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alienzil · 6 months

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DP x DC Prompt/notion # 4

So Danny has the classic reveal gone bad scenario and the Fentons try to capture him to "tear him apart molecule by molecule".

Danny escapes into the ghost zone with the help of Sam, Tucker and Jazz but he's in bad shape.

What Danny had never been told is that newly formed ghosts like himself are considered babies until they're at least a century old. Baby ghosts generally either have parents if they're born in the realms or get adoptive parents shortly after forming and are highly dependent on their guardians until their core is fully matured. Every ghost can sense a baby and has the instinctual urge to protect them (especially if they haven't been adopted yet). Every baby ghost has the instinctual urge to find a compatible parent or parents. A baby won't imprint on just anyone and will hide or run from most ghosts until they find one that they can imprint on. The majority of the ghosts that have met Danny never knew he was a baby, both because he already had his living parents and his emotional connection with them was close enough to satisfy his ghostly need for a parental bond and because, with his abnormally high power level, it never would have occurred to them to think he might be an infant. A newborn ancient is exceptionally rare and your average denizen of the realms will have never seen one. Basically, to your average ghost, Danny feels like he's eons old and any hint of "baby" they get from him mostly just ticks them off because they think he's mocking them and pretending to be less powerful than they know he is. The other ancients knew of course, but they also knew that Danny's human guardians were satisfying his needs for now and most assumed he would be adopted once they passed. Half a century or so isn't very long to wait after all and the new baby is half human so it's probably best to let these things happen naturally.

Knowing none of this, when Jack and Maddie rejected Danny it severed their connection and the backlash of losing that bond caused his Phantom self to naturally revert to a smaller form that more closely matched his actual age as a ghost. Still in shock and operating almost entirely on instinct and emotion, Danny started to search the Realms for what he had lost. He needed to find his parents.

*****

Meanwhile, John Constantine had a problem with an upstart cult that had summoned an interdimensional...something. He really didn't care. Whatever it was, was behind a barrier they'd thrown up that he couldn't breach. He'd be perfectly willing to leave them to their own mess except their whole damn town was behind the barrier so now it was his problem to fix.

Interdimensional problems call for interdimensional solutions so he'd called Bob. Bob wasn't really his name (nor was he really a he) but he hadn't objected to the moniker or the pronouns John had given him so Bob it was. Bob was an eldritch nightmare of a creature who kept the bulk of his true form politely out of this dimension and only just barely inched in for a quick visit every 20 years or so. Constantine had worked with him before, he was a pretty nice bloke for an unknowable monstrosity.

Bob fed on energy and his usual diet consisted largely of the background energy of the cosmos but he liked a special treat now and then (who doesn't?). So John made a deal with him. Bob took care of his little cult problem and John spent a very... ahem... "energetic" evening with Bob in exchange. Not really a hardship on John's part, Bob wanted more energy, not less, and knew a thing or two about how to get it.

*****

The creature known as Bob was preparing to withdraw the small portion of his presence that was currently on Earth with the human called John Constantine when another part of him noticed something. Bob smiled to himself (as much as Bob could smile that is). What a wonderful coincidence that the Constantine human's energy would be so perfectly matched to this other beings and that Bob was here at the exact right moment to assist with their meeting!

"I thank you again for sharing your energy John Constantine. It was delicious as always."

"Don't mention it mate. Look me up next you're in town and feeling a bit peckish. Always happy to oblige." John replied with a smirk.

"I will heed your words John Constantine and seek your presence upon my return. As a token of my affection for you, a small gift that you might enjoy until we meet again." Bob briefly opened a portal between the Infinite Realms and the House of Mystery as he left. He hoped his human friend would enjoy the gift. Bob had never spawned himself but he'd heard parenthood was one of life's great joys.

"Gift?" John had just enough time to say as he was hit in the face by a chirping, wriggling, excited creature.

"Oi!" John stumbled back a step as he reached up to try and pry the thing off his face. He managed to grab ahold of the damn beast and held it out at an arms length to get a look at it. Deprived of his face, it wrapped its body tightly around his arm and nuzzled its head into the palm of his hand.

John stared at the creature. It was the roughly the length of his arm, mostly black with white markings and white floating hair on a human shaped head and face, complete with glowing green eyes. It was vaguely snake shaped...or... one might say...tentacle shaped...

John gulped and pictured Bob. Bob's appearance, or what little bit of his appearance John was able to perceive, was a writhing mass of black tentacles that glowed a bright, luminous green.

So, the "gift" Bob had left him mostly had Bob's coloring and was kinda Bob shaped. Except it had small human arms and hands and a tiny mostly human head and face and... was that his nose?!

"Oh bollocks, I'm a dad!"

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #John Constantine is Danny's dad #Except he actually isn't #Except he really is now since Danny imprinted on him #Little baby man #Bob the eldritch entity #Prompt/notion

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saul-gone-man · 1 month

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𝘪 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘴

𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴

𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴

𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴

#better call saul #bcs #jimmy mcgill #saul goodman #bob odenkirk #breaking bad #brba #my art #bcs fanart #fanart #mcweek2024 #mcwexler #the prompt was poison #Song is nothing matters by the last dinner party

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attapullman · 4 months

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Who's ready for...

We all love our bespectacled WSO who you know goes to town on your body, so why not celebrate him a little? Bob smut is actually good for the soul, I know I'm not a doctor.

Celebrate the first and best month of the year (culminating in our sweet Lew's birthday) by writing a little bow chicka wow wow for our sweetest aviator.

post credit: @laracrofted

Rules:

must be 18+ to participate!!

send me an ask/message to let me know you're participating!

use the tag #International Bob Floyd Fucks Month

tag/message me when you've posted

post by January 31st (or later - it's healthy to also celebrate IBFF Year)

So excited to read everyone's fics and see what dirty deeds you get up to!

IBFF Masterlist

That's Mine | @attapullman

awards season | @bobgasm

Hey Jealousy | Pride, Prejudice, and Flyboys | @sorchathered

the legend of the great wizard bobernius | @yanna-banana

do you wanna make somethin' of it | @theharddeck

Change of Plans | @bradshawsbaby

Head In The Clouds | @jungle-angel

steamy shower fun | @ryebecca

Explicitly Yours | @roosterforme

Bragging Rights | @rockstxr-x

color up my skies | @thiswaytwoinfinity

Call Out Our Names | @lenafromthenordiccoven

Saltburn AU | @callsign-phoenix

Ruin the Friendship | @withahappyrefrain

Bob takes care of you after a long day | @whisperofsong

Sex on The Beach (What a Treat) | @startrekfangirl2233-writes

Wolfish | @delopsia

When the Stars Align | @mynameismckenziemae

#international bob floyd fucks month #bob floyd #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fan fic #writing prompt

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cat-cosplay · 8 months

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Advertise your account with one image.

#bob ross #cat cosplay #advertise your account with one image #cosplay #cats #trend #prompt

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agreatandhonorablesoldier · 1 year

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incorrect quotes 13/? Daggers edition

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #natasha phoenix trace #mickey fanboy garcia #reuben payback fitch #robert bob floyd #javy coyote machado #*Incorrect Quotes #*My Gifs #Yes the judge mentioned in Mav's is Ice. Do with that what you will #Source for this prompt in the comments

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planetpiastri · 1 year

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💝 Bob please and 11. "their contact name being formatted differently than everyone else" from the are we friends, or more? prompt list

this trope is my kryptonite, hope u enjoy anon x | [wc - 0.7k] | join my prompt party!

“Why do we even bother? He’s obviously not coming,” said Hangman indifferently, leaning down to line up his pool shot.

“Give him a minute,” Phoenix snapped from her place at your shoulder, her phone held to her ear and currently ringing for Bob. “He said he’d be here. It’s weird for him to just…not show up.”

“Maybe he got tired of losing at pool,” said Hangman with a shit-eating grin, straightening up satisfactorily as he pocketed two balls.

“He beat me last time,” Fanboy pointed out.

“That’s not a competition,” Hangman retorted.

“He’ll be here,” interjected Rooster, taking a sip of his beer. “When’s the last time he didn’t show up to one of these? Calm down.”

“But when’s the last time Bob’s been late?” Phoenix shot back before groaning and pulling her phone away from her ear. She turned to look at you with a pleading expression. “Back me up here. This is weird, right?”

You suddenly realized everyone was staring at you expectantly. The buzzed, warm atmosphere of the Hard Deck suddenly felt a bit stifling. Usually you loved the teasing jibes and snarky retorts traded between the aviators over a few games of pool and a few more beers, but something about tonight felt…off.

Probably for the exact reason everyone was discussing at the moment.

“It is weird for him to flake,” you ceded reluctantly. “He usually at least gives us a text if he knows he’s not gonna make it.”

“Okay, so call him, then,” said Hangman, sounding exasperated. “Make sure he’s not dead.” He nudged Coyote. “It’s your shot. Would you go?”

“We have been calling him, dickhead,” snapped Phoenix. “He’s not picking up.”

“No, make the other one call him,” said Hangman, pointing at you with his cue as if you weren’t right there. “His favorite.”

Your cheeks burned with the knowledge that everyone else had picked up on you and Bob’s close bond. “I am not—”

“Please,” said Hangman arrogantly. “We are not in middle school. Just own it. We’ve all seen the little glances and inside jokes.”

Your mouth flapped open and shut uselessly. The pool game had been forgotten. Everyone was watching you with amused expressions. You stuttered out, “I do that with Phoenix, too!”

Hangman squinted at you disbelievingly before turning back to the game, like you weren’t even worth the effort of arguing with. That more than anything else rubbed you the wrong way.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “I will call him. And he won’t pick up, just like he didn’t pick up when Phoenix and Fanboy called, and we can put this to bed.”

You expected everyone to laugh at you, or shake their heads and go back to their other activities. What you didn’t expect was for everyone—Hangman included—to cluster around you and stare at your screen as you pulled out your phone.

You scrolled through your contacts quickly, wanting to just get it over with, but as you hovered your finger over Bob’s contact to call, Payback said, “Hang on—”

Right on cue, Hangman swiped your phone out of your hand and held it above your head.

“Give it back!” you cried, embarrassment flooding your body. “Seriously? You’re the one who just said we aren’t in middle school!”

“‘B. Bradshaw,’” Hangman read aloud, holding you at bay with his free hand. He was beaming. “‘J. Machado—J. Seresin—N. Trace—M. Garcia—R. Fitch.’ But would you look at this?” He scrolled back up. “‘Bobby.’ With two—count ‘em, two—emojis.”

“Stop it!” you yelped, more than mortified.

“Which emojis?” called Fanboy, who was craning to try and see.

“The nerd with glasses face and a white heart,” said Payback. “Remind me, what does the white heart mean?”

“Marriage, definitely,” said Rooster with a teasing smirk.

“You guys are children,” you yelled, hoping desperately that you looked more confident than you felt. You shot Rooster a frustrated look. “Could you help me, please?”

It was Coyote who swiped your phone out of Hangman’s hand, taking a moment to examine the proof for himself before handing it back to you. You snatched it quickly, sure that everyone could see just how flustered you were. They all watched you with amused, knowing expressions, waiting for you to defend yourself.

But then your phone buzzed in your hand, and everyone looked down.

Incoming call from: Bobby 🤓🤍

Someone snickered. You fought to maintain your dignity and straightened your posture, saying, “Excuse me, I have a call. I’m going to take this outside.”

Everyone whooped and laughed as you pushed in between Fanboy and Phoenix and started to walk towards the back deck. With shaking fingers, you accepted the call.

“Hi, Bobby. I think they know.”

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd blurb #robert bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #bob x reader #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd blurb #vinny's valentine's prompt party #vinny fics

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peanutlolxd · 7 months

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Hiking date GONE WRONG

#tervoweek2023 #solar opposites #solar opposites tervo #i was gonna do smth else for the prompt #a bobs burgers refrence #but i thought this was silly

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drawthethingdoppelganger · 4 months

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RoudiseWeek - Day 1: Family/Hat

"Like, stealing?"

"No, RESCUE"

I think it'd be kinda cute for Rudy to go choose a birthday hat for himself every year and Louise is just there keeping him company (and then jumps to tell him her next big master plan every 5 miliseconds)

#she also knows damn well it's her mission to make sure her friend gets a hat almost as good and insanely durable as hers #roudiseweek2023 #roudise #i don't think i can participate in all the days this time but i'll try to get at least 4 of these prompts out #YES i'll make it work shush #bobs burgers #bob's burgers #bobs burgers fanart #louise belcher #regular sized rudy

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akikkobara · 9 months

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Danny phantom Prompt idea

When the inevitable reveal happens, Danny instead of confessing to being a half ghost instead tells his parents that he fell into another dimension right before high school started and became a magical girl tm, and when he finally got back it turned out he kept his powers, but his core synchronized with the strongest power source closest to him (Ectoplasm tm)which is why he keeps set off the ghost detectors.

#magical girl #Danny phantom #Magical Girl Danny #story idea #writing prompt #its' technically not a lie #danny muttered to jazz #she sighed at him in disappointment #The Reveal- good end #Bob the blob is the talking creature that bestows powers

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tothebestofmyabilities · 2 months

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@seemoreseymoursbay day 2!! Romantic relationship day

Its (predictable from me) Zeke and Gene! I thought a lot about doing something else in the spirit of getting out of my comfort zone or drawing characters i don't draw often but in the end this ship is too special to me it always wins. I've been diehard for them literally since Carpe Museum came out in 2013 and over ten years later I'm still sticking by them.

(Used the prompts ocean and smitten)

#my art #bobs burgers #gene belcher #zeke bobs burgers #gene x zeke #geke #fanart #artists on tumblr #genderqueer gene #i mean technically the ocean isn't actually in it but i think lighthouse counts #im highkey obsessed with lighthouses so that was my immediate takeaway from the ocean prompt #they're listening to cavetown #seemoreseymoursweek #smsw

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lupoteodoro · 6 months

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former music critic and washed-up rock star

I need daddies to be in love

#winnix #ron livingston #damian lewis #bob prompt #headcanon

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saltsicklover · 4 months

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Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part Two

Read Part One

Part Three Coming Soon!

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader SOULMATE AU

Word Count: 4000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Lots of Crying, Parent Trouble and Reconciliation, Insecurity,

We don't get to meet Bobby yet, I'm sorry!

My father's office looks the same. Honesty it has looked the same for as long as I can remember, and it's not just this office either. Every single one of my father's offices has looked just this way. Tan walls, that sort of sad, off beige color that every military installation, from this side of the world to the next, think outfit them so well. There's always a strong oak desk, sometimes it's pine, but either way it's always a sturdy piece of furniture that has no business around the thrown together particle board of the neighboring pieces.

My father has always brought in his own chair. It's faded leather is always well conditioned and it's warn in. Warn in just the way that when you sit in it, you can almost feel the ever lasting presence of the many years my father has sat in that very seat. He has hauled it with him all around the country, always in unaccompanied baggage so it would be sitting in his office and ready for him upon his arrival. He used to joke that if he made it there before his beloved chair, his time stationed there would be hell in a handbasket.

The day he got stationed at Top Gun as the Air Boss, that chair took it's rightful place behind the new desk. The same desk with empty drawers and too many files preemptively stacked atop it. But that's just how it is, right? After all, it's been that way since my father made Commander and things don't look to be changing anytime soon.

The decanter on his book shelf has been wiped clean of dust and fingerprints. No doubt filled with any run of the mill whiskey that may find it's way into my father's hands. It's an office staple, that decanter's about as old as myself, but the crystal still shines after 25 years, especially after a good cleaning. There's a bottle of good whiskey in the bottom drawer of his desk, sat beside a bottle of the best vodka he could find. Always ready for the COMPACFLT to drop by on a moment's notice, though the Admiral has never made himself known long enough to break it out.

I sit and stare out the windows, the ones that make up the back wall of his office. There's always windows, but strangely the size seems to correlate with rank. One might think it would depend on the building, on the base, on the climate or area of the world, but what I've come to find out is the higher the number on your Pay Code, the bigger your fucking office widows.

That, and the less time you have for your family. It seems the higher that Pay Code number, the more time I've managed to spend with clerks and assistants. More visitation with office windows and the low reflection that stares back at me as I try to focus on the air field. Aircraft take off and land, the service men and women knocking out their required flight hours as the sun moves its way throughout the sky. But still, there are times I catch my own eyes in that low light reflection, but there are less tears now. Or there had been, until that fucking incident at the airport.

Truth be told, I haven't stopped shaking. In that damn reflection of my father's office window I can see both my tear stained cheeks and the confused looks on Rhett and Jake's faces. The images twist together. It's all hurt, every last piece.

I'm sure the three of us would be a sight if we were all standing in the same place, the boys with those same lost looks, hurt flashing through there eyes, and me, red rimmed irises and damp skin. Skin that is already threatening to chap over from the way it stings. I should have savored the way they so fiercely defended me. The way they folded me into themselves and kept me safe. Isn't that what home is, if only so briefly? A lifted wing to a chick in the same way their kind eyes were to me. It's a shame, the way it all came crashing down with those four little words.

There's not even a part of me that doesn't ache when the memory of only hours ago runs through my head. Their touch still ghosts over my shoulders. Phantom fingerprints left upon my upper arms, still smoldering, smoking as they cool.

Friendship has to be written into the strands of the universe, it just must be. Hidden deep within the stitching, taking a back seat to the drips of ink that are marred into skin, so easy to see. Because if it isn't, my soul shouldn't feel this heavy. It couldn't feel this heavy. So it must be. It must be.

There's mumbling coming from just beyond the fire door of the office, voices that I can't make out by ear but I know those tell tale footsteps that can't help but get closer. My heart pounds in the same way his footsteps all but reverberate through the floor. The voices get closer, and closer, but I can't seem to focus on anything but the air field- the vision of my own red rimmed irises in the glass of the O-9 sized window.

"Sir, I'm trying to tell you that-" The words come through muffled then clear as the door nearly squeaks open. A call to DPW and those hinges wouldn't grind, but I know door hinges aren't exactly on the high priority list for a Vice Admiral.

"Birdie?" That damn nickname's spoken by my father, in that surprised tone that is just a little too irregular completely flattens all my resolve. The floodgates open, or moreover, they break, just as I turn to meet his eye.

"Hi Dad," The words come out too wet and too close to a sob, but we both just stand there looking at one another. In the time we stare at each other, the Earth has rotated almost two hundred eighty miles around it's access. Four hundred fifty kilometers in roughly fifteen seconds. His hand is still curled around the doorknob, the brass of the handle turned down just so. A Lieutenant stands next to my father, an apologetic look hung upon her features. The tightness of her bun pulls her eyebrows up, barely noticeable, but it makes her look a little more surprised, a little bit more of herself that's usually hidden under the mask, just barely breaking through.

It's another two hundred eighty miles before my father makes a move. He enters further into the office while the Lieutenant slips the door shut. I can almost feel how the handle must be warm beneath her slender fingers. The same warmth is rolling off of my hands; all of the nervous energy having nowhere to go but cycle out to my fingertips only to crawl back up my arms once more.

"Hey, kid," My father speaks after another moment passes, another few miles, "I- uh,"

There is so much hanging between us. After spending so many years arguing, instead of words left unsaid between us they all seem to be hanging in the air. Stiff and starched like a uniform collar, textured underneath my fingertips. The way they brush against my skin makes me itch as I inch closer. I wish to choke on them; on the words, longing for a moment that I had something else to say. Some sort of words found stuck somewhere between the tightness of my throat and the stickiness of my gums, lips dry and cracking under the pressure. Instead, they all still hang between us, a rickety old rope bridge while the few feet between us is a canyon's expanse.

The average argument lasts ten minutes, and families tend to have around a hundred arguments a year. That's a thousands hours of disagreements that stand between us over the last year alone. A hundred and twenty five words per minute. That's one hundred twenty five thousand words and I can feel each and every letter that hangs between us in this moment, thick between us like a fog. I can't seem to breathe.

The only thing that seems real is the hot tears falling down my cheeks and the sight of my father's downturned smile. There is so much pity there, or maybe it's remorse in the way one is remorseful for not appreciating a song the first time it's played through. It's the missing of the baseline and the way the bridge carries through to the end of the score. His eyes are gentle, in the way roses are- pricking, piercing from just the right angle.

"It's been a long time, Dad, I've missed you," The words have been hidden in the spaces between my molars, stuck there so long I barely recognized their honesty as they fell from my tongue. My lips catch on their sharp edges and I swallow down the acrid taste of bile and copper. Wiping at the new found streaks of tears, smearing them across the heat of my cheeks, my fingers come back tinged with watery mascara smudges.

"It's been too long, Birdie, sweet pea, too long," There's a slight hesitation in his tone, but it's all too genuine, in a way that makes my stomach turn. The nausea isn't new, not today. "How was-" I know he's going to ask about the last year, about the travel and the time spent in-between our arguments but I can't keep the words from slipping off of my tongue.

"I need to know about your Aviators," He stops, the words hitting him straight in the face leaving mouth hanging open mid sentence. His eyebrows scrunch with the narrowing of his gaze, the confusion evident in the way his head cocks gently to one side before he straightens it right back again. Parts of my father are slipping past the Admiral, like sand through fingertips, but he does everything he can to hold onto his hardened exterior.

"My Aviators?" There is so much hidden in the way the syllables crackle from his throat. He looks as though he has words still stuck to the roof of his mouth, words he keeps tonguing at to keep them hidden behind his teeth.

"I- yes," My brain is spiraling just a little to fast for my mouth to keep up. I can almost feel the way my nervous system is spiking, my neurons firing as my tongue tries to say the words in the forefront of my mind. The deep breath I force into my lungs does nothing to slow my thoughts, but my father's shoulders relax at the sight of my own shoulders dropping slightly. It's a shallow effort but it helps, if only a little.

"I met one of your Aviators today, at the airport," He nods in understanding, "Blond, tall, from Texas. Super nice. Said his name was Jake,"

"Jake?" My father huffs out, scrubbing a hand over his face. "A Texan with one of those shit eating grins?"

"He had a nice smile, if that's what you mean," I reason. The feeling of an impending argument is like static in the air, the hair on my arms standing on end as gooseflesh breaks out over my bare skin. That feeling is acknowledged with a quick glance between us, a look that has him moving closer to his desk. He picks up a framed photograph from it's corner before holding it out to me. I finally move closer, separating some of the distance between us. It's strange, being so close together after spending so long apart. I often wonder if that's how all children's relationships with their parents are after they grow up, or if my father and I are stuck in a unique form of perpetual misunderstanding. I take the photograph from his hand.

"This him?" He points at a man in the back row of the photograph, big smile and kind eyes. It's definitely him, that much I am certain of. There is just something so recognizable about that smile of his, the way the lines on either side of his mouth bend with a dash of mirth, bracketing perfect teeth. It's sick, really, how nice his teeth are.

There are a handful of other people shoved into the photograph together. Jake has his arm thrown around another man who sports a mustache and messy hair. That man looks at Jake like he emits pure light. Eyes squinted slightly with a smile too big to be contained with a closed jaw. That's Rooster. That's Jake's soulmate. There's no other explanation as to why the blond would be holding the other man so incredibly close, with his hands gripping into the material of Rooster's flight suit.

To Jake's other side is a woman. Her smile is smaller, almost practiced, but true joy emits from her eyes. With slicked back hair and sharp brows, she looks all business, like a woman not to be fucked with. But a friend, maybe? Her nametape is too small to read, but as one of the only women in the squad, she won't be too hard to pick out of the crowd. It's the man standing next to her that throws me. Another familiar face stands to her side, Rhett, only with shorter hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. My eyebrows scrunch, mimicking my father's expression.

"Yeah, that's him," I confirm, my eyes still tracking over the faces in the photograph.

"Why do you ask, sweet pea?"

"I met a man on accident, really, his name is Rhett, and his friend was with him, this man here, Jake. We actually ended up on the same flight" I watch my father nod in understanding, one of his hands coming up to brush at his nonexistent five o'clock shadow. I huff, averting my eyes for the next part. "I might have had my soulmate sentence encounter earlier this afternoon," The confession is sheepish at best. I don't meet his eyes. There's no point. I know the expression he wears now and I know I can't handle it in this moment. There's already been enough crying.

"Was it with him? With Hangman?" I watch from the corner of my eye as my father's eyebrows knit together impossibly tighter. His voice is pinched at the callsign, lips tight around it.

"Yes, it was him, but that's not really the point, Dad," My eyes trail over him in the photograph again, but I'm pulled back to Rhett, confusion gnawing inside of my skull, just behind my eyes, "How old is this photograph, because this is Rhett right here, and he told me he wasn't military," I want to ask him if he really knows his aviators all that well, considering the lack of acknowledgement on his features.

"That photo was taken after their last mission, wasn't more than a few weeks ago, right after they all graduated their advanced training. It's recent, and there's nobody in that squad named Rhett,"

"There has to be! This is him, right here next to that woman. I swear it's him!" My fingernail, all chipped polish and sparkles, clinks against the glass, my father leaning closer to get a better look before plucking the frame from my gently shaking hands.

"Sweet pea, I think you're mistaken," His tone sounds like his words are treading a minefield somewhere deep in his throat. I can't help but cough at the thought. That tension bristles between us again, electric like a storm. My fingers knit through my hair to keep from chipping more of my nail polish from my already scraped up nails.

"That," My father taps the glass with his finger, "Is Lieutenant Floyd"

"Lieutenant Floyd?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Floyd," There's a faux confidence in his tone, the same one he used to use when he would call home to say he'd only be gone a little while longer.

"Dad," I raise my eyebrows as I finally swing my eyeline back up to meet his, "What is Lieutenant Floyd's first name?"

He sputters a bit, a hand rubbing at the lack of stubble on his chin. There's a sort of furrow to his brow, one I recognize, even if the rest of his features are laid out in a way I have never come to know. My father has always been a sure man, steadfast in his actions, information spread out in his brain easy to access. This grappling for an answer is unlike him, but it makes him seem impossibly more human.

"Oh, Dad," The words are spoken with slight exasperation laced in the low chuckle that springs forth from deep within my chest. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I'll just ask the very nice Lieutenant who let me in earlier, she seemed... knowledgeable,"

I am met with the deep roll of my father's eyes, his hands no longer scrubbing over his face, instead he rubs carefully at his temples. His reaction makes me grip a little harder at my hair. It's stupid, this battle between us. Something left over from the strife of my youth; what we clung to with white knuckles and bloody nail beds just to keep a semblance of a relationship. It's all adolescent animosity stripped to adulthood anonymity, achingly arduous.

"Honestly, Birdie," The words travel on an exhale, "I don't know his first name. Hell, I don't know most of them, especially if they don't give me trouble. I've always called him Lieutenant, barely ever needed Floyd tacked on the end,"

My father shrugs his shoulders unceremoniously, plopping the photograph back down onto the corner of his desk. He leans back into the long line of his desk, his usually pristine tan uniform wrinkling with the way he almost folds in on himself. My tongue flicks over my teeth as I fight the grimace I can feel rising over my features. I try and school my face back into pleasant nonchalance, much like my father usually does, however I think it's a skill better mastered with each star pinned to his collar.

"Can I say something?" There's too much honesty in the way the words crackle out. I nod; it's easier that way. My hands find home near my hips, my thumbs tucked into my belt loops in a shallow attempt to keep from continuing the pull on my roots.

"For what feels like forever now, it's just been you, your brother and I against the world. Just the three of us, and I know not having your mother has been one of the most challenging things, for all of us. I know there has always been this bond that Arrow and I have had, and maybe it's because he is my son, or because he decided that the Navy was his calling too. Either way, I know that there's a foundation there, one that you and I just don't have," I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I do my best to blink them back. The more he speaks, the more the sight of him swims.

"But, I want you to know that even though you and I have struggled," There's a little trace of humor there, but neither of us comment on it, "I love you so fucking much, kid. So much that my chest aches. And I knew this day was coming- your soulmate encounter. God, kid, I am so excited for you, but so fucking scared because you're my baby bird and I don't want anything bad to happen to you, I love you too much,"

There are tears steaking down his cheeks, a sight I haven't seen since my mother passed away. It makes my own chest ache in turn, seeing the strongest man I have ever known begin to crumble. With two quick steps, I am in my father's embrace. His arms are warm, cradling me into his chest, my face into the sandalwood scent of his collar. The stars pinned there less of an obstacle between us, now. He lets a land run over my spine, palm flat to my back, the warmth pooling through my top.

"I'll love you no matter what, kid, even if your soulmate is some military rat like me," He laughs, low and rumbling, into my hair.

"I love you, too, Dad, so much," I mumble into his collarbone, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. I can feel my tears sinking into the cotton of his shirt, the tan darkening with moisture. He doesn't seem to mind, or if he does, he doesn't say a thing. We stand there like that for a while, embracing. It's my father who breaks the silence.

"So, kid," He clears his throat in an attempt to hide the mangled bit to tears that still sits on the back of his tongue, "Tell me, how did it all happen? What did Hangman say?" The distaste in my father's tone is evident. I pull away from the embrace with a rueful laugh, one that stirs around that anxious feeling that's been ever present since the airport.

"Well," The word is all sigh, "Jake, Hangman or whatever you call him, was on the phone listening to his voicemail and Rhett had asked him who the message was from, you know? It was a pretty long message," I babble out the last sentence, trying to get to the point, but the words are stuck somewhere under my tongue.

My father just nods at me, allowing me the space to continue. Instead, I plop down into one of the chairs that sits in front of his desk, ones that are meant for official meetings rather than anxiety soaked realizations. I scrub a hand over my face before winding my fingers through my hair again, gentler this time. He stares at me, patient eyes and expression neutral. It's practiced, but genuine. I stare at he ground in front of my shoes when I can no longer meet his gaze.

"Rhett asked who it was," I begin again, back tracking a bit, "And Jake looked at him and said Oh, it's just Bob and that was it. I've had these words on my skin for so long that I thought hearing them would be so easy, but Dad, I panicked,"

"Oh Birdie, it's okay," My father hums, giving me a small grin on the side of reassurance, "It's not always like the stories, the fairytales are just to give us hope, but that's not how life is supposed to play out. It's alright,"

"It gets worse," My words are wet, "I ran, Dad, I ran. I heard him say that and I ran out of the airport and into the first cab I could find. I came straight here, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't even stick around to figure out exactly who Bob is to Jake. God, this whole situation gives me as much anxiety as a baby on board a pond jumper, look at me, I'm shaking like a fucking leaf."

"What did you just say?"

"I said I'm shaking like a leaf, look at me!" I laugh, but it catches in my throat and comes out all gargled. I hold my hands out, watching the way they tremor at the thought of it all.

"No, not that," My father shakes his head, "The thing about the pond jumper,"

"I dunno, Dad, it was an analogy," I reply, it's all furrowed brows and tired voice. as if it could be anything else at this point. I watch my father's expression turn quizzical, his eyes tracking though the air as if he's watching a hop. His nose twitches for a second before he schools his expression back. His hands tighten a bit around the edge of his desk, then he's clicking his tongue to punctuate a sort of silent eureka moment.

"Come with me, kid, I think there's someone we need to go talk to," Then he's pushing himself form the desk and heading towards the door with the same conviction the Admiral meets everything with.

"What?" I push myself from my seat but can't keep my shoulders from sagging. He's stopped at the door, turning back to offer just a hint more.

"I think you and I need to go see Captain Mitchell," There's distain in his voice at the name. I bite at my lower lip, tucking my hands back through my belt loops.

"Why do we need to see Captain Michell? Isn't he the man you can't stand?" I ask, following after him. The whole thing seems futile but a curiosity thrums between my ribs. We pass the nice Lieutenant's desk, her seat vacant, before turning down the hall. It's not long before we are out on the air field and heading towards one of the large carriers.

#ftrftf #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd angst #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #soulmate bob floyd #bob floyd soulmate au #icemav #father figure iceman #top gun maverick fanfiction #saltsicklover #requested prompt #saltsickrequests #father beau cyclone simpson #father cyclone

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sarahsmi13s · 9 months

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hey vinny! wanna write bob + "you're more than. a one night stand"? 👀👀

um of course i do!!! ❤❤

pairing: robert 'bob' floyd x bartender!reader warning: elusions to sex, insecurities and self doubt, admittedly a little fluffier than intended word count: ~1.6k prompt: "you're more than a one night stand"

The one thing you didn’t expect when you woke up were the arms wrapped around your naked waist. But in your groggy state you didn’t panic or become confused, you simply snuggled back into the warm chest.

It wasn’t until the breath fanned across the back of your neck did you panic internally.

But you looked down and saw the familiar forearms that led to familiar hands; the left one accented by the Navy issued watch on its wrist.

Being a bartender, you saw a lot of forearms and a lot of hands. Most of the time you recognized the order by the hand on the bar, which came in handy on busy nights – no pun intended.

Which is why you knew whose arms were wrapped around you. The order attached to these hands was a cup of peanuts and a glass of sweet tea or water.

Yup, Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd was in your bed.

You closed your eyes and sighed. This is not what you intended to happen.

Yeah, you have feelings for Bob. Have for a while now. But now that you’ve slept with him, you were worried that things would never go back to the way they were. Because they never do with you.

You decided that you should get up and shower, save yourself the heartbreak of watching or feeling him leave by hiding in your bathroom.

Sighing again, you pushed back the covers and carefully tried to get out of his arms.

Behind you though, Bob grumbled sleepily and pulled you closer, his large hand squeezing your waist gently. You bit your lip, memories of what led you here flashing in your mind.

“Bob, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” you whispered, hoping that he’d loosen his hold and just go back to sleep.

And he did, but he grumbled about it first before kissing your bare shoulder.

A heat spread across your face as your stomach fluttered. That wasn’t ideal. Because it doesn’t matter how you tried to rationalize the act. Oh, he’s groggy and asleep, he doesn’t know he did that. or He’s just dreaming. Doesn’t matter, your heart is thrumming because he did it.

You shook it off and carefully wriggled your body out of the puzzle slot it felt so safe in.

Your feet hit the ground and you were cold immediately, missing the warmth of the aviator now on his stomach in the middle of your bed. You get up and grab up your sweatshirt and panties from the floor, looking at the strewn clothes that show the haste you and Bob were in to get into your bed last night.

Moving around the room, you picked up your jeans and tank top from the floor, tossing them in your basket before turning to the other clothes on the floor. Then, you picked up Bob’s clothes from the floor and folded them.

First, his blue jeans that had lighter spots on the thighs where they’ve been worn down from either wearing them often or his little tic where he rubs his palms on his jeans. You can remember the feeling of the denim between your thighs as he pressed you into the mattress, hand cradling the side of your face and the watchband scratching your jaw gently. You bit your lip as you put them on your chest of drawers.

His shirt was next, the simple yellow fabric that made his eyes that much bluer. His cologne was still present on the collar, the cedar and cardamom making your head dizzy in the best way. The shirt was soft and thin against your fingertip, just like it was when it was bunched in your hands last night when Bob had you pinned against the wall with one large hand braced next to your head and the other rubbing you through your jeans.

After putting the shirt on top of the jeans you picked up his boxers.

“How can a cock that big fit in these?” You mumbled to yourself, remembering the weight of him in your hand when you palmed him through the fabric in your hands.

Shaking your head with a light, slightly sad, chuckle, you put the boxers down and grabbed some clothes to take to the bathroom.

Bob took a deep breath as he woke up, inhaling the peach scent of your shampoo and conditioner from the pillow he was face down in.

He rolled onto his back and reached over to the nightstand to get his glasses.

Putting them on, he sighed contently as he draped an arm over his torso.

He smiled, remembering the entire night. From inviting you to the bonfire after his third cup of peanuts to the innocent swipe of s’more off your lip and then the taste of s’more when he took the chance and kissed you goodbye in the parking lot.

He knew that he’d want to step back, take you out on a proper date and show you that this wasn’t a one time thing to him – with hope that you felt the same.

The amount of times he’d dreamt of being so intimate with you, it never would have prepared him for the real thing.

Every thrust, every kiss, every touch – sent electricity through him. Even this morning when he woke up with you in his arms, it was just this feeling of calm. It was a feeling of comfort and love.

Every moan, every pant, every grunt – was music to his ears. Much clearer than in his dreams. He could actually feel the moans vibrating your chest and throat, the breathy pants against his neck and ear.

He got to watch your face as he felt you squeeze around him, your thighs trembling against his hips. Looking like a literal dream underneath him.

Bob knew he loved you the moment you welcomed him back with open arms after the mission. Telling him all of his peanut cups and sweet tea were on you. And then when you organized a party for him for his birthday, he knew that you were it for him.

So, as he gets up and gets dressed, he’s crossing his fingers that you feel the same way.

You sighed as you left the bathroom, your hair still wrapped in the thin towel as you went to your room to grab your laundry basket.

Your bedroom door is closed so you have no idea if he had already left or not. And you hated the disappointment you felt when you opened the door to see your bed empty.

Still, you gathered your basket and went to your laundry room.

As you went past your entryway, you looked up at your door to make sure it was locked. And once you confirmed Bob had locked up before he left, you sighed again and looked at the floor.

Your brow furrowed and you looked back up.

Yup, that’s what you thought. Bob’s boots and his damned black Carrhart zip up hoodie in your entryway.

That’s when you smelled the coffee and heard Bob moving around in your kitchen.

You immediately put the hamper down, toss your hair towel in it, and go to the kitchen.

“Robby?”

“Good morning Peaches,” he smiled at you effortlessly as he poured two cups of coffee. “How was your shower?”

You blinked, your brain having to catch up to what your eyes were seeing. “Oh, um, yeah… yeah it was good.”

He smiled and fixed your coffee just the way you liked it. “Here you go.”

You smiled and took the warm mug in your hands, “Thank you…” You took a sip and swallowed it before looking at Bob, “Um what-what are you doing here?”

Bob looked at you, trying not to let the hurt show on his face. His brain immediately going to the self-doubting and the fear that he had read you all wrong. “I-I just thought that we-we could have breakfast, may-maybe spend the day together?”

You furrowed your brow, “You-you wanna hang out?”

He nodded, “Yeah-yeah…” He sat his mug down and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “B-but if you want me to go, I will. If this is a one time thing, just a one night stand. I get that. But I don’t think things will ever-”

In the midst of his rant you walked around the island and pressed a kiss to his lips, your hands fisting in the soft yellow t-shirt.

Once Bob shook off the shock, he was threading his fingers into your wet hair and gripping your hip with his free hand. You tilted your head into his hand and deepened the kiss as he walked you back and then pinned you to the fridge door. One of your hands gripped his hip to pull him impossibly closer.

Your lips moved together in sync, not worrying about oxygen as you practically breathed in each other.

But when you both started to feel dizzy, you separated with a ‘pop’.

He rested his forehead on yours as you cupped his cheek. “Not that I’m complaining… but what was that for?”

“To shut you up…” You giggled, your thumb rubbing back and forth on his flushed cheek bone. You take a few more breaths before looking up into his cerulean blue eyes, “I wasn’t sure how you felt before… I figured you would have just left while I was in the shower. Considering most one night stands end like that…”

He shook his head, “You are more than a one night stand to me.” He chuckled, “I’ve always wanted to be with you, from the moment I met you… that’s what I’ve wanted… what I’ve needed, Y/N…”

You huffed out a small laugh, “I need that too. I need you, Robby…”

“Sooo, that’s a yes?”

“Yes, Bob, it’s a yes.”

thank you for joining me for this event! ❤ i hope you enjoyed this @bobby-r2d2-floyd !!! it was a lot of fun to write!

you can particpate in the event here -> 400 follower event!

#vinny's 400 #robert bob floyd x reader #prompt event #💌 we just got a letter #bobby r2d2 floyd <33 #controlled chaos squad #bob floyd fic #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick #top gun

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tgm-all4one · 1 year

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On May 27, 2022, Top Gun: Maverick was released exclusively into theaters. Almost overnight, it became a cultural phenomenon with a fandom of individuals from all over the globe who loved the movie and its characters.

One of the fantastic things about the TG and TGM fandom is the diverse and innovative creators who have used these movies as inspiration for their art. Whether that be in the form of writing, fanart, GIFs, moodboards, edits, etc, we have all taken the same 4 hours and 1 minute of film to create unbelievably varied and original content. And that is what this challenge is about.

What is the "It's not the prompt. It's the creator." challenge?

The idea behind the "It's not the prompt. It's the creator." challenge is to show that even though we might all use similar tropes or AUs, or create GIFs of the same scenes, or use the same moodboard themes, it is our own personal creativity, innovation, and preferences that make our work unique.

So unlike other challenges, everyone will be using the exact same prompt. That's it. One prompt. And an unlimited amount of participants.

And yes, there will probably be art that is similar (either the tropes, themes, characters, etc), however the point is to show that even when two creators have similar independent ideas, their final creation is unique because they put their own original spin on it that only they could do.

What is the prompt?

To celebrate the one-year anniversary of Top Gun: Maverick being released, the prompt is:

"Last summer was one no one could ever forget. Now, a year later, character(s) still feel(s) the effects of that time."

Be as creative as you want and feel free to use any characters from Top Gun (1986) and/or Top Gun: Maverick (2022). Also, while the prompt says a year has passed, there is no set time your art has to be set. It can be pre-canon, post-canon, during-canon, and AU setting, etc. Whatever inspires you!

What is allowed?

Whatever you want. It can be SFW, NSFW, slash, reader insert, OC, no relationship, poly, AU, fluff, smut, angst, whump, etc.

You can also use whatever your preferred medium is to fill the prompt. Writing, artworks, GIF sets, edits, moodboards, playlists, Pinterest boards, etc. Or think out of the box and build a scene out of Legos, make a stop-motion video, draw a flipbook. Whatever inspires you and your creativity! If you created it, it counts.

And there are no minimums or maximums limits for words, time, number of GIFs, etc. Just however much or little you want to share, even if it is still a WIP.

There are only three requirements:

TAG YOUR WORK APPROPRIATELY so others can filter out what they might not be comfortable with. Each post will be checked before being reblogged, however, mistakes can be made so please tag them correctly.

You must be 18+ to participate. Due to the freedom of the event and the fact NSFW content is allowed, only those 18 or older may participate. And if your blog does not have any age indicated on it (18+, 20s, over 21, 35, etc.), your post will not be reblogged. I am very sorry to any minors hoping to participate at this time.

No AI resources can be used as part of a submission. While AI can create cool works of art, they aren't your works of art. As that is the point of this challenge, it will not be permitted.

When does the event take place?

The event will start on Saturday, May 27 and run until Saturday, June 4. However, if you can't finish in time and post after that, this blog will try its best to still reblog your work whenever you feel ready to post.

How do we submit our work?

You can do this one of two ways:

Post your work on your blog as usual and tag @tgm-all4one. Also, tag the post with #tgm all4one. It will then be reblogged here throughout the week.

Submit a post to this blog using the "Submit your papers" button in the blog header. As long as it is tagged correctly, the blog will then post it throughout the week.

There is also an AO3 collection if you prefer to share over there. Please check the FAQ page for the link.

Please check out the FAQ page if you have any questions and please feel free to reach out either through an ask or DM if you have any questions! There is also a condensed version of this post here for quick reference.

I am excited to see what everyone comes up with and happy Top Gun: Maverick anniversary!

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