#{ that's my boy: credence }

[ride-a-dromedary]

If Astarion's name were really meant to mean "little star" in DnD elvish, then it would be something more like: "Nirua"

#BG3 Musing #it's interesting to me that star boy has a decidedly human name #because it does lend credence to my astarion has been isolated or separated from his elven heritage throughout his life #theory #honestly though nirua is a super cute elf child name #sources include: 3.5e source book Races of the Wild - Dragon Magazine - and other forgotten realms book sources

[itsbeenliketenyearsitsprettywild]

Clear Shots in MILGRAM's T1 -Es Cover- videos: Magic

the fact that the amount of screen tearing/obscuration varies wildly during the Es cover videos feels important, but I don't feel like interpreting what it means. Though I am pretty sure it means something.

And honestly, if any of these videos makes that clear post-T2, it's Amane's song Magic:

(rest under readmore)

0:00-0:06 - A slow panout on Amane in front of a stage, facing it, back to the audience. Her hands are tucked behind har, fingers curled, the appendages likely touching one another but clasped together, before cutting to a closer up view of her head/shoulders.

Honestly, most Es cover videos start out with at least a few seconds of clear footage, to the point where I might just brush it off as a way to focus the audience on the screen. But, seeing as one video stands in exception to this, I can only assume that these moments are also important.

0:08 - Amane, now facing towards the audience, small smile on her face.

If you wanted, this part could instead be described as "Amane turning to the audience with a smile, but the moment of the turn itself is cut with distortion."

Aaaand it's only after that moment that the visual static becomes the norm, which only lets up at

0:52 - Amane, smiling, arms connecting above her head to make an O-shape. She's standing in front of the scene with Yuri + the animals, almost entirely obscuring Yuri from view.

....I just noticed something about this screenshot which could have Pretty Horrific symbolic weight if it was intentional, but methinks I'll leave it to y'all to figure out.

1:32 - blink-and-you-miss-it clear frame of Riyone, a nonhuman mascot-type character similar to the ones Amane has been interacting with.

Not always sure if the blink-and-you-miss-it shots are Supposed to be Significant or not due to how quick they are, but I figure it's still worth mentioning this one.

2:01-2:15 - the entire "Amane secretly takes care of the injured cat and The Mascots Are Angry" sequence, ending just before the cartoony abuse scene.

if you can't guess, it was this whole bit being unobscured (what with our Post-Purge March context) that made me pretty certain that We're Supposed to Pay Attention to Unobscured Moments.

2:29 - very quick series of three blink-and-you-miss-its of the cartoony solo amane abuse shots

Once again, very quick, but it felt like it might be worth pointing out. Especially since the alarm didn't seem to have a clear shot? (if there was and I didn't catch it, feel free to call that out)

2:36-2:38 - Amane eyes closed and praying, right before the magical girl transformation sequence.

2:47 - Magical Girl Amane with her winkyface and peace sign, holding up her tazerwand while the mascots cheer her on.

screenshotting some of these bits can be absolute hell, honestly

3:23-3:25 Blue Screen of Death Amane

Aaaand, that's it! once again, I'm not here to state what i think all of this actually means, just pointing this out as it might turn out the Es cover videos were actually made to help us better interpret what we're seeing in the videos themselves. If there's enough interest, I'd be willing to create similar posts for the other Es cover videos for people to ponder over!

#milgram #milgram project #amane momose #amane milgram #iirc the milgram creator once said that he thinks it possible to lead an audience to media literacy #if so i can imagine that the es covers were one attempt to do so #and speaking of them being ES COVERS that are supposed to help us #boy howdy is my crazy little hamsterbrain going wild with how much this would lend credence to my 'eldritch'gram theory #what with Es once again being the conduit used to better help the audience understand and interact with the fictional world itself #though that may or may not continue to be true depending on if Es's plot armor and guard role both still exist at that point

[welcometogrouchland]

What if I proposed the analysis that Belos actually has very little internal moral compass and that his veneer of righteousness has always been implied by the writers to be complete fabricated bullshit even before watching and dreaming basically confirms it.

#ramblings of a lunatic #^shes going in drafts untagged bc a) philip stans who insist on the morally misguided angle terrify me in their persistence #and b) i would have to actually rewatch episodes and whatnot #but i think i can build credence to the idea that him and caleb started off not invested in witch hunting for moral righteousness #but numb to it via cultural normalisation and THUS. had an amoral approach to the whole thing #and the only thing either of them as orphan outsiders ever really would've gained from witch hunting would've been careers and recognition #a sense that they're heroes- not in the moral sense but in the narrative sense. that they were protagonists #The Most Important Boys so to speak #the difference being Caleb at some point decided witch hunting was wrong (i.e like hunter did. grew a moral compass) #and philip still navigated the world amorally 400 years later only motivated by a petty grudge and deep buried guilt #the latter of which is nearly irrelevant to anyone who isn't philip bc clearly he priorities that grudge above it #this is just a personal petty opinion #but i honestly don't think the 'delusional and petty' angle is any less complex than the 'moral crusader' angle w/ his character #and it matches the whole 'hes a magic conservative' message way better than his motives being genuine #one day I'll rewatch that scene in WaD and see if Philip fans are onto something and I've been drinking the pond water #or if it's actually congruent with his character like I've since come to see it and like i know many saw it the first time round #anyway this is actually all for me. in drafts you go #edit: hi. it's the ladel of like. 3 weeks after i made this and put it in drafts. it's nearly 1 am rn and- in my delirium- #i have decided to publish it #i doubt it'll do much w/ regards to response bc fandom has been on the quiet side lately (tho that can always change( #plus I made a similar post insinuating the same notion and it got ZERO traction positive or negative #which tells me I'm good to just say shit for the most part (in a good natured way) #anyway. hits post cutely (i am so fucking tired)

[outlying-hyppocrate]

JESUS FUCK. AN 11 YEAR OLD CHILD HAS A CRUSH ON ME

#random thoughts #no but like. this mf is even younger than my brother. i don't even know him #he just like went up to me and asked what my name was. i told him that it was credence. and then yknow the boy or girl question #i said i was nonbinary. the dude went 'oh cool' and walked away #BUT THEN. I SAW HIM PUT A NOTE IN MY LOCKER. WHO TF DOES THAT. ALSO HOW DOES HE KNOW WHERE MY LOCKER IS #and like. he ripped up the note before i could read it and ran away #when i was leaving school he was with his friends. i think. and they were all going up to me like 'he likes you! he likes you credence!' #this child was blushing so hard. his face was all red and shit. i uh. goddamn #so anyway. an 11 year old is now simping for me. also wait. how do those kids even know me #today was wild asf #hhhhhhhhhhhh #screams

[rcsplendent]

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 -> 🍋  — lemons or lemonade? 

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐎 -> 🐯  — the eye of the tiger!

𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐊𝐒𝐄𝐈 -> 🔐  — under lock and key!

🍋  — lemons or lemonade?   for how credence windsor handles a disappointing situation, and what approach they take to being dealt unfortunate circumstances.

credence doesn't handle disappointment well, and tends to react very childishly to situations in which he finds himself jilted or treated unfairly. there's usually a lot of pouting involved, and a lot of insisting that he's fine and everything's fine, even though it's obviously not. he'll be annoyingly silent about it for a few days ( ironically, during the time where it would actually be relevant to talk about it ), and then when he's too irritated to hold it in any longer, it'll burst out of him and he'll complain to the nearest person for an hour straight, even if they never asked.

🐯  — the eye of the tiger!    a headcanon about a song that will instantly get santiago silva invigorated, and why that song elicits that reaction.

because i don't know a whole lot about early modern period music, i'm just gonna take the creative liberty and say that if there were a song to represent santiago on the battlefield, it would be FIGHT by brockhampton. he's an incredibly skilled warrior and has an unsettlingly high body count ( in the murderous sense ). he is terrifying, and i feel like if a song were to play in a cinematic fight scene of him leading his army, it would be this.

🔐  — under lock and key!    a headcanon about something in aleksei markov's private area (room, lodgings, etc.) that they keep under lock and key, and why?

aleksei doesn't have a whole lot of personal effects; he's too numb to imbue very many things with sentimental value. however, there is a small box under his bed, made out of wood and otherwise unassuming — the key to it is stashed in the bottom compartment of a ring case kept on his nightstand. within it are sketches & drawings of himself & his brothers that he did when they were children. he pulls it out occasionally when he's having one of his dissociative episodes to help ground himself, but the guilt that he feels in response to some of the drawings makes them difficult to look at sometimes, so he doesn't do it very often.

#credence windsor — headcanons. #santiago silva — headcanons. #aleksei markov — headcanons. #my boys < 3

[notroosterbradshaw]

the Relationship Experience - seven

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

six.

It was so early – well, not early by his standards, but Rooster knew it would be way too early to expect you to be awake. He squinted over his shoulder as the sun was starting to rise on the horizon, a scorcher on the cards if the burn of its climb held any credence.

He wasn’t due back for another few days, but please the right people, know the right ass to kiss to potentially get him on a plane to bring him home sooner? He'd try it if it could get him back to you quicker. It probably wouldn’t happen again, so he’d take the reprieve this time.

Hitching the flowers in the crease of his elbow from that florist you loved to drag him to when he wasn’t due on base with the sparrows, he knew walking in on the morning of Valentine’s Day was going to be tough. But he also knew most people didn’t say no to a man in uniform just wanting to buy a beautiful bunch of roses for the girl - no, woman. The woman he hadn’t seen in three months and to surprise her that morning.

Three hellishly long months.

He’d missed Christmas and New Year and he’d expected to miss today, too. But sometimes good things happen to reasonably good people, he figured. Or painfully brownnose to your superiors until you get your way. Look, he wasn’t proud of it, but hey.

He was home.

He quietly unlocked the front door and let himself in, dropping his duffle by his feet, and wandering into the familiar surroundings of your apartment. The linger of your perfume, the photo wall. He went over and said hi to his mom, tenderly tracing the frame before moving to the kitchenette for a hard-earned glass of water. He sculled it before going for seconds and tossing his gaze over his shoulder for your bedroom, quietly placing the glass in the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and subsequent buttons of his NWU, energised.

Placing his hat on the bench with his phone silenced, keys and sunglasses within it, the pull to your bedroom was purely magnetic.  

Pushing into the bedroom soundlessly, Rooster’s gaze softened, seeing your sleepy form on your side of the California King, his pillow snuggling tight against your cheek and your sinful body draped in a lone white sheet. The sexiest of sights and it took everything in his power not to rush you. Choosing to take his time, he sat at the desk seat of your bay window and unlaced his boots, placing his socks in them and tidily putting them out of the way, before removing his shirt altogether, laying it carefully over the back of the chair. He loosened his slacks, but resistance was futile. He was half-hard and wholeheartedly unabashed about it.

He had to wake you.

Moving across the room, he sat on your side of the bed and smiled to himself, allowing his fingertips to graze your supple, warm skin and he was awestruck. “My sweet girl, I’m home,” he dared whisper, his tender rasp rougher in his exhaustion.

But if he knew and boy, did he know how well you slept… it was going to take more than some sweet coos to wake you. He lowered himself to sweep the lowly sheet away from you, letting it slink down your back and the curve of your hip, prompting him to leave a wet kiss against it. He grasped a handful of your ass, massaging it in his palm and smiled when he heard you whimper and roll closer to his side, looking for his warmth even in his apparent absence.

He chuckled quietly to himself, pleased you still searched for him. 

He tried whispering your name, his mantra and reached for your hand, his lips grazing your knuckles and your fingers flexing before he placed it back on the bed and changed tack.

Hearing your gentle whimper and contorting your body into a light wriggle, Rooster bit back a smile as his tongue traced from the base of your spine towards the back of your ribs. He’d forgotten how smooth your skin was as he nuzzled some pressure into his kiss, a trail of saliva leeching between your shoulder blades.

Your murmur made him weak, but it was surely this if there was ever a right way to come home. Waking you up under his touch, his eager kiss. He was being so patient, in a way that only the last decade could teach him. But fuck, regiment be damned, all he wanted to do was wake you with his lips dipping urgently into your core, tasting you on his tongue and watching his lover, you, lose all control.

Already half undressed to his loosened slacks to ease pressure on his raging cock, he contemplated doing just that, tossing you onto your back and trapping you with your glorious thighs constricted around his ears while he devoured you, pinning you down with his strength as you pleaded for him, pleaded for his hard cock, pleaded to cum.

Three months of utter frustration pulsated in his ears, all the blood in his body located below the belt so much so that he felt like two different people:

The first who wished to wake you affectionately, kiss, caress, and fall into a slow morning of making love, showing you how much he’d missed you and how in love he was as the sun rose before falling asleep together and starting again but the second was powerful and almost feral. The second wanted to do all the things he thought about frenziedly when he found a moment of privacy, dreaming of slamming into your fervent pussy while you called for more and riding him to the rough rhythm he commanded; the head he craved so sloppy that he knew he would blow hard and fast, taking the brunt of his frustration on your body part of his choosing.

You were intoxicating, the remains of yesterday’s perfume on your skin. The tender curve of your ass that his large palm swept across elicited another subtle squirm from you. He bit back a smile; you would be writhing under him soon.

He prided himself on introducing you to the benefits of sleeping nude, something you didn’t do before him. While Rooster generally slept naked when he was at home, it was obviously not something he’d toil with while away, for obvious reasons, but he was a creature of habit and when the sleepovers started, it didn’t take long to convince you, his sweet girl, that sleep just came easier when you shared skin. Point, Bradshaw.

He would never tire of rolling over, his muscular arms searching for you, dragging you back to him and feeling your perfect ass roll with purpose against his cock, showing him you needed him during the early hours before his alarm. He’d grip your hips as he gently ground himself into you, growing harder in next to no time, and fucking you so deep while loving on you slow. Your breathy moans coaxing gentle rumbles from his chest, his voice telling you how good you were together and his mind telling him this was the real thing, and he couldn’t imagine being with someone else like this anymore.

You were his living, breathing fantasy.

“Sweet girl, wake up for me…” he whispered with a low chuckle, pushing up the bed and laying beside you to rest his head on the pillow. He brushed your messy hair from your face. Your beautiful face. He kissed the apple of your cheek, calling your name again a little louder now, his voice raw with exhaustion and desire. “I’m home.”

Watching your body twist into the mattress, he licked his lips anticipating your reaction. You’d both survived the first deployment since your lives had changed, and he needed to touch and feel you.

You rose unhurriedly, every movement fluid as you mumbled a confused “Bradley?” and dragged your head off his pillow. Blinking a few times, he tried not to laugh as you rubbed the sleep from your pretty albeit disbelieving eyes.

“Hi, baby. I’m home,” he said again, tenderly tactile as his fingertips padded your bicep to your wrist and you smiled, groggily. “I’m so happy to see you,” he said as it seemed to dawn on you that he was right before you.

“Oh, Bradley,” you scampered urgently into his arms, skin to skin just as God had intended. He missed your warmth against his and pressed a series of kisses into your jaw and clavicle as he held you close, reassuring you he was home, he was safe. “I thought I was dreaming,” you looked at him wide awake now, incredulous and still searching for signs of injury or harm, your tears reflecting in your eyes.

You didn’t know what to say, about a million questions bubbling on your lips, but you could only scramble towards his mouth and kiss him as if your life depended on it. Kiss him for getting home safely, kiss him for the days you didn’t get to kiss him at all, kiss him because you needed to remember how he tasted. And kiss him because you missed how fucking thoroughly he could kiss you. Rolling his body above yours, you laced your calves around him, hoping that if you didn’t let him go, he couldn’t disappear again.

“I’m home, sweet girl. Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much,” he found your wrists and cupped them tightly above your head, as you chased his kiss without the slightest hint of shame, and he devotedly delivered, helping relax your body back down on the mattress, his body weighing you down and fuck, how you’d missed being trapped under his remarkable, powerful body.

Without hesitation, you opened your thighs to him and although he was still dressed, he wholly let his weight release on you. He adjusted slightly to get where he needed, his hips rolled against you, the friction of his uniform eliciting a gasp from you his mind hadn’t been able to replicate when he thought about you on those cold lonely nights in the middle of the ocean.

“Fuck, I missed that sound,” he confessed, his lips leaving yours and cascading low. His breath was hot against your skin and he nuzzled your neck, burying his face into your warmth. You’d missed the tickle of his moustache as he ghosted kisses across your pulse.

“Jesus Christ,” you tenderly let your fingers lace into his soft curls and scratch at the nape of his neck. He needed a trim, and he had a rarely seen five o’clock shadow but you were lying to say you would love to see your man bearded up and a bit of length to his curls. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting in early, Bradley?”

“Where would the surprise be in that?” he asked lovingly, drizzling kisses between your breasts before resting his cheek on his favourite place to lay.

He made a good point. This wouldn’t be happening if you met him as expected. Friends, families, sailors, chaos. Not slow and delicate like this. He nudged you with his pelvis, particularly fond of that grunt you responded with. “Tell me,” he laughed quietly. “What were you dreaming about? Whatever it was had you in a bit of a state,” his big hands drifted across your forearms, biceps, and the smoothness of your breast and you leaned into it, urging him for more.  

“That you were kissing me, my back, my shoulders,” you managed, bashfully covering your face with your palms. “Was getting good too…” you admitted, a small groan escaping your mouth as he swirled his tongue around a pleading nipple.

“Oh, it was one of those kinds of dreams. My dirty, dirty girl. So sexy,” he grunted but thrilled your dreams were being fulfilled by him too. “But you weren’t dreaming,” he confided in his sexy rasp. “I wanted to give you a pleasant wake-up. It’s the least I can do with the plans I have for you today.”

“You need time to rest,” you told him, remembering how your father and grandfather would be lost to sleep the first few days upon their return from deployment but also you needed him to be turning you inside out sooner rather than later. Your knuckles caressed his rosy cheeks, turning your fingers to follow his faint scars but he was never self-conscious with you, not the way you treasured them. You’d missed the feel of the wiry-raised skin under your touch and reached up to kiss each and every one.

“Oh, baby, that is so good,” he murmured, sinking further into you. You kissed the biggest scar on his shoulder, and your hands drifted down his strong side, the thick muscles contracting as you touched him.

“You sure you’re not too sleepy, big boy?” your voice was like liquid gold to his ears as your silken tongue followed your favourite scar across his throat, his Adam’s Apple bobbing under the strain.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Hold that thought, love,” he promised you. He pulled away and you immediately missed the feel of his skin against yours, knowing your eyes were watching his every move. He moved to stand, and loosened his zip down, knowing full well that a little show to remove his slacks could turn you a little wild. Just how he loved you with that look from doe-eyed that you were home, to dark and carnal for him. He carefully shimmied the waist down, already so hard and wanting and he let his last remaining item of clothing fall, dropping his boxer briefs with his slacks. “Miss me just a little?” he asked, licking his lips as he carefully stroked himself, languid and delicate. It felt so good to know how close he was to claiming you. He heard your sweet little gasp, giving you another few moments to watch him.

You were overwhelmed by your own body heat, every nerve ending on fire. “Just a little. Your body is perfect,” you breathed, licking the side of your lip like a woman parched. You loved watching him touch himself and, on those rare occasions, when you’d shared a little mutual masturbation, you could cry out louder than if he were inside you merely from the sight alone, but that wouldn’t cut it now. You loved watching Bradley Bradshaw touch himself. He groaned a little, watching the pad of your finger circling your belly button.

You needed him. You needed to feel him drive all his strength into you, have him find the places only he knew and fuck you so good, you’d weep.

“God, you look good. Do they just lock you in the gym when you’re on the carrier to come home looking more amazing than you did the last time I saw you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “Is this what I get from the Navy as a welcome home gift after all the years of pain and disappointment?”

He hummed but couldn’t resist a giggle at your anti-Navy sentiment. “Gym relieves the tension on multiple fronts,” he admitted, a small sneer on his full lips, as he collected the pre-cum on the tip of his cock and his finger moved to your mouth, gratefully accepting it between your lips and he breathed, scared he was far too hot, too turned on, too close to ruining all this. You missed his taste, so distinctly him.

Crawling to cover you on the bed, his knees worked with his palms, holding your knees to thrust your thighs wide, cunt glistening and on display for him. “Gotta bury my cock in you. Feel how warm and soft you are again,” he professed wildly.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Gonna get you a little riled up for me first,” he chewed his lower lip, his deep tone decisive. “Eat you out as you deserve. Fuck you so deep your eyes roll back, and you’re just fuckin’ drunk on me,” he lowered his body to yours, his slippery tongue gleefully swirling around your straining nipple and he stared up at you as if you were his last meal. His gleaming sharp teeth sank into the soft flesh of your breast, your body contorting in bliss and utter defeat beneath him.

His words made you shamefully needy.

Your noises of pleasure and encouragement were just exquisite.

You pushed your chest closer to his mouth, forcing him to pay deliberate attention to your breasts, your fingers lacing behind his thick neck, your nails raking into his scorching skin to keep him there. He’d learned early on that you adored having your tits played with. He was an ass man by nature but he was easily swayed when held you from behind and cupped your breasts as he covered you, his thumb and index finger toying with your nipples until you begged for his cock, got yourself off on his fingers… or watched as you got off on your own while he fucked into you ruthlessly. “God, I’ve missed you,” you told him, voice dripping with want.

He palmed your other breast as he looked up and smiled lazily at you. “Nowhere near as close as I’ve missed you,” he nuzzled the soft skin, pressing in open-mouth kisses, his skilled tongue swirling your nipple, his honeyed eyes dark with their longing. He breathed into your skin as you almost begged. He loved nothing more than having you melting for him.

“Oh, God,” you mewled.

“Lemme take care of you for a bit, love, but tell me… did you touch yourself when I was away?” he pleaded to know the answer.

“I thought about you so much,” you admitted. “Obsessed with you,” your back curving your breast into his greedy mouth. “Couldn’t get you out of my brain.”

He hummed, pleased. What man didn’t want to hear those words? “But did you touch yourself?” Rooster kissed between your breasts, his tongue tracing to your belly button, he stared up at you with a curious gaze, eyes dancing in a way that you knew he was taunting you, awaiting your answer.

“Every night. Most mornings,” you confided. “It is hard to let you go, Bradshaw.”

He laughed into your skin. “Good girl. I hope you came hard. But I also hope it doesn't compare to the real thing.”

“Never,” you admitted. “Nothing compares to how you get me off on your perfect cock,” you traced the shell of his ear and he shuddered.

“Fuck. Tell me more…”

You took his hand tenderly. “How good these beautiful hands are, when they’re inside of me,” you patiently sucked on his index finger again, and he realised maybe… just maybe you were the one doing the taunting in the early hours of the morning. “How your slick tongue loops around my nipple and those perfect teeth bruise the flesh,” you moaned as he took note of your subtle hint, blowing his breath against the sensitive bud and watching it pucker for him as he kissed and boldly circled it with his thick tongue at your whim before giving the other the same devotion, if not more. “Jesus Christ. I could cum like this,” you accused lightly, knotting your fingers in his curls to keep him doing what he was doing with his mouth.

“Don’t you want my cock?”

“So bad,” you told him. “I’m so turned on.”

He hummed, his long finger sweeping through your slick folds and you told no lies.  “Jesus Christ. But you don’t get to cum yet,” he moved his lips away from your nipple and you flopped back into the pillow, a little deflated.

He huffed a laugh, his tongue tracing your ribs. “I know you’re not working this morning. So, I’m gonna fuck you for hours. And then hours after that.”

The sound that escaped you was almost inhuman. “But shouldn’t I be taking care of you?” you asked incredulously as he moved to his belly on the bed, roughly spreading your legs wide for him and nuzzling at your clit, reacquainting himself with you.

“Sweet girl, this isn’t about me… yet,” he muttered, his long fingers stroking the soft skin of your labia. “I love goin’ down on you so fuckin’ much,” he said more to himself. He was showing the restraint of a saint, but for all his faults, he knew this guaranteed him going straight to heaven.

Rooster’s sex drive was notorious, and his cock was above average, how the fuck else did he get his call sign? Well, it wasn’t that straightforward but the mix of wanton needs and fucking hating early mornings despite the requirement, it was interchangeable. He let people make their own assumptions, but only a few knew. Like you. “Lay back and do as you're told.”

“You’ve been at sea for months,” you tried, breath hitching as his lips nipped against the soft skin on your inner thighs. “Roost – Bradley,” your tone is a mixture of warning and lascivious need.

His eyes changed as he stared up at you, a mix of want and desire laced within the gold and honey of his colour. “You’ll make it up to me, but you just looked so pretty, love, sprawled out under the sheets, naked, soft. Those sounds you were making while I kissed you made me so fuckin’ hard,” he confided, his kiss wet as he directed his attention to your clit. “Nothing compares to being here with you.”

Your hips vaulted off the mattress almost immediately, and he used his strong hands to keep you pinned down to take everything he was offering you. His tongue traced the slick already formed, at home with a taste he knew so well.

“Bradley,” you almost chastised as your head lolled back and your nails raked into his brawny shoulders. “I want to feel you in me, I want you to feel me cum.”

“Plenty of time for that,” he shushed you, his tongue swirling at your clit, lapping up the juices that were making the most obscene sounds with his tongue. He had never been so turned on and declining to fuck you immediately was one of the hardest things he’d ever said no to, and he never ever said no to you. He smiled wickedly, feeling that familiar tremble in your thighs as he knew you were closing in on what he hoped was a really fuckin’ good orgasm, gagging to explode. Your moans, the way you squirmed beneath him, thrusting towards his mouth desperate to take all he had to offer.

“Bradley…” you drawled, the bliss in your tone turning him to jelly.

“Love,” he acknowledged, sliding his fingers in and adding to the ruthless assault.

“I missed this,” your breathing hitched as his talented fingers crooked inside you, finding that magical spot and you cursed, the pressure building in your stomach, tensing, flexing, forcing him to use his strength to keep you on your back.

“You ready to cum for me?” he asked in that rasp, thicker and dire with longing. “God, you’re a sight,” he murmured, his tongue darting out and circling your clit, dark eyes not leaving your form. He groaned, your fingers tugging at his now mussed curls. No longer a gentleman, just a man waiting for his woman to fall apart for him.

“Bradley,” you managed.

“Come on,” he growled. “Let your fuckin’ neighbours know your man is home.”

You managed a grin as he released your thighs and let your pussy grind into his eager mouth. Holy shit, he was incredible. A God of a man… and all yours. All fucking yours. It was enough to make you crack, the pressure on your senses overtaking you as you threatened to cum messily.

Your voice didn’t call to him as feral as you felt, but you breathed his name out as you gripped his strong, muscular shoulders and let go, your orgasm ripping through your body like an earthquake. Your body was on high alert as he greedily lapped up all you gave him.

“Thatta girl, just like that. Fuck, you look so good,” he murmured, banking the memory of you coming undone and all under his power. The way your body moved and quaked, Jesus Christ, he would bottle it if he could. “That’s my sweet girl,” he mumbled, awed, as you fell back against the pillows, blissed out… just how he liked it. He pressed against your tummy, his lips leaving your dripping core and travelling back up your torso, sweeping a path of your slick and his saliva against your blistering skin. He revelled in the explosions and goose pimples splaying across your skin as his lips moved over it. “Yes, love, I know,” he said as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, and he gazed at you with soft eyes as his tongue skimmed your throat. Wet kisses continued as he devoured between your breasts, the sensations on your skin too much as you writhed with sensitivity. “You did so good, love.”

Love. There it was again. He hadn’t really called you that before; you’d heard it thrice, maybe more, in quick succession. To say you were fond of it was an understatement. You were so used to being his Sweet Girl… but you craved to be his Love. The rumble of it off his tongue was unimaginable.

“Tell me what you need,” you begged him. “I’ll do anything,” you gingerly pulled yourself off the bed and rolled him over, really seeing him for the first time since he got home. Sweet, kind, funny Bradley Bradshaw. You raffled off those positions he adored most, which brought you as much pleasure as him. “Be selfish, Bradley. Tell me what you want,” you pleaded with him.

He breathed deeply. “Be selfish…” he repeated. He was never asked to be selfish, your divine voice clouding his judgement as he pulled you to his waist, exhaustion be damned.

“Want me to ride you, big boy?” you offered, moving to straddle his powerful quads, taking his leaking cock in your earnest palms, your thumb circling around the tip. He hissed, eyes fluttering closed as you lightly worked him. He let you disarm him for a minute or two, your skilled hands knowing exactly how he needed to be touched. The right pressure, the right speed. His murmurs quiet and abs clenched as he tried to hold it together. He didn’t want to cum like this. He shook his head slowly and sat up, you were face to face. “Blow you?”

He said a quiet no as you continued to palm his thick, long cock melodiously. “Fuck,” he breathed through his nose. “That feels good. Three months… too damn long.”

“I know, baby,” you agreed. “Doggy?” you offered, and he shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Plain, old missionary?” you goaded when you didn’t get a response. You felt his cock twitch and knew he would cum if you kept up your ministrations.

He bit back a smile. “Baby… just sit where you are and be with me,” he ordered quietly, releasing your hands and guiding himself into you, fully sheathed as you both preened to the new feeling. It had been too long for you both. He sat up and lengthened his long, strong legs before him. You were face to face and you crept to your knees.

It was an unbreakable moment and you’d never felt more adored as he tenderly grasped your chin and brought you closer to kiss your forehead. “Just still, you and me.”

You held his face softly in your hands and searched his handsome features. “Just still,” you repeated, a gasp escaping your lips as you resisted moving and keeping your promise to him. “Tell me… you’re okay, baby?”

While the impression of a grin didn’t spread wide across his handsome features, the affection in his eyes didn’t lie. “I’m fan-fucking-tastic, sweet girl. Safe and sound,” he replied with a quiet quiver in his voice as he strained to remain within you, cool and calm.

And it had been so long that he’d felt like someone genuinely missed him. Your adoration for him was palpable and almost overwhelmed him. “I’m so happy you’re home. While you were gone, everything was just so…” your voice trailed off.

“Just so, huh?” his lip quivered as he licked back a smirk.

“Just so,” you established, unable to consider the words. You combed your fingers through his unkempt curls and laced your hands behind his neck, massaging his solid traps. He smiled, his face nearing yours.

“I don’t apologise,” he laughed wholly against your lips before kissing you. “I’ll never apologise for that.”

“I’d never want you to,” you replied as he adjusted his posture and found a spot deep inside that spoke deeply to you. “Fuck, this feels so good. You feel bigger than I remember.”

“Compliments like that will get you far, kid. Just go with it. I know it’s a lot,” he talked you through it. “Gonna make everything better, I promise.”

“You’re holding out on me,” you gave a watery sigh.

“Stamina,” he shrugged, arrogantly. Rooster rarely reminded you about the threshold of his physical limits. You knew, but Jesus, there was no keeping a good man down. “Behave, and you might get what you deserve.”

“I dread to think,” your eyes closing of their own volition. “Fuck, I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can do this,” he whispered, brushing away a single tear from your sweltering cheek.

“No, I need to move or something, Bradley. Anything,” you whined.

Rooster chuckled, a deep grumble rising from his belly, and you could feel it exponentially. His laughter into your skin as you relaxed your weight on him, exactly what he wanted as you rested for forehead on his brawny shoulder, but it didn’t soothe any desire for you. “That’s my girl,” he said, swallowing hard. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

“I’m trying so hard not to cum and you’re not even moving,” you blinked through tears that threatened as he felt your pussy flutter around him. He sighed, his heart racing. “Everything is in hyper colour.”

“I know, baby,” he grasped your chin and moved to kiss you again. “You’re doing beautifully.”

“Please fuck me, Bradley. I need you,” you begged. “I can’t do this.”

“Just a little while longer, baby. I’m not hurting you?”

“No,” you kissed him, you wanted to devour him. “Definitely not hurting me, just feels too damn good.”

Without responding, his body kicked into gear, his pelvis pressing up and his cock burying itself deeply as you cried out, leaning back and resting a palm on the bed to move to an angle that made him just that more godly. “That’s good,” he instructed, raising your hips to rest against his powerful thighs as his hips rolled sinfully slow. “I want you to touch yourself.”

And who were you to argue? You knew his eyes were glued to your body as he continued thrusting into you methodically, you needed the respite. But if he wanted to be teased, that’s what you’d give him, your free palm gripping your at your breasts, pressing and pulling against your nipples as you met his thrusts. You could cum as you were and sucked in a sharp breath, hoping to hold out a little longer for him. His eyes were keenly on where your bodies met and he groaned as your fingers followed down your belly, opening yourself to him and swirling at your clit.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” he asked, his hips speeding and pushing up into you. “Get yourself there, love. I wanna see you cum again. You’re so wet, can’t last,” he chewed his lip, watching your hand play with your pretty pussy. “So close, you’re so tight. Little more, love,” he cursed as you started to crumble, your cunt pulsating around him like a vice grip, the tremours bringing out the raw side of him and he fucked you madly, harder, rougher, wanting to take as much of you for himself.

“Bradley,” you panted, his name falling from your lips like a song as he licked his fingers and reached to furiously rub your clit with your own, sending you over the edge, your body shuddering uncontrollably and coating his cock with your slick juices. He cursed and his hips stuttered, pounding into you roughly as came viciously, milking his cock with all you had. He didn’t think he’s cum so hard, your body dragging out his orgasm until you were both spent. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed a litany of curses as he pulled you to sit up and collapse against him, exhausted. He smoothed your hair back and tried to collect himself although the way you were licking and caressing his clavicle and that vein that ran down his neck, he almost forgot his goddamn name, his body sensitive in the afterglow. “I love you; I love you so fuckin’ much it makes me crazy,” he admitted as you clasped his face demanding, your tongue sweeping against his lips to kiss him roughly.

“I love you so much, Bradley. I could cum for you all day,” you swore as he giggled quietly against your lips.

“I’m holding you to that today, sweet girl,” he eased you back and his tongue darted out to swirl around your nipple. Jolts of pleasure shot through your body as you crudely raked his messy hair.

“Stop teasing,” you pleaded with him as he started to regulate his breathing.

“Can’t. It’ll be merciless all day, and tomorrow and every day after that. Want your body in every position we can conjure up.”

“Have I got you for a few days before you’re back on base?” you asked nervously, wrapping your arms around his shoulders like he could slip away at any moment. You needed him close and weren’t going to let him go easily.

“Few days,” he said softly, kissing your lips tenderly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweet girl.”

“Oh,” you said, staggered. Like it had even occurred to you what day it was when he wasn’t around. Christmas and New Year passed in a haze; you flat-out refused a single thought of Valentine's Day without him… and here he was before you. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bradley Bradshaw. This is all I could ever want or need,” you said affectionately. He was exquisite as his cheeks flushed.

“Hold that thought,” he said, reaching for his boxers and going to catch the mess of your lovemaking. He tidied you up like always, without hesitation.

“Such a gentleman,” you baited as he winked.

“Least I can do. Be right back,” he figured before he popped up and left the room. You sighed and moved up the bed, snuggling into the pillows, pulling the lone sheet back up your body and trying to avoid the morning chill in the room. He reappeared a moment later, water in hand, a bouquet of multicoloured roses in the other and you could feel your grin spread across your face. “Where - how did you get them?” you asked suspiciously as he offered you the glass first and you took an enthusiastic gulp. He laughed, as he wiped away the dribble that escaped your lips.

“The florist you like,” he admitted. “But don’t ask how I managed to wrangle roses on Valentine’s Day.”

“You wore your uniform,” you didn’t even have to think about it. “Who says no to a man in uniform?”

He shrugged, handing them to you. “Not many,” he rubbed the back of his neck, bashfully before moving to his side of the bed. “I’m so glad to be home.”

You put the glass and flowers on the bedside table and wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him as if your lives depended on it. “You’re the love of my life, Rooster Bradshaw.”

He hummed. “Same, sweet girl,” he kissed you again; before you knew it, it was round two.

…that fucking 1 per cent.

A while later, finally mobile after hours in bed, you watched Bradley put together the best he could with the fruit and soft cheese you were going to spoil yourself with later that night (it wasn’t grocery day and you weren’t expecting to have to feed him too, you protested and he cackled).

But he was ravenous, and while sexy, a hangry Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t pleasant. So after a shared shower, you tossed on a tee while he was left with a pair of his boxer briefs he must have left accidentally and you’d found a few months back that you’d washed so they were ready for exceptions just like this.

A mix of 60’s Motown played quietly and while you’d always loved it, he’d helped you appreciate it so much more.

You muttered the lyrics to Smokey Robinson’s ‘Tracks of My Tears’ quietly while playing with a hole in the threadbare NAVY tank you wore, Bradley’s toe-tapping with the beat, muscles in his back and shoulders like poetry in motion as he pottered.

He looked stronger, broader, and tanner, you noted as you sat on the bench, watching him work intently. You didn’t reckon you’d ever felt like this. So drawn to someone, it scared you. And rightfully so. Rooster was everything you didn’t want to fall for. High-risk job, away so often, the Navy. But you’d never felt so confident in love either. You were so in love with Bradley Bradshaw. He had changed you; and for the better.

You smiled as he approached with a strawberry in his fingertips. “Open…”

You did as he instructed, chewing gently on his finger teasing, the sweetness of the berry a sudden craving. His eyebrow quirked. “Good?”

You nodded, completely transfixed over him. You pulled a knee to your chest, resting your heel on the bench. Eyes watching him, doting. “Delicious.”

“More?”

“Yes, please,” you replied softly and he brought the plate over to share, standing between your legs, holding a strawberry between his gleaming teeth. It was so fucking cheesy, but it was an excuse to kiss him. You managed to keep your hands to yourself as you stretched for his lips, teeth darting for the fruit and took a careful bite and his lips tenderly caught yours. You sighed into the kiss as he dragged you to him, his strong palm wide and flat against your lower back.

“I’m so glad to be home,” he confided. Of course you knew, but his tone was different. “I was away longer than we’ve been together.”

You knew, dear God, you knew. You’d always been impatient by nature, a direct causation from your father and grandpa doing this too… and it never got easier. You’d learned to know days, hours, minutes and seconds intimately. It made you appreciate the time to yourself, but in the past, you’d find ways to amuse yourself, like packing your bags and just getting out of the confines of your four walls. These days, like you’d told Bradley earlier, everything was just so. Just morning, just afternoon, just time for bed. And you shrugged gently, mostly for his benefit. “Nature of the beast,” you hummed.

He nodded faintly. “Baby, I’m being recalled to Top Gun next week. There are about 12 grads being brought in. High stakes but no one are really talkin’ much. I’m going to probably ship out in a month or so.”

You nodded again. Fuck... “Okay, sweetheart,” you answered, just like you were trained to make it easier on the men in your life. But your palms were suddenly clammy, your heart was pounding, blood pulsating in your ears and your anxiety was bubbling roughly under the surface. You knew what this meant, you knew it all too well. Grandpa used to put these highly specialised operational teams together when you were growing up. You’d never forget his guilt when parts of the detachment didn’t come home. It still lived deeply with him. 

He sighed, his palm running down the side of your face and forcing your gaze to his. “But I’m taking some extended time off after that, okay? I’d really like us to go somewhere. Escape San Diego. Drive to Mexico, get on a fucking plane to Hawaii, fuckin’ Alaska, I don’t care. Just you and me. No one else.”

He’d spat out a lot in a space of ten seconds. Top Gun, high stakes. A vacation. His train of consciousness confused you but you nodded because you figured it was what he needed. “Okay, whatever you want. That sounds amazing. Beach.”

He gave a faint grin, not really surprised by your vote. “Take you anywhere you wanna go. But just us.”

His stipulation was easy to agree to. “Okay,” you cupped his flushed cheek as he burrowed into your touch. You pulled him to you and held him close. You’d learnt this in the short time you’d known him that he craved being held and you would pull him into your arms anytime he needed it... and those times you did too. “Us.”

“Anywhere you want, okay?” He rested his forehead against yours as the song changed and a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes. He helped you from the bench top and pulled you into his strong, protective arms. “I love this song.”

Otis Redding, These Arms of Mine.

“Me, too,” you said like a secret as he lowered you to the floor. You watched him expectedly and took your hand in his, pressing it against his rapidly beating heart. His hand on your back guided you that one step further so that your bodies were flush against each other. He moved so fluidly, it only made you appreciate his body more.

He rested his chin on your hair, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “The absolute goddamn desire. I think I know exactly how it feels,” he said quietly. “I definitely get the loneliness part. You know,” he paused, waiting for the line. “These arms of mine, they are burning, burning from wanting you. These arms of mine, they are wanting, wanting to hold you,” he sang lowly and you’d be lying to say you didn’t feel like you were falling just a little deeper. And you didn’t know how much deeper you could get.

“I dreamed of you every night I was away, I couldn’t get you out of my brain,” he confided, loosening his arms from his hold you around the waist, skilfully dipping you. You wrapped your leg around him, keeping him there. He’d make sure you didn’t fall. 

You were familiar. “It’s going to be so hard,” you blinked back tears although you were in his arms, already fearing the next deployment and the distance it brought.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he tenderly kissed you, tightening his hold just that little more. “I will always come back to you.”

“It scares me what you do, Bradley. It’s a different scary than Grandpa and Dad…” you buried your face in his chest, not daring to meet his eyes. He hummed to the affirmatory. It was palpable how terrified you were for him. He didn’t know how to reassure you that he would be fine, he’d done this for years. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

He sighed heavily and guided your eyes to his. “You’ll never have to wonder, okay? Oh, baby,” he said, thumbing away a stray tear. He kissed you tenderly, putting all his reassurance and devotion into it. “Don’t cry. I’m here now, let’s make the best of this time,” with that, he stood you up and started to sway you again, nuzzling his nose from the curve of your ear to your jaw. He gently tipped your chin, allowing him access to drop hot, wet kisses against your flushed skin and he knew he heard you moan quietly. “Just play out the rest of the song with me, okay?” he instructed, his large palms caressing down your side, pressing your waist into his.

For a moment, you forgot everything, your brain short-circuiting on his strength, scent and tone. “I love you,” you breathed as he slipped his palm under your thighs and hitched you without warning or effort into his powerful arms. He eased you back against the bench and god, you’d forgotten how good it was to just kiss him. The tickle of his moustache and rub of his stubble against your cheeks, something devilishly sexy, so used to his baby-soft skin and the occasional rupture of scars, his tongue smooth against yours, laced in desperation. Your hands followed the ridges and peaks of his torso and back, making him smile against your lips as you tickled him. “Take me to bed, big boy,” you whispered.

“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,” he murmured against your lips and carried you away.

You were so carried away.

“Love, you here?” The front door slammed and you jumped, grasping at your cold, old heart. A very unlike Bradley Bradshaw entrance.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered to yourself. “Couch,” you called to him, his heavy boots clunking down the hallway before he appeared, face hard, flight suit to his waist, dark undershirt saturated, curls dripping, biceps defined. He didn’t shower at work, you noted. He never came home in his flight suit if he could help it, choosing to leave work at work. He tossed his keys, phone and glasses on the bench and crossed his arms, not daring to approach you. “Bradley, you gave me a fucking heart attack,” you exclaimed with a nervous laugh, standing to greet him and break the tension with some comedy. “Dinner is staying warm in the oven. I didn’t expect you to be so late, baby.”

“Me either, I’m sorry,” he stood before you, stoic, hard. Angry. No, apoplectic. A silent white rage you’d never seen from him before, you could feel it radiate, just pouring off his skin. You should have been concerned he was wearing a face of stone, and truthfully, you’d never seen him so upset. But also? It was simply divine. He was very sexy when he was gruff. All muscles and sweat and muscles. Was he angry at you? Fuck, back up a minute.

“Are you okay?” You asked, confused and maybe a little fearful of his answer. You took his calloused hands in yours, clutching them tightly and forced his dark eyes to yours. “Talk to me, Bradley. Did something happen?”

He’d left this morning upbeat and excited, looking forward to whatever the day promised him with his new detachment. But your blood ran cold with his answer. “Yeah,” he nodded, staring down at you, jaw tight, voice chillingly even. “Mav is back.”

epilogue.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x 

#love is in the air tgm #notroosterbradshaw #rooster #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster smut #bradley bradshaw smut #top gun smut #top gun fanfiction #top gun rooster #top gun fluff #rooster fanfic #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster angst

[raisedbythetv89]

No, but like…FAMOUSLY not just in Buffy, but every universe that has spells and magic, real love CANNOT be manufactured or duplicated by magic. Only twisted obsession/infatuation like what we see in Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.

But in “Something Blue” Buffy literally says once the spell is over and she’s talking to Willow “I loved him, we were betrothed” in a spell whose specifications had only to do with marriage which would only change them from being enemies to allies, which then allowed all their suppressed and ignored feelings to come to the surface that they could NOT act on before when the other person was supposed to bring about their death.

And I’m not saying full deep romantic season 7 and beyond love but they clearly CARE about each other and are extremely attracted to each other, in lust if you will…and must have been for a while. Giving SO MUCH credence to neither of them ever succeeding at killing each other because deep down they genuinely never wanted to. (yeah yeah plot armor but so much of the time when one of them got away it was really WAY too easy like they could have at least made it so both of them were always just BARELY getting away by the skin of their teeth instead of how many times one of them really just lets the other go after exchanging a few punches like 😹 they weren’t even TRYING after a while and to me “Something Blue” proves it’s because they do not want to kill each other because they are crushing SO HARD. Because also in season 2 when they make the truce literally FIVE MINUTES LATER Buffy leaves Spike alone with her mother while she’s on the phone. The amount of trust that demonstrates is actually insane especially when you combine it with the fact that Buffy doesn’t do a disinvite spell after he leaves town OR comes back in season 3 & 4. And plot armor or not, them never killing each other becomes part of the lore and informs the motivation of the characters because that’s just how fiction works! 🤷🏼‍♀️)

I mean just look at these two love sick idiots

I MEAN….Buffy’s face when her immortal and extremely durable vampire just gets tossed across the room?? She goes into slayer overdrive, swiftly taking care of the two demons she was fighting to run over and check on him exactly like she does so many times in season 7 because that’s her vampire!!!

We see them so happy and in love - literally the happiest we’ve ever seen Buffy and then the show tries to tell us “it wasn’t even nice” because what? They bickered?? You mean they actually SAID what was on their minds and talked about it and then comforted the other when they were sad instead of bottling it all up or being evasive of topics that would cause fights and Buffy would tell Spike lovingly to shut up when he was being dumb??? OH NO THE HORROR!!

And what really is the cherry on top for me is the “wind beneath my wings” bit because Buffy blames the spell while her body language and face clearly says it was NOT the spell, that was all Buffy. Which opens the door for us to question just how much was what we saw because of the spell’s influence vs the real Spike and Buffy just completely uninhibited by their status of an engaged couple???

Especially when this supposed engagement to a “bad boy” who was helpful to her watcher, extremely caring and loving towards her in front of all her friends and when xander says something mean spike is SO HURT and he’s like “that’s it! You’re off the usher list!” Like oh yes THE BIG BAD INDEED 💀 but Buffy claims being engaged to a Spike “gets her over her bad boy thing because it wasn’t even nice” ….. GURL you are running for the hills to seemingly “normal” captain cardboard because you LOVED being engaged to the slayer of slayers and that scared the absolute shit out of you and you were like I need to do something to convince myself I’m normal and not the kind of girl who would be into Spike IMMEDIATELY 💀 and then avoids Spike for the next several episodes while Spike is always asking where she is for Buffy to achieve maximum avoidant/suppression of feelings possible 😹😹😹

And the way Spike NEVER teases her about it afterwards like he did with the “wind beneath my wings” bit at the end of the episode to me is so telling of the importance it held for him too that he never used everything he must have learned about her at that time or never even taunted Riley about the fact that the Slayer was all over him when her and Riley had first started dating because let’s be honest that would be SUCH a Spike thing to do. Like???? They have been so into and conflicted about each other for a LONGGG time and I honestly cannot be convinced otherwise 😹

#they’re actually madly in love your honor #spuffy #something blue #spike and buffy

[luvmist]

GRAVE, PART TWO! ♡ (2.2k) part one.

ao’nung x f! reader.

COMPENDIUM: when secrecy begins to turn potent love into a wilting flower.

WARNINGS: kissing, cussing, fluff and angst.

LOLA SAYS: bit of a necessary filler before the real meat of the story comes into play. i hate this so please leave some constructive criticism. reblogs are also deeply appreciated.

your hands tremble as you intertwine three strands of dried sea grass together. your breathing ragged, as another piercing gash of pain struck though your chest. alone on the sand, in the dark. wondering how it had all lead to this. crying harder, you tug the necklace off your throat — shells and stones came flying off as well as the clasp. you stare at what you’ve done. then, you stand. leaving the remains of it on the shore. the waves will take it, as they took him. it was all over now.

but i’m getting ahead of myself. allow me to divulge into the ever so tumultuous tale of how you got yourself here, in the first place.

“marek? fucking, marek?” ao’nung was pissed.

“what was i supposed to say? it was the best i could come up with.” so were you.

“sure, or here is an idea. you could’ve told them the damn truth!” ao’nungs most favoured eminent statement he had repeated perhaps a dozen times within the precedent nine minutes.

this fight wasn’t going anywhere.

you’d never seen ao’nung so livid. typically, in times of conflict — he was relaxed. composed and stoic. staring down his opposer and indulging in ample beats to elect his proceeding words. now, he was agitated. sweating, rasping, desperately imploring you to hear him. to see him.

you had other ideas. “i won’t ao’nung. i won’t lose my family.” his face creased in a despicable manner. he was aching. “i cannot take what i did back. i know this. but please. your family will come around. they must.” his fists were clenched. his gaze, full of self loathing. it was like he was trying to convince himself. he wasn’t that bad, was he? “ao’nung. look at me.” you interject. he does. “i told you what this was from the start. we die with this. if you want me. you can only have me in secret.” his anger arose once more. “that does not mean you had to go and tell your brothers that you are with marek.” he spoke the boys name as if it were venomous. seething with refutation. his jaw was clenching. he was huffing. moving closer. “i could not have said anything else. telling them the necklace was from tsireya or kiri would not have explained the secrecy.” your eyes brimmed with tears. silence filled the marui. he put his big, calloused hands on your face. bringing you closer. you looked up at him. “fine. we’ll make it work then.” he strained. his words were hollow. desperate, meaningless words from a tired man. his face discredited his truce and underlined the falseness of his acceptance. anguished words from a despaired boy. clinging so urgently to what you had. to you. he was lying. he didn’t want to do this anymore. yet, you mirrored him. you as well, were a demoralised and exhausted girl. thus, you professed. made as if you gave him any credence, and nodded. he pressed his lips to yours — hard. an affirmation, an alleviation. to the grave. why did this feel like goodbye?

contrary to ao’nungs hellish distate, marek was a decent guy. excellent hunter, friendly, cordial. much esteemed by the metkayina. most importantly, he possessed the approval of your family. telling neteyam you and marek were courting was a rash decision. while listening to your siblings ululate and whoop at the counterfeit communiqué was insufferable — the consequences of this aforementioned action bore far heavier consequences. for starters, after the festivities took place, you had to go find marek. explain the situation, get him on board and cross your fingers in a slumbering prayer that he would keep your secret. to summarise it briefly — it went a little like this.

“huh? you told your family what now?” marek’s amusement should have served as reassurance, but it was rather aggravating given the position you were in. “yes, okay. i understand this situation may seem ridiculous, comical even. but i need to know if you’ll help me.” you reply curtly. “i don’t know, yn. might ruin my good boy reputation. being seen around with a fire cracker like yourself.” his side smile faltered when he saw the look of pure defeat you had plastered on your face. he could tell too, you were incredibly tired. “i’ll do it.” he nodded. a sigh of relief you didn’t know you had been holding escaped your lips and for the first time in hours, you allowed your shoulders to slump. “thank you, shit. thank you.” when you opened your eyes you were met with a peculiar peer. marek had stopped polishing the ilu riding geer, and stilled his hands. “look i know it’s none of my business but are you sure your family will–” you don’t let him finish, “marek. please. don’t.” he nods again in acknowledgement, this time looking at his feet. “so you’ll really do it?” you break the silence. marek’s bright smile returns on cue, “sure, i have some time to kill.” grateful, you hug him. he returns it with one arm, rubbing the small of your back. you really needed a hug.

the lie was told. you, marek and a very frustrated ao’nung set some ground rules. a summary is of this is simply unecessary because the vast majority of the interaction consisted of you pushing at ao’nungs chest to keep his fist away from a chipper and upbeat marek. he made sure to mumble “fuckin’ hate perky people” four times not so under his breath. a little to release, and you think a little to underline how different him and marek were. a silent hope that you’d forever prefer him over the boy. you would. oh, but if only others would too.

invites and redundant swooning flooded the next week of your life like a fountain of torment unleashed of restriction. a new pair, one day to be mated. how dazzling. you quite literally wanted to disappear. your siblings, always insisting you bring marek along to any given activity they could possibly conjure into existence. neteyam and lo’ak were keen from the beginning, but there was conflict between you and kiri after the data disclosure. justly, she was upset you hadn’t told her. it took her a few days to get over it.

during hang outs, marek would sling an arm over your shoulder, stand next to you. that’s as much physical contact as ao’nung was willing to allow. although, willing is rather potent term. ao’nung kept his eyes locked on you both every minute of it. watching neteyam laugh with marek, his jealousy spiked. neteyam was all over marek, eager to get acquainted with his little sister’s future mate. making brotherly jokes, asking questions, getting protective and warning marek that if he hurt you he’d tie his tail into a knot. all ao’nung could think was that it should be him. it should be him getting to know your family, it should be him with him with an arm around you, laughing as kiri told him your embarrassing childhood stories. despite insisting to be there every time you were all together, he wouldn’t say a word. chest puffed up and arms crossed. his eyes full of something noxious. regret, envy, pain. a lethal combination. to say the least, the lie was difficult to keep up with.

marek was a good sport. he was extroverted, likeable and easy to communicate with. all qualities that ao’nung did not possess. marek was amiable. organically positive, a light hearted guy. particularly good spirited. you couldn’t stand him. the urge to roll your eyes every time his affable dialogue erupted into song with absolutely each and every person you would cross paths with was becoming unfathomably ardent. finally, the walk of shame had come to it’s termination. you had arrived at your marui. “well, i think today went good.” marek smiled at you. you thought you might vomit. shame, poor boy. “yeah. thank you again.”

when eclipse ultimately came to beckon the day to its end, you were finally freed. lying on ao’nungs chest. his tact felt so different. he was always so, so tense. heartbeat racing, not with excitement — but with the turbulence of his distress. you let your fingers graze over his stomach. he had lost weight. guilt plagued your heart. “what is this doing to us?” you whispered into his skin. he looked down at you. his churning countenance causing your eyebrows to furrow. “you only look good with me.” he stated sternly. his lips were in a tight line. “i know that. you think i enjoy this? any of it? i can’t stand guys like marek. you don’t need to convince me.” you say. exasperated. pretending there were no problems only indented a void between the two of you. ao’nungs eyes soften for the first time in what feels like forever. he sits up, and by effect of aftermath, you do too. “thank, eywa!” he gasps, throwing his head back and laughing. how you missed that booming, boyish laugh. “i was worried, my love. worried that you might end up preferring him. i know i am not as he is.” you smiled sweetly, the reverberations of that energy were ramified with the saccharine gesture of ao’nung smiling back at you. “are you kidding? do you have any idea how thankful i am that you are not as he is? i never would have fallen in love with you.” ao’nung tilted his head as he listened. his eyes glazed with honeyed affection. “walking with him is the worst part–” you stop to giggle, “that boy is friends with everyone! he is nice to people he is not even close with. honestly a nightmare.” ao’nung releases a content sigh. “so you would not rather a go lucky boyfriend like him?” he asks, a glint of insecurity shimmering behind his smile. “never that.” you rub the back of his wrist reassuringly. you feel his hands under your thighs as he tugs you onto his lap. “yeah?” he was smirking now. you put your hands around his neck, playing with the baby curls at the back of his scalp. “you are my only.” he kissed you, he kissed you like a man starved. his tongue evoking the stars to descend and decorate your cheeks. you stayed like this, bathing in the shine of being alive in one another. but eywa had different plans. your limbs entangled as he hauled you into his feathered rib cage, inking his finger prints into your torso — the actions were possible, passionate. but for how much longer still? he was growing tired. his bones were withering from the rotting burden of secrecy.

that following afternoon, carving drift wood by the docks. neteyam was sat beside you, as he skilfully engraved shapes into the pot he was sculpting, he spoke. “listen, about marek.” you rolled your eyes. marek was all anyone wanted to talk about. “are you sure about him?” neteyam finished. you snapped you head in his direction. “what? i thought you liked the guy.” you all but exclaimed. “i do.” he responds cooly. “then what’s this about?” you demand again. “i don’t know, just doesn’t seem like your kind of guy. that’s all. always saw you with someone a little more–” “standoffish?” you inquire. “i was going for reserved. but i guess standoffish, sure. a guy who values exclusivity. someone less… approachable? you were always fond of feeling special.” you raised your eyebrows. your brother knew you well. “but as long as you’re happy, yn. honest. just remember picking a mate doesn’t have to be about making us happy.” you smiled. a true, warm smile. “thank you, brother.”

you pressed a kiss to his cheek. and flew to your feet. you had to find ao’nung. running past the docks and through, you finally reached the peer. you spot him. standing in the water with a tsurak. stroking the animal’s spiked spine. and making his calling sounds, probably attempting to attract more. he had riding geer slung over his shoulder. when you reach the water the splashing makes him turn. “ma ao’nung!” his face scrunches up before he’s catching you mid fall. what were you doing here, hands on him, in broad day light? “i have an idea.” you beamed. “we’re going to tell them?” ao’nung lit up with hope. “what? no way. i was just thinking i could end things with marek now. i have an excuse.” ao’nung didn’t attempt to hide his disappointment. turning his body away from you he let out a passive “ah.” you pulled away from him too. “thought you’d be happy.” it came out a lot more aggressive than you meant it to. “i’m sick of this now.” his voice became low. he was practically growling. “don’t be that way, come on.” you press a kiss to the side of his mouth. he was about to say something, when suddenly his eyes widened. horror, relief, shock. and horror again. you shifted to look where he was looking. tsireya. tsireya holding a basket full of shells not 3 feet away from both of you on the shore, her mouth was agape in stupefaction. her jaw may as well have hit the sand. with a thump, she drops the basket. and dashes to her left. you and ao’nung swiftly snap your heads to look at each other. shit. what now?

#ao’nung x reader #lo’ak fluff #ao’nung #lo’ak headcannons #avatar fic #neteyam fluff #neteyam x reader #avatar masterlist #ao’nung x you #ao’nung x y/n #avatar the way of water #avatar rotxo #tsireya x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x y/n #jake sully x you #rotxo imagine #rotxo fluff #rotxo x reader #rotxo x you #neteyam x you #neytiri x reader #neytiri #atwow fluff #atwow headcanons #atwow fanfiction #atwow spider #atwow ao'nung #metkayina #omaticaya

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

You were on your knees with your head laying down on the side of the hospital bed holding onto the cold hand of the now deceased Credence Barebone.

Credence lost his battle of his frail health. The handsome young boy was lucky to have died age twenty one. He should have died when he was born and you knew you should not complain. And be feel lucky to have met him. But, it was not enough. Never enough.

You caught him staring at you with longing. You knew what he wanted from you. So did Grindelwald, your husband.

Credence was out under a curse, his flesh would burn whenever he touches you.

Now that he is deceased, his skin is cold as ice.

Grindelwald watched silently as you mope and whine pathetically. One leg was crossed and placed on his other knee as he sat on the chair. His head resting on his open palm.

He rolled his eyes. Despite being old, Grindelwald was a man of steel. The darkest wizard of his time who impregnated a 19 year old lady without magic and easily won the war when the Muggles tried to invade their world.

The ministry of Magic gave him more power of much areas of the magical world as a reward and safe keeping for future attacks.

A sick smirk graced his gray lips. He kidnapped you before the war. Now, he is deemed a hero. He stopped hiding you away to avoid Azkaban.

Now, both worlds knew who you belong to.

Grindelwald stood to his full height of six feet. He crouched down to your level and placed his hand in your frail delicate shoulder. You peeked at his face with your tear filled eyes.

Your husband smiled and wiped some tears away with his thumb.

"I am not ungrateful and appreciate good deeds done for me. Since Credence is the reason I met you. I decided to name one of our future sons after him."

He was rubbing it in.

You didn't care.

Without thinking, you slapped him hard with all your might. Your knuckle pores opened from impact and blood oozed out.

His face was turned to the side. He was impressed by your small strength. It actually caused movement. He saw your bruised back hand. How cute he snickered.

He stood up and towered dominantly over your weak frame. He grabbed your forearm and picked you up like a bride. You struggled and kicked but his strength easily disgraced and shut you up.

He threw you on the small hospital bed next to the deceased Credence. Your eyes widened. He will impregnate you with your dead friend next to you in the public hospital? He can't be that disrespectful, right?

Grindelwald read your thoughts out of curiosity and snickered. Confirming your suspicions.

"I'm a man of my word."

One shot. Random Drabble.

#gellert grindelwald x reader #yandere gellert grindelwald #gellert grindelwald #mads mikkelsen #fantastic beasts secrets of dumbledore #fantastic beasts #Harry Potter #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen imagine

[ellewritesalright]

Second Best - Part 1

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Part 2 - Part 3

A/N: Look, am I starting a new series when I haven't finished nly? Yes, I am. And I would proudly do it again because this story has been in my drafts for so long and I want yall to see it. Hope it's coherent enough :) also, I gave the mc reader a last name :)

Synopsis: When you were a child, the Lantsov king and queen arranged for their second son to marry you, a rich Ravkan noble family's only daughter. After many years, after all the destruction of the war, and after Nikolai was crowned king, Nikolai breaks off the engagement. But the complications of your past and your strict parents make it a nightmare to find a new fiance, so Nikolai promises to help you, yet he slowly realizes the mistake he's made.

Warnings: strict and mean parents, very slight self-image issues because of said parents, kinda confusing and purposefully ambiguous details that will be important later in the story (bear with me please)

Word Count: 1700

..........

It was going to be a very important day, your mother had said. She sat in the corner of the room as a gaggle of maids did you up. Everything needed to be perfect for your meeting with the new king of Ravka. After all, he was your fiance, but there were rumours that he did not wish to marry you.

The engagement was made when you were both children and he was only supposed to be a prince, but now circumstances had changed and he was king of a fractured nation. He would need to marry for the good of Ravka, so a political match would be much more beneficial. You wouldn't blame him if he chose to marry a foreign princess or noblewoman, but your parents insisted that you would be the future queen of Ravka.

"Stop fidgeting," your mother commanded. You straightened out, averting your stare as you mumbled an apology.

It was cold outside the front door of your parents' home in Os Alta. Goosebumps had broken out on your skin and you struggled to not rub some warmth into them. All you could do was wait for the king to arrive. He was more than ten minutes late, but your father had insisted that you all remain standing at the entrance until Nikolai arrived. 

As you heard carriage wheels in the street you swore you could leap with joy that you would soon be allowed inside again, but you stayed perfectly poised. The royal carriage swung around the corner and you felt your heartbeat pick up, kicking into double-time. You pitied any nearby heartrenders, for the thumping must have been utterly annoying; but you came about it honestly.

There was always a fear in the back of your mind that you would be found out. Someone would discover your family secret and you would be exiled from respectable society before you could marry your Lantsov fiance. But you couldn't worry about that now, not when the carriage had stopped and the king was getting out.

If you had been worried about the cold earlier, it was now the farthest thing from your mind. King Nikolai's stare was enough to make your face heat up, and you thought you might burst into flames without a moment's notice as you curtsied to him. He still looked a little like the boy in your faded memory of him, the boy that you met when you were twelve and he was fourteen. He had a boyish countenance, a light-hearted look to him as he stepped out of his carriage.

You were prepared for a bit more resemblance to his older brother, but he was comparatively more handsome than Vasily ever was. His smile was charming and warm, not greasy or snide as his brother's had been; he had a stronger chin than his brother, and really just a better bone structure in general. But perhaps the lack of similarity between him and his brother gave credence to the rumours of his lineage. You often wondered if people thought that way about the differences between you and your parents.

Whatever the case, you were too conscious of the way he didn't offer you his arm as the four of you entered the house to care about any of that. In Ravka it was common for engaged couples to do that sort of thing, even when they were practically strangers, so it seemed the whispers of his detachment from you had some truth.

You settled in the drawing room where tea was presented to the four of you. Mere minutes of small talk passed before your father broached the topic of the engagement. He set down his cup and saucer, leaning back in his seat as he stared at the king. Nikolai had just told an anecdote about the tiring details from his coronation several months ago and your father was ready to pounce.

"I suppose the wedding will be as much of a headache to plan, but this time you'll have my daughter to shoulder some of the weight," he said, a cheerful air to his voice despite the trap he just laid.

"Lord Antonov," Nikolai smiled politely, "I don't suppose you've heard any news from my father or mother."

Your father shook his head, a confused twitch in his brow.

"They were the ones to arrange this marriage, but, as it is, they are not around to see it through. They approved the match back when I was a boy and my father was still king." Here it was. The rumours were about to be verified. Nikolai kept on, "Things have changed since then; I am no longer a boy, and my father is no longer king, so you will forgive me if I would like to drop the agreement that my parents made you many years ago."

"Promises and plans were made, your highness, and they cannot be easily undone--"

"And yet they must be undone." Nikolai levelled your father with a heavy stare. "Ravka needs strong diplomatic ties, and I believe that one of the best options to achieve this is through marriage. I cannot sacrifice the good of this country for an old arrangement made by a party that is no longer in power."

"But what will my daughter do?" Your mother piped up. "She'll have to find a new suitor, but who would want her now that she gets older?"

As much as you would have liked to say that her words did not affect you, you couldn't deny their sting. To your parents, all that their daughter–their only child–had ever been was a bartering chip for well-born men to marry and continue their noble lines, and it showed in your mother's primary concern. If you weren't young, you weren't beautiful, and if you weren't beautiful, who would dare marry you? 

Nikolai nearly laughed. "She is twenty, that is not old. And if you're so concerned that she needs to be married, I will see to it that she finds someone suitable. I know enough barons and marquises who would be glad to marry her."

"For centuries we Antonovs have dedicated our lives--our entire estate--to this country and the Lantsovs, and this is how we are to be repaid?" Your father narrowed his stare. "Have you no honour? That you would go back on your word--some king you are."

If your mother's superficial worries weren't enough to make Nikolai rethink the marriage, insults from your father definitely wouldn't change his mind.

"Father," you gasped as a sorry attempt at admonishment. When you felt eyes on you, you couldn't help but speak, even if your parents wouldn't like what you were going to say. "You should consider the importance of his highness' role in Ravka. If our country needs a political marriage to strengthen diplomatic ties, then perhaps it is for the best that we sever the arrangement you made with the former king."

"My daughter doesn't know what she's saying, your highness," your mother tried to backtrack, but you weren't having it. You'd be in deep shit with them for that first comment, and you figured you should continue since they were already angry.

"If you two are as patriotic as you often say then you would understand that the good of your country comes first. If the king asks you to forgo an old agreement, you should forgo it."

"There you have it," Nikolai said. "The two most important voices in this conversation have spoken." He stood and looked at you. "I must be going now, but perhaps could you walk me out, my lady?"

You stood and set aside your tea, eager to be out of the room. In the hall, you caught Nikolai staring at you. He smiled, looking forward.

"You handled that well," he said.

"I should hope so." You glanced at him. "Like you, I was educated at Ketterdam University where most of my classmates were hog-headed boys who went on and on about the most insignificant topics. I found the best way to assert my voice in the classroom was through a light shaming of those who couldn't figure out when to shut up."

"Very effective," Nikolai remarked, his eyes alight. "What did you study at school?"

"Economics for the most part, but there was also advanced physics as well as debate classes."

"You must have made quite the student." There was approval in his voice.

You held back a proud grin. Men are frightened by smart women, your mother often said. She maintained that you must hold back your brains until after you had a ring on your finger, but because you weren't marrying him, you didn't see the need to hide your intellect. You straightened out and replied, "I was always top of my class."

When you reached the front door Nikolai fastened his jacket and turned to you with a conciliatory smile. "I hope I haven't bent your parents too out of shape."

"They'll get over themselves." But you weren't too certain of your words. You amended, "They'll have to."

"I meant what I told your mother," he said. "I can help you find a fiance. Though I'm sure you wouldn't have difficulty finding one on your own."

You chuckled. "Yes, undoubtedly my mother is already scheming to entrap the next richest bachelor in Ravka into a marriage."

"That's not what I meant." At your quizzical brow, he smiled and fixed the cuffs of his coat. "I only meant to say that you're highly intelligent and quite beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to marry you."

You dared to look away from his hazel eyes, tracing the gold frame of a portrait as you quickly dispelled the heat from your face. When you looked back he was trying to hide a smug smile that told you he knew exactly what game he was playing at. 

"You've scrapped our engagement, and yet now you're flirting with me," you observed with a tsk. "Are you always this contradictory?"

"When the mood strikes me," he said. "Now, it has been a pleasure but I must be getting back to the palace."

You parted ways with a handshake, Nikolai returning home and leaving you to face two very upset nobles.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Part 2

Nikolai Taglist: @notoakay

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fic #grishaverse fanfic #second best

[mutable-manifestation]

Family at the Core

So I decided to continue the rogues-as-family-with-Danny once they realize he's a baby & flee to the DC universe/Gotham fic.

Parts 1 & 2

Info: AU where you gotta fight ecto with ecto - it’s the only thing that has any effect on them, and it’s part of the reason why the ghosts love Amity so much - aside from the whole “thinking danny was old ghost pretending at being human and openly challenging pretty much everyone by claiming a Living Realm haunt and then opening a stable portal in it” (from their perspective pre-’holy shit he’s baby’ realization) - Danny? Sam & Tucker with ecto weapons? Humans who can and will put up a challenge but won’t try to seriously harm them ala bastards like Pariah & the Guys In White? It’s practically the ideal ghostly vacation spot. 

The Fenton fam are the first to discover how to fight ghosts in their dimension, but DC didn’t have blood blossoms and made the deal w/Pariah before they figured out the ecto v ecto option

This is pre-ID reveals among the JL because it’s funnier. 

Disclaimer: idk how the police work I’m just rolling with what sounds probably like it’d be right.

***

Kitty and Johnny disappear before they can discuss a time for the police sweep, but Kitty <i>had</i> asked for Bruce’s number earlier in the conversation - “To set up that playdate once we’re more settled in” - after Bruce had mentioned the benefits of peer contact for children.

(The complete and utter disconnect from information about humans certainly lent credence to their claim of being ghosts - or at least not humans)  

She’d promised to give him a call once they got their phones set up. Hopefully that would be soon - they really needed to talk about the Lazarus Pit in the building before the kid fell in and died - assuming they truly weren’t aware of it prior to selecting the location. 

Perhaps Bruce could convince them to block it off? If they truly weren’t after the pit, he could ask about setting them up with a better place; make up some excuse about wanting the building for the company.

He makes contact with them and is left with more questions than answers; at least they know where they are now, despite the in-costume team's inability to track them as they left.

Constantine and Deadman arrive together <i>less</i> than an hour later, managing to arrive at the Batcave at the same time as Bruce’s group.

Constantine twirls an unlit cigarette between his fingers as the footage of the Joker incident plays.

It stops twirling when the lunch lady appears on the screen.

His lips form a grim line as he watches.

“Anyone ever told you you’re the unluckiest bastard this side ‘a the pond?” Constantine asks, turning to Batman once the first video concludes.

“No.” Is Batman’s humorless reply.

“Don’t leave us in suspense here, Conny,” Nightwing slides closer to lightly elbow him in the side. “Is Damian Wayne’s doppelganger the most haunted kid in America or what?”

Robin, for his part, crossed his arms and continued sulking - as he had been since Batman had read them in on the existence of JL Dark and verified that ghosts were indeed real.

“Most haunted kid this damn dimension, Bird boy,” Constantine answered, stowing his cigarette. “Those-” he gestures to the now-blank screen “-are Infinite Realms Ghosts. They aren’t like Deadman here, they’re about a million times worse.”

“Hey!” Deadman protests.

“They come from a place they call ‘The Infinite Realms’ - big shock there. Their kind haven’t been seen in this dimension for tens of thousands of years now; most people just think they’re myths by this point. I only even know about it because my thrice-damned house wouldn’t stop throwing a book on the subject at me until I read it a few years back.”

He puts the cigarette away in favor of crossing his arms.

“The Realms are said to be connected to every dimension there is, and legend has it that way back when we got a lot of visitors from their side. Had a lot of names - the era of chaos, the age of disaster, whatever you wanna call it. They treated this dimension like a plaything, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. 

Nothing worked - salt, holy symbols, the magics of the time, etc. Supposedly, someone even tried summoning a demon and watched the thing get hunted. Realms ghosts were leagues more powerful than any of the other known beings at the time and no one could find a way to fight them. The only reason they left was because some group made a deal with their king - no details on what the deal involved other than getting them to get lost.”

“So we are simply supposed to hope that their king isn’t too busy dealing with the infinitely many other dimensions they are apparently hooked up to to come get a few strays out of ours?” Robin questions icily.

“It means you’re simply supposed to give me a chance to do some more research - I only skimmed the one book to get the house off my back. What I read wasn’t promising, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t more useful information buried somewhere.” Constantine replies with an eyeroll. “For now, if they want to play house with some poor bastard? Wayne’s got enough kids to know how to give good enough advice they don’t accidentally kill him in the meantime. Infiltrate their playdates if you’re that worried. And look on the bright side! They took care of your clown problem. Now, you said you had two videos?”

“Yes,” Batman answers tightly, bringing up said second video. “We managed to get footage of their meeting with the Waynes.”

The second watching was far less eventful.

Until the very end, when Kitty and Bruce shake hands and Constantine lets loose a stream of curses.

“What? What’s wrong?” Red Robin demands.

“What’s wrong is that Brucie Wayne is dumber than a sack of damn bricks.” 

The batclan members make various coughing/strangled noises at this, save for Batman, who remains stoic. 

“Who the fuck meets a self-declared non-human entity and shakes on a deal.” Constantine drags an exasperated hand down his face. “Make sure Wayne knows his ass needs to buy them that building asap or Ghost Girl gets to make him dance to whatever tune she wants; break a deal with a dealmaker and they get controlling shares in your soul.”

“I see,” Batman says, “We’ll get in touch with him again after this; we need to discuss the police sweep of the Yuyan building anyway. If direct observation will help, he should be willing to bring you along as a civilian friend.”

Constantine looked at him like he had three heads.

“Not a chance in hell, Bats.”

He backs away from the table toward the cave’s Zeta tube.

“Oh! Oh, me! Pick me! I wanna meet the new ghosts!” Deadman shook his arms wildly, doing loops in the air.

“The visibility spell won’t last that long and we don’t know if their kind of ghost can see you without it. Also, we were in the middle of something. We already detoured. Let’s finish the job and then we can come back and play ghost party 2: yet another pain in my ass edition, yeah?” 

“Awwwwww,” Deadman slouched sadly before zipping into the tube with him.

“Great. Have fun, try to get along with the new neighbors, don’t shake any hands, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yadda yadda, aaaaaand bye.”

And with that, they were gone. 

“Well that’s not ideal,” Nightwing mutters.

The meeting had at least answered one question.

Now for the other two dozen.

---------------------

Kitty wants to get this cop sweep over with as soon as possible.

The others are hesitant at first - or territorial, in Walker’s case - but a little fast-talking has him all for the idea. 

The chronic rule-follower had only taken to making his own rules because of the zone’s inherent chaos and lack of real, broader government. In Gotham there are rules pre-made to follow, to enforce. He eats it up.

He’ll be obsessed with being law-abiding once he’s done studying up, but Kitty had been headed towards a future in law before her own death. She was well aware that it would take him - even with the aid of an eidetic memory - a minimum of months to read enough to actually start enforcing anything. 

And until he’d read it all? Kitty was free to make him paranoid about missing a later subsection to create her own Walker-loopholes.

Once he’s on-side, he practically carries the argument for her. She only pipes up again to mention how “the baby would probably be a lot more comfortable with a stable, uncontested home.”

Walker does his own sweep of the building, opening cabinets and hidden passages and drawing attention to weapons and other hints of crimes-past and Kitty hovers over Technus’ shoulder as they hash out the details of how best to lure in the police.

The Box Ghost leads the others - except Ember, who ‘s on baby-watch at the pool - in packaging up everything they want to keep to be phased into the ground under the building.

Arguing took most of the time and it’s only the work of another two hours to have the entire building ready for the cops to peruse. 

In the end, they decide setting off a small bomb by the entrance is the easiest way to draw police attention - they’ll come investigate, when no one responds they’ll have to check it out, they’ll find the weapons and cult-like documents and murder records Walker had located sitting out in the open, et voila: wanted owners and building up for grabs.

They, of course, will be invisibly watching the whole thing.

Danny hasn’t left the pool since their arrival and they don’t want him to, so he stays there with Johnny on watch to make them both invisible if and when anyone enters that room.

It goes off without a hitch, and by 11 o’clock Kitty is flying to a nearby roof to call Bruce and remind him of his end of the bargain.

***

@yjfk @fisticuffsatapplebees @little-pondhead @avery-isastupid-name @queenofdiscord @samgirl98 @inkyunicorn @mimilikey @aconitewolfsbane @miraculousandmore @someonebored0100 @wildbacon-blog @fleshybeing @vala-dreams @ironicvixen @blurblurbblurrrr @ectoplasmic-knife

#dpxdc #finding family with the rogues that fought you #dp recovery vacation in Gotham #Bruce slowly loosing his mind #Constantine calls Bruce a dumbass to his face (unaware) #ex-pre-law Kitty #Danny in the background #*is traumatized* #Constantine hates everything that is happening in Gotham #Constantine *hopes the King will show up to get them b4 he has to deal with this bullshit #* #King Baby: *Floating in an ecto-pool under the Yuyan Building & being Part Of John's Headache*

[disillusioneddanny]

There’s a Fine Line

Danny stared at his shoes, eyes unseeing as the adults bustled around him. They were just messing around. Just taking pictures in the lab. None of this was supposed to happen this way.

The adults whispered to one another, a miracle they said. Standing in the portal had somehow been the only thing that had saved him.

But it hadn’t. It definitely hadn’t saved him, that was for sure.

Just five hours before everything had been normal.

“Come on Danny, just step inside so I can take a picture!” Sam had insisted, holding her phone ready to take a picture of her friend.

“Yeah man, it just looks so cool, don’t you think it’d make a pretty cool picture?” Tucker said with a smile. Danny just gave them a nervous smile and shrugged the jumpsuit on. His parents were upstairs cooking dinner, Jazz was in her room in her bedroom doing homework. No one would notice if he just stepped in for just a second.

Once he had gotten the suit zipped up, Danny walked towards the portal and took a step in only for his foot to get caught on a cord on the ground. He felt his body propel forward and caught himself on the wall, his hand slammed into a button.

After that, it was just pain.

When he woke up, the house was gone, fire blazed around him, sirens rang through the air but there was no house. Just him and the portal. He slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up from this nightmare. But the house was still burning and-and that was Sam’s boot on the ground but where was Sam? Where was Tucker? Or Jazz, or his mom or his dad?

“We found the youngest Fenton! He’s alive!” A fireman shouted, running towards Danny.

It had been some kind of nuclear explosion, they said. Something in the lab had exploded just as Danny had turned the portal on.

Now he was sitting in the Amity Park police department as the officers tried to figure out what they were going to do with the fourteen year old. Apparently someone that had been scheduled to meet with his parents about buying some of their weapons was coming to talk to him.

Danny wasn’t sure what exactly was going on but he didn’t really care. Everything in him was demanding that he run away, fast away and disappear forever.

His Aunt Alicia refused to foster him after learning he had come out as trans, no one could get a hold of his mysterious god father that he’d never met, he was basically completely and totally alone.

Everyone he knew and loved were gone and it was his fault. He should have never gone in the portal.

Bruce Wayne hadn’t expected this to happen when he came to Amity Park. The twenty-six year old had originally come to this sleepy town to talk to the Drs. Fenton about their inventions and studies. If there was any credence to their work, he was interested in purchasing at least a few of their weapons, just on the off chance that ghosts ever attacked Gotham. He had not expected to see a large mushroom shaped explosion from across town at the very place he was supposed to go to in just twenty four hours.

Then he had learned that the only survivor in the house had been the Fenton’s youngest child, Danielle Fenton. Something in him had screamed that he needed to go and meet the young girl to see if she was okay, to provide some kind of comfort. He knew what it was like to lose your parents at a young age, he had been even younger than the young girl when he had lost his own parents.

He raced to the police department, already prepared to take the girl in. Only, when he had gotten there, he just seen a teenage boy sitting with a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Ah Mr. Wayne!” An officer said upon seeing the billionair. “My name is Officer Haddis, we spoke on the phone. It’s so kind of you to offer your home to Ms. Fenton here-”

“Mister,” Danielle said, glaring at the officer. “I’ve already told you, I go by Daniel. My parents just never got to change my information,” Daniel snapped, glaring at the officer. They looked at Bruce with a scrutinizing look, their brows furrowed. “Who’re you?”

Bruce smiled and crouched down to the teenager’s level where they sat in the creaky, plastic chair and held out his hand. “My name is Bruce Wayne, I use he/him pronouns. I was supposed to meet with your parents tomorrow about their inventions. I’m so sorry for what happened,” he said quietly, his chest aching at the dullness in Daniel’s eyes. “I lost my parents when I was really young too. I was thinking, maybe you could come stay with me?”

Daniel stared at him for a moment before they took his hand. “Danny, he/him. It’s better than getting thrown in fostercare, I guess,” he mumbled, shaking Bruce’s hand. “If you misgender me, though, I’m kicking your ass.”

The vigilante just chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare to do something like that. Now, how about we get some paperwork finished and we can go back to my apartment and start figuring out what we’re going to do from here.”

The rest of this fic will be posted here if you want to read more

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc

[josefavomjaaga]

Hi Josefa I hope u're doing well and I hope u had a great holiday season!!! c:

I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Eugène in relation to Jerôme Bonaparte? Since they are quite close in age with Jerôme being younger, I was wondering if they had any relationship to one another, and what they thought of each other. I remember hearing about Jerôme being jealous of Eugène for what he perceived as "receiving special treatment" and being prioritized over him by Napoleon, but there weren't any specific sources linked to this statement and I don't know if there is any credence to it 🤔, Yaggy recommended that I should ask u about it because u know a lot about Eugène ^-^

Thank you, @flowwochair, and all best wishes to you, too. May 2024 have nothing but flowers for you!

Your question reminds me of the looong list of unanswered Asks! in my inbox, and that one of my new year's resolutions was to finally get to them. What can I say? I've never been good with that resolution thingie.

Might as well start with yours.

From what I have read, Jérôme Bonaparte and Eugène Beauharnais originally got along rather fine. They actually went to the same school for some time, the "Collège des Irlandais", and it's quite likely that Bonaparte sent his younger brother to this institution because Josephine's son was also there.

If you remember the timeline for Jérôme's naval career that I once put together for you (please scroll way, way down, it's in one of the reblogs 😊), the author also said a bit about Jérôme's school education. Apparently the two boys, Eugène 15 and Jérôme 12 years old, both lived in that boarding school from January 1796 to April 1797. That means, during the time when both Jérôme's older brother Napoleon and Eugène's mother Josephine were away in Italy.

With regards to Jérôme, I feel like it's also interesting to note that when Joseph and Napoleon left for France in 1779, the three youngest Bonaparte siblings Pauline, Caroline and Jérôme had not even been born yet. And Carlo died a short time after Jérôme's birth. I'm pretty sure the two older brothers felt more like father figures with regards to these siblings.

So, Eugène and Jérôme both had Napoleon as the not-quite-father in their life.

Françoise de Bernardy in her biography of Eugène cites a long letter from Jérôme to Eugène from 26 December 1796, that shows him in best spirits, mentions Eugène's sister Hortense and seems to indicate that the teenagers all got along quite well. Among other things, Jérôme mentions yet another quarrel between the Talliens, informs Eugène that Barras and Carnot expect both Jérôme and Eugène to dine with them despite Madame Campan giving a ball that day, and then goes on bragging about how he had been given a laurel crown by generals and politicians, was put on a table and embraced and applauded by everyone. (And if this happened at Barras', I'm not quite sure how I feel about it.)

According to Bernardy, Jérôme is already "the genuine rascal" that he would later be. Though I would like to put this in perspective, because Eugène at the time also seems to have had everything in mind but school lessons and homework, and according to the memoirs of Arnault, he even was a particularly bad and "stupid" student who drove his teachers to despair. It seems that, at this time, they both were two very charming and very spoilt brats, mostly concerned with girls, hunting trips and being flattered by people who wanted to get in the good graces of general Bonaparte. Jérôme, despite being so much younger, also already comes across as more confident and assertive than docile, polite and often insecure Eugène.

This may already be the main difference between them: Eugène, due to his innate desire to please and to gain the recognition of his new stepfather, will change his ways as soon as he becomes Napoleon's aide de camp and joins him in Italy (July 1797). Jérôme will always only do what Jérôme wants. (And to be honest, I kinda love him for that. Jérôme will always find a way to be a pain in Napoleon's imperial ass.)

I remember hearing about Jerôme being jealous of Eugène for what he perceived as "receiving special treatment" and being prioritized over him by Napoleon

I do not really remember anything about that (but then again, I've only read up on Eugène; this may be the same story from Jérôme's perspective). The closest thing I could find is a remark in the memoirs of Laure Junot about how the Bonaparte brothers would always hold Eugène - despite the fact they could not stand him - up as a shining example to Jérôme, causing the latter to despise his former friend. There also is an anecdote (the source of which I cannot remember atm) about Jérôme being furious because unlike Eugène he was not allowed to join the second Italian campaign (battle of Marengo, 1800), and later demanding Napoleon's sabre from that campaign as a gift in compensation.

Could I imagine that Jérôme was jealous of Eugène? Absolutely. This probably needs to be seen in the context of the Bonaparte-Beauharnais rivalry. The Bonaparte always regarded the Beauharnais as intruders and feared Napoleon might grant them too much money or influence. - Did Jérôme have any reason to? I'm not sure. Jérôme simply was a lot younger than Eugène, so of course Eugène was a step ahead of him in his career. It is also true that Eugène rose in rank very quickly and owed this solely to his stepfather. But in all fairness: so did Jérôme. And while Eugène at some point seems to have started to put in a lot of work and effort, even giving up his comfortable post as Napoleon's aide in order to remain in the military, and while he later as viceroy of Italy often worked from morning until midnight (much to his wife's chagrin), Jérôme seems to have seen his naval career as something of a pleasure cruise trip. Desertion from his post and month-long vacation in the United States included. As to his rule as king of Westphalia, I do not want to judge him because I have not read much about it, and in any case he was given very little leeway from his brother. But fact is: Jérôme was made a king. Eugène was not. So who had reason to be jealous?

I am not aware of much contact between the two of them later during the Empire. Eugène was in Italy since 1805. They may have met when Jérôme came to Italy for an interview with Napoleon, at the time when he gave up on his wife Betsy Patterson. But I am unaware of any reaction from Eugène to that. And later, when Eugène goes to Paris for the first time in almost five years, for his mother's "divorce" proceedings, he finds his house already occupied by - Jérôme. 😁

But the funniest (or saddest?) thing is that, while Jérôme was forced to join the navy very much against his will (as a disciplinary measure after the ill-fated duel with Davout's younger brother), Eugène for his part during his finale exile in Bavaria admitted: "I would have loved to be a sailor."

Thank you for the Ask! and sorry for the long rambling. Asking me about Eugène is a dangerous thing to do because I won't stop blabbering...

#napoleon's family #eugene de beauharnais #jerome bonaparte #ask #@flowwochair

[outlying-hyppocrate]

I exist for two reasons:

~ bothering the fuck out of all the Enmu Tamio enjoyers

~ bothering the fuck out of all of the me enjoyers

#random thoughts #credence's crack posts #i'm really sorry #him #cries. a #am very very fixated on this demon boy. my family is pissing me off sm so instead i turn to the internet #yoo hoo (: #enmu

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I just want to preface this by saying that I do enjoy reading your metas. Thought clearly went into them and you've always got an interesting angle on things that people clearly want to hear.

But, I will admit, that some of your metas, especially the Harry Potter ones, do make me raise an eyebrow.

Like, with Twilight you say: "Edward is a deranged monster living out a romanatic tragedy in his head with a girl who's personality he made up and he's practically on the verge of eating her at any moment. "

Or: "Bella is a severely depressed teenager with some pretty bad problems with empathy who has staked all her self-worth on becoming a creature she barely understands."

Me, I think that makes sense. I get it. I agree with it.

But, with Harry Potter, you say: "The abused, tramuatized, orphan teenager with clear PTSD is in reality a idiotic, thuggish pyschopath completely incapable of love."

And also: "The child-killing, mass-murdering cult/terrorist leader terrified of death is lowkey suicidal, misunderstood and was failed by society even though he was basically Damien Thorn from the Omen since childhood."

That... gives me pause.

That's not to say I don't disagree with all your HP metas. I guess it's just, even though I'm not much of a fan anymore, I do have more of a connection with HP than Twilight, so that might explain it.

Well, it is a heresy blog you know, it's actually downright bizarre that the Twilight fandom gives me and @therealvinelle as much credence as it does.

Remember that what I say, on any topic, is fucking insane.

But I think you hit the nail on the head:

For all that fandom is extremely disapproving of JKR (many leaving fandom altogether because of her actions and stances), they love the world of Harry Potter and (per the blog anon, you did come talking to me) love what they think it is more than it actually is.

It was a huge part of many people's childhood, people saw Hermione as one of the biggest female leads in their lives who not only keeps up with the boys but easily surpasses them, everyone wanted to go to Hogwarts and be friends with Harry and play quidditch, we want to believe that it really is the power of love is what saw Harry through to the end.

Even now, despite the backlash against the author, people want to like Harry Potter.

And that's fine, it's about whatever makes you happy and people are more than free to block this blog or filter at will, I just answer the questions.

Twilight, on the under hand, has this weird cynical culture where a lot of people (at least in the Twilight Renaissance) want to hate Edward, the Cullens, Bella, all of them.

So, when I come along preaching my nonsense, it fills in with the fandom is already willing and ready to hear (and even then a lot of the times it's considered very spicy).

Glad you enjoy some of it.

#about this blog #fandom #twilight #twilight renaissance #harry potter #harry potter meta #praise

[zagreuses-toast]

My Vimes playlist! I have many thoughts and feelings about him... this was the first Discworld playlist I put together and I started it after reading that dinner party scene in Men at Arms, which is why Your Racist Friend is the first song. some of these songs are ones Vimes himself would hate deeply but the energy or lyrics persuaded me to put them in. If you're interested in the reasoning behind the song choices, I'm putting that under the cut.

Thee Vimes song , just Him:

Get Better by Frank Turner

Being a watchman and The City, always The City:

I Predict a Riot by the Kaiser Cheifs

The Ankh Morpork Night Watch by Louie Zong

London Calling by The Clash

Shes Always a Woman by Billy Joel

All Along The Watch Tower by Jimi Hendrix (a conversation, Vimes gets the cover by Jimi hendrix which is rawer and darker than the original, Vetinari gets the BSG cover)

We Live In a Dump by They Might Be Giants

Sam and Sybil feelings (from vimes's pov mostly):

Synopsis for Latecomers by They Might Be Giants

The night Chicago Died by Paper Lace

Hey Julie by Fountains of Wayne

Work Song by Hozier

A Hard Days Night by The Beatles

Waterloo by Abba (for the whole describing sybil in military terms of it all)

I Walk The Line by Johnny Cash

Uptown Girl by Billy Joel

Answer by They Might Be Giants

Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads

Hopeless Bleak Despair by They Might Be Giants

Fat Bottomed Girls by Queen (couldn't help myself sorry)

Next To Me by Imagine Dragons

Never Knew Love by TMBG

Vimes is powered by pure Rage and a drive to be better than he was:

Heel Turn 2 by The Mountain Goats

Believer by Imagine Dragons

Old Pine Box by TMBG

Can't Keep Johnny Down by TMBG

Hand Me My Shovel I'm Going In by Will Wood and The Tapeworms

Lets Get This Over With by TMBG

Demons by Imagine Dragons

Eight by Sleeping at Last

The Body Is A Blade by Japanese Breakfast

Hes also an ex-alchoholic

The Lady and the Tiger by TMBG (thinking of the summoning dark)

My songs know what you did in the dark by Fall Out Boy

Brain Problem Situation by TMBG

I think about Night Watch a normal amount (everyday all day)

Tubthumping cover by TMBG

Bringing Home The Rain by The Builders and The Butchers

Zombie by The Cranberries

At The End Of The Day from Le Mis

All the Little Angels (rise up) by DJ Boogie (fav interpretation of the song)

Prelude/ Angry Young Man by Billy Joel (this is a reg show song but I don't have a reg playlist, it fits Vimes too tho)

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Le Mis

the Communists Have the Music by TMBG

Cable Street by The Young'uns

Cap In Hand by the Proclaimers

Nina Cried Power by Hozier

Fortunate Son by Credence Clearwater Revival

You Already Live in Tomorrow by Fauxny

Vimes and Themes/Motifs mainly Dogs and fire (hes an arsonist and I think about this often, We all know the rain/water themes for him but can we talk about FIRE):

Hey Bulldog by The Beatles

The Angriest Dog in the World by The Superman Revenge Squad Band

Burning Pile by Mother Mother

Arsonists Lullaby by Hozier

Burn it Down by Vixy and Tony

You're On Fire by TMBG

Vimes has daddy/fatherhood issues

I Earn My Life by Lemon Demon

Cats in The Cradle by Harry Chapin

this is also why theres intentionally a lot of what I consider Dad music on this playlist, based mostly on my own dad's music tastes

Misc:

Confrontation from Jekyll and Hyde ( because of the whole Summoning Dark thing)

Facade also from Jekyll and Hyde (his reaction to rich people, also for the Boots line)

#discworld #sam vimes #gnu terry pratchett #city watch #fanmix #sometimes the best way to organize your thoughts about a character is to organize a playlist about them #please drop your recs in the comments or tags if you have good vimes ones #some of these songs are surprise tools that will help us later in my other discworld playlists #but this was my first one cuz vimes #Spotify