with her came with being married to the imperial court. to marry the princess means they do not simply become husband and wife, but will also become ruler-subject. and the latter would be the greatest tragedy to happen to their relationship as two equals who are able to connect to each other in their understanding of the world.

their true fate together largely depends on who fdb would become after llh is gone. if their ending pointed to something hopeful but uncertain after their last scene together, now in llh's absence, it's even more of a mystery. regardless, what stands between them is jianghu and time - and what is the jianghu fdb is going after now? after fdb went through the redefinition of jianghu once (losing lxy - between finding out llh was lxy, and cutting ties from bcy for the sake of llh) and then once again (losing llh in the ending)?

there is simply no way of knowing for sure for the audience. in the same way, there will no known answer to what happens to fdb and zhaoling. anything is possible. here's another take:

given the person fdb is, it is hard to imagine fdb making empty promises to zhaoling if he felt nothing for her - or despite knowing it will entail with him entering the imperial court aka the last thing he wanted in the world.

I'm inclined to think, even if he fulfills his promise to princess, it will be because fdb has broken the cycle of grief and learnt to deal with it. rather than as a reluctant compromise.

he was supposed to be most like his shifu lxy/llh, according to lxy/llh himself. llh has lived that life of becoming liberated in his own terms. if fdb had truly inherited the life lessons llh was imparting to him (not the martial abilities and techniques), then fdb would be capable of going on to liberate himself and become the person most like his shifu. and he will be a contrast to dfs being the one trapped in grief. (thus also making dfs's place in fdb's potential post-canon life so significant and compelling.) he symbolises the future, the hope of the new generation who has been guided and nurtured by the love of his predecessors.

of course notwithstanding that there is a more sinister reality to the imperial court realm, I would still like to explore a more positive possibility. even though agreeing to the imperial engagement appears to be a submission to the system he was initially intent on rebelling against, I would like to think that growth in fdb would look like acceptance and making life in his own terms within the given parameters - like what llh had made for himself in the first year of becoming llh. it's no longer about taking extreme measures (constantly running away) but an act of balancing and harmonisation. (-> my hypothesis that if lxy is yin, dfs is yang then fdb would be yin-yang)

marrying zhaoling would be for who she is rather than the system she stood for. or if there could be another way, like her leaving to be with him - I'm not sure. but what I know is. in a post-llh world, the people he loves (eg. zhaoling, papa and mama fang) live in the realm of secular, mainstream society (while also not quite - but they're definitely not part of wulin jianghu either). after all, jianghu will cease to be jianghu if the people he loves are no longer in it.

#莲花楼 #mysterious lotus casebook #lhlmeta #lhl #my posts #this is my crazed 'this is how fdb/zhaoling can work' ted talk #for the ppl who get what i'm talking about ok <3 #just in case you're wondering if nothing makes sense. yes i may not even know what i'm saying but. just know it makes sense #also anything i discuss of post-canon will be inherently embedded with a difang agenda. even when i'm not diving into it #bc thats how it is babyy <3 #公主病 #(rent-lowering gunshots)

[shuttershocky]

I've read that one of Ryougi Shiki's antagonists was kidnapped by fairies who taught him an incomplete form of the Unified Language that humanity spoke before the curse of the Tower Of Babel, and this incomplete language allowed him to hypnotize people and maybe control inanimate objects? Do you know any more about it?

That's Kurogiri Satsuki, the antagonist of Oblivion Recorder. Because the Ufotable adaption changed the story so much, a lot of details about Kurogiri are unknown to the movie viewers.

Kurogiri didn't just learn the incomplete Unified Language, he became an Atlas mage (though this was before Sion was made and iirc was simply referred to in the light novel as the mages in the Atlas mountains) and mastered it inside Atlas, allowing him to speak to the very soul of any creation using "God's word".

He was originally hired by Araya to restore SHIKI's memories inside Shiki, which Shiki was afraid of because she genuinely did not know if SHIKI had killed all those people when they were 15 (SHIKI took his memories with him when he died) and did not know if Mikiya would still be with her if they knew for sure. This was supposed to revert Shiki to her original empty state (or her Void form) in order for Araya to gain access to the Root, however by the time Kurogiri encountered her, Shiki had already defeated Araya and his experiment was destroyed.

It should be noted that since his words speak to the soul directly, nothing short of being able to deny the Unified Language or silencing Kurogiri could stop him. The movie version of Kurogiri's powers acts differently, as listening to loud music is enough to be able to stop him since the movie just has him use regular hypnosis talk.

It's also not shown in the movie, but Kurogiri is a brother figure (or maybe the actual brother) of Ouji Misaya, who harbors possibly incestuous feelings for him, paralleling Azaka's own feelings towards Mikiya. At the end of the Oblivion Recorder novel, Kurogiri fails to defeat Shiki and tries to flee the school, but Misaya murders him to keep him from leaving her, implying what sort of end Azaka would reach if the latter keeps nursing her obsession towards her brother.

I haven't read it, but apparently Kurogiri is also mentioned in Fate/Strange Fake as one of Prelati's enemies and has actually killed her once. This is pretty significant, as Prelati's other enemies to have killed or repelled her are powerhouses like Touko and Zouken.

#Kara No Kyoukai

[docgold13]

Is Dick Grayson-Batman not getting the opportunity to be on a big name JLA squad, (a la Kyle Rayner and Wally West take over for Hal and Barry during Morrison’s JLA era) a missed opportunity? Yeah, there was James Robinson’s “epic” C-list lineup, but I was wondering why you think DC seemingly weren’t interested in Bat-Dick having a bigger role in the wider DCU at the time? And in-universe, how would Dick function in a real Justice League, compared to Bruce? What would the dynamics with Clark, Diana, J’onn, etc. look like in your opinion?

I’m not sure if it’s a missed opportunity or not.  

One of the things that made Dick’s tenure as Batman such a captivating read was how much he did not want to be Batman.  He had ‘found’ himself as Nightwing and stepping in as Batman was a lateral movement in his own life journey made simply out of necessity.  

Wally, Kyle and Conner were each eager to take on the mantle of their predecessors.  Succeeding in being the Flash, The Green Lantern and The Green Arrow were their personal goals, whereas being The Batman felt more an obligation and cruel twist of fate for Dick.  

The narrative was only going to work if it had a terminus - a point where Dick could stop being Batman, stop wearing his dad’s clothes, and return to being his own man.  Could DC have made Dick’s time as Batman longer?  Certainly… yet in my opinion it still needed to end the way it did.  

Superhero comics can have aspects of tragedy in them, but ultimately need to revert back to hopefulness and resolution.  Failing to do so takes away the fantasy wish-fulfillment element that acts as a cornerstone of the appeal of superheroes in the first place.

#Batman #ask docgold13 a question

[pokemoncenter]

Are there any similarities in DNA between Eevee and Ditto? Or more specifically, are there any links between Eevee's unstable DNA or general adaptability and Ditto's ability to transform into another Pokémon to suit it's habitat, which also results in great adaptability?

First of all, allow me to reiterate: "Unstable DNA" is a terrible way to describe Eevee's volatile evolutionary state. It is not unstable, it is rather able to take in environmental factors to fortify itself to survive in many environments, no matter how hostile.

Now, that aside: Trying to isolate a Ditto's DNA is... difficult. To be entirely truthful, I simply do not understand it. Professor Coconut gave me a brief rundown, and I am ashamed to admit I understood about half of it.

To answer in detail would violate the NDA I am under, so instead I will try to answer in the general case.

A Ditto's ability to transform extends all the way down to its molecular structure. This includes its DNA- This is how it is able to breed with all other Pokemon that reproduce sexually. It becomes a member of that species, and copies it. This is actually Ditto's reproductive strategy- It mates with members of other species, and passes its genes down that way, to the offspring of the other species. However, this interbreeding method is thought to be what caused Mew to go extinct (Fuji, 1990), so it is as of yet unknown how Ditto have avoided this fate.

Ditto is the closest living relative to what we understand Mew was. However, this means that a Ditto's DNA is constantly in flux- It reshapes itself near constantly, and so isolating a Ditto's 'true' DNA, that which is truly its own, is extremely difficult... and that is not even getting into ncDNA.

Eevee, on the other hand, lacks the Ditto's chief ability: Not just to transform, but to revert.

We are still studying it now, but evolution appears to be derived from Transform, the same way regional formes are, though through a different use. However, while over 90% of Pokemon are linked through evolution (Rowan, 2006), none are able to revert to a prior state. Thus, Ditto remains unique.

If an Eevee's evolution could be induced to return to its Eevee self, we would be able to learn. However... Such an experiment would be unbearably cruel.

#pokeblogging #pkmn irl #unreality

[themurderofcrowscollective]

Alright, I was asked for more protective Damian so here we go! This is for you, @bruciemilf! In case you're wondering where this inspiration also came from, check out the og post right here!

When Damian first arrived at the mansion, as angsty and vicious as ever, he was insufferable for a bit due to how protective he was over Bruce. He didn't trust anyone else in the mansion but Alfred managed to get his trust a bit faster since he's just like his dad. One wrong look at Bruce and you'd be stuck in a chokehold or have a sword's blade at your neck. Years later on, Damian has a profound trust bond with Dick as he grew more closer to everyone else and in a way, became more of Bruce's son than just his blood son. Sure, he'd also call Bruce 'Baba' (which we all collectively headcanon now) and believe that he'd be okay with Bruce around. That wasn't the case when he got wounded so bad and was fighting off the tears while he was getting stitches from Alfred. At that point he just wanted his Baba to comfort him in his time of need, but he didn't want to see Dick yell at him for letting him get hurt and he didn't want to see his Baba close in on himself and walk away solemnly. He just wanted his Baba. When Bruce left the room, he watched Dick freeze in his place while expecting him to run and apologize before Bruce did anything on depression-driven impulse but Dick didn't. He didn't do anything to fix this. Dick damaged his baba and Damian knew that his father meant a little bit more to him than Dick so he froze only for a moment, letting his tears fall. Once his stitches were wrapped in bandages, he asked Tim to find Bruce asap while ignoring Jason ranting and yelling at Dick for what he did. He just wanted his baba back. You can imagine the heartbreak in his eyes when Tim tells him that he went to visit Dr. Fate. Damian knew what his Baba was going to do but he was in no condition to move to stop him, so in his tears that returned, he glares at Dick so coldly that you could feel a chill go down your spine and he says, " I hope you're happy. " Once the timeline was rewritten and no one knew Bruce Wayne, Damian was a special case in this new timeline. He knew Bruce Wayne was his father and Bruce Wayne knew that Damian was his child, but the years of bonding and loving each other was erased and they were cold and distant from each other. Damian reverted back to being a blade and Bruce reverted back to being a broken man mourning the deaths of his family long before he even met Dick. Even bound by blood, they meant nothing to each other but Damian still protected him and shot glares at everyone who came too close. His coldest glares were saved only for Dick who knew he did something wrong, but the two never figured out why. As for the dreams of the Bruce they knew, Damian only became more cold and angry towards Dick but for his father, he never broke out a fight or try to kill Dick. He just knew how to make him wish he was dead by simply doing nothing and never responding to him. And boy did Dick wish for death. Once the timeline was reverted back to the way it was, Dick didn't want to go back to face Bruce at the bridge. He just wanted to stay in his apartment and stay hidden but he didn't expect the tiny terror to knock down his door and demand that he goes to Bruce and apologize. Was Damian in tears? Oh yeah, but he was angry. Really angry. The whole time they went to where Bruce was, Damian felt relieved that Clark was with him to comfort him but he was so close to aim a knife at Dick's neck to make him get out of the car. Luckily he didn't resort to that. Instead he let himself be a child and run to his baba, crying and clinging to him before he was lifted up and held so tightly. Like father like son, they sobbed together. Dick knew he fucked up and really needed to apologize and so he did, without Damian shooting a glare or anyone else who arrived to shove him forwards, he just did it on his own. Afterwards, for weeks on end and even after the wedding, Damian never left Bruce's and Clark's side. He kept sleeping in their bed together, spent more time with the two and slowly but surely built a bond with Clark.

#lily speaks facts #batfamily headcanons #batfam headcanons #batkids #batdad #superbat #and with dick's relationship with damian #turns out damian learned a thing or two about redemption and gave dick another chance to redeem himself #sure it took a long time but damian's just as stubborn as bruce

[pandoa]

anything your heart desires (jamil viper x GN!reader)

you finally return home. but a certain long-haired vice housewarden is troubled with your absence.

~ a jamil viper x gender neutral reader song fic~

~ song used: when you wish upon a star ~

Warnings: angst with good ending

Unwrapping themselves from Jamil’s longing grasp, the now former prefect flashed their lover with a reassuring smile. Surely, this was difficult for the both of them. But the decision had already been made. The prefect must go home.

With one last kiss lingering on his lips, Jamil watched (Y/n) approach the daunting mirror, staring as the person he adored increased the distance between them, disappearing from the deafeningly silent room with each step into the looking glass.

(Y/n) was gone.

.

.

.

.

When you wish upon a star. . .

Charcoal gray eyes gazed lifelessly at the barren halls of Ramshackle, sorrow evidently shown on the individual’s face as he suppressed a threatening sneeze escaping his mouth. It had been months since you inevitably returned to your world, with Grim moving in with Ace and Deuce at Heartslabyul, and Ramshackle in no time at all reverting back to its broken, crippling state. Really, the effort you spent preventing the sorry excuse of a dorm from cascading down to the ground never ceased to amaze Jamil. Twisted Wonderland truly was unworthy of your tireless compassion. And considering the endless trials you encountered in this world, including his own overblot for that matter, the young male couldn’t help but see why you seemingly trotted through the mirror with a bittersweet goodbye, no hesitation visible through your eager steps.

“They simply did not belong here”, Jamil regrettably whispered with traces of melancholy strained in his voice. Fate had yet again whisked away something he had grown to love and no power he possessed could pull you back into his arms and plead for your return.

Makes no difference who you are. . .

Trudging along the creaking floors of the abandoned dorm, Jamil made his way out of Ramshackle and continued to reminisce on the precious memories you created together during your ever eventful stay at the prestigious Night Raven College.

Were you eating well?

Are you sleeping on time?

Has anyone dared to give you trouble in your world?

Incessant worries usually pointed towards Kalim were now targeted at you as Jamil continued on and on with his never-ending concern for you. If only you knew just how hollow his days were now that you were both apart. How the liveliest of dances could hold such grief behind his skillful movements. How each and every study session without you slowly morphed into bawls of frustration when he could not comprehend his own work. Your lack of presence had ultimately influenced each aspect of his daily routine to the point that even an oblivious fool such as Kalim seemed to catch onto Jamil’s troubles.

Familiar stinging in his eyes began to flood his vision as he strolled through the star-infested sky above the college’s beloved courtyard.

If only he had enough power. Perhaps he could have found a way for you to stay.

If only he weren’t a servant. Then he could let go of all his responsibilities and come with you.

If only. . .

If only. . .

If only!

As Jamil was consumed by his own regrets, he failed to notice the slight rustling of grass a few meters behind him.

“Now, why is my dearest weeping alone during this lovely night, hm?” a familiar figure suddenly emerged from behind a luscious apple tree, questioning the young man with concern.

Anything your heart desires. . .

Jamil spun around with an eager force upon hearing the tender voice, warmth filling every corner of his trembling body.

“(Y/n).”

Will come to you~

a/n: apologies for the rough writing~ this all seems a bit rushed in my opinion but practice makes perfect as they say

repost cuz i’m dumb and can’t figure out tumblr for the life of me

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #jamil viper #jamil #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #twisted wonderland x gender neutral #twst angst #twst x reader #♢the scribe♢