#what functional purpose does it serve? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

When “GIF” was named word of the year in 2012, Oxford Dictionaries U.S.A. credited Tumblr for pushing the word.

#what functional purpose does it serve?

caracello · 10 months

Text

i've been considering (for a few months at this point) making a page on my carrd specifically dedicated to ss,ss and its characters. like just for everybody to look at.

#will it serve any functional purpose ? Probably not.#but what if the people need to know....#.txt #me in the middle of introducing myself does anybody want to read the wiki page for my favorite webcomic?

12 notes · View notes

orossii · 2 years

Text

not believing in free will is a political asset. you don’t get bogged down in blunt moral arguments or paralyzed into inaction due to the imperfection of the masses. i have a strong sense of morality ofc but if my morals conflict with a larger strategy to put power in the hands of the people to propel a safer and more just human society forward i revisit them and tweak accordingly. i’m not like, a vulgar “we have the right to mow innocent people down if they stand in the way of my goal” sort of person because that sort of thinking is also extremely alienating to the working class and turns people against you, obviously. that’s a very cartoon supervillainized perspective of what marxist ideology suggests lol. i mean that if a moral position stands arbitrarily in the way of your goals by causing you to intentionally drive the least radical among you away it may not be a position worth sticking to. you have to be okay with meeting people in the middle sometimes and finding common ground while accepting that they may not rigidly accept everything you believe in. my rejection of gender ideology and imperialist propaganda was able to occur because it was rooted in that understanding. i feel less bitterness toward normal everyday people because of it, and am open to hearing what they have to say in a way i didn’t when I was into like, liberal social justice politics. you have to be okay with abandoning so-called moral issues you’ve been conditioned to see as hardline determinants of someone’s worth as a human being if you want to start deprogramming yourself from capitalist/white supremacist/patriarchal propaganda that seeks to prevent us from coming to anything resembling a common understanding of who our shared enemies really are— the patriarchal, white supremacist imperialist elites that profit off of the exploitation of all of us, and their ideological constructs that make men and white people of all classes their on the ground enforcers of hyperexploitation. all else serves to divide us and the morally dogmatic theory underscoring much of the modern left was materially propped up by the state for that reason

#alienating reptile brain content #people follow the principles of action and reaction and there’s no component that’s truly random and under our direct control #so it’s useless to view the things we do in moral terms first and foremost #when they can be better understood by asking ‘what are the constraints being placed on individuals like this person that lead them’#’to behave in this way’#it’s not to say they don’t deserve punishment— condemnation serves a functional purpose of discouraging others from doing the same thing #but idk #personal moral superiority doesn’t interest me as much as understanding why things happen does #when it comes to preventing and treating the societal dysfunction that leads to these patterns of behavior

3 notes · View notes

insanity-studios-ink · 1 month

Text

interesting shift. pt tried to slug me and I found out that our charting software has a social media function

#like wtf #why does a medical charting software need a social media function??#what purpose does it serve?

0 notes

brailsthesmolgurl · 2 months

Text

HOW WOULD THE LNDS BOYS REACT TO YOU FORGETTING ABOUT A DATE?

Just some mild fluff before I proceed to ravage you all with more angst writings :) Read my recent angst please : Damnation

Read my most recent fluff: LNDS Boys as Daddies

Warnings: fluffy af, sfw

Rafayel knows that you know he does not like waiting. But, he also knows the risk of your job and how it sometimes take up a lot of your time. But in this scenario, BOTH of your time. Rafayel sat at home, hands holding his phone, and his eyes would not wander off of the screen. Highly anticipating for a call, a text even. But it never came.

"Rafayel!" The door busted opened, and his burgundy-shaded eyes darted up. His eyes widened as he noticed your arrival, but narrowed again and he turned his head away from you. "Rafayel, I am so so sorry. I had totally forgotten about our date today!"

You walked in, pulling onto the hem of your dress, the one that Rafayel had got it specially tailored for you just for the dinner function you guys would be attending tonight. But, you did promised him that prior to that event, both of you would grab ice cream together. Until, you slept late the night before and you nearly forgotten about the date.

"I do not have the energy to deal with a goldfish. And, I am certainly not going to entertain you." He tossed his phone onto his couch and crossed his arms over his chest, eyes still not facing you. You sat on the marble floor, and reached your hand out to touch his thigh and you watched as the tip of his ear turned rubicund, matching the tint on the apples of his cheeks. Knowing him well enough, the pout on his lips would make him look like a puffer fish. Puff for me or puff me please.

"Rafayel, I am really sorry okay, I did not mean to forget about this date. I just fell asleep pretty late last night as I was filing reports for all of the recent areas that wanderers had appeared and the deadline is today." You sighed and rubbed your hands against his thigh. Eyes scanning his body language, hoping he would not toss a fuss. Not that you mind, but you figured that you would not want him to pull out of the event last minute as this dress of yours does cost him a pretty penny and you wanted the dress to serve its purpose.

His hand reached out to grab yours, to silently indicate you to stop and he turned around to look at you. The pout that was no longer evident on his lips silently made you wished you had teased him further. He actually looked adorable with that pout of his and sometimes it is worth the trouble just to witness it.

Taking in your features, dark circles seemed to be an accessory for your face nowadays. Sighing, he held your cheeks in his lanky hands. "I see that you have not manage to do your makeup. Would you like me to do it for you instead?"

"No no, Rafayel. I was late, I could not possibly ask you to do my makeup! I can do it myself, I brought my makeup along!" You mustered a smile on your face, hands rustling through your bagpack and you pulled out a small pouch, filled with all of the makeup necessities you need for an event. The sight of the makeup bag did not impressed Rafayel but instead made him scoffed at you in return.

"That is a small makeup bag for such a big event. My lover cannot appear looking like a hag, she has to look like a queen. And a queen I shall make her to be. I have better makeup equipment than you eventhough I am a guy." Rafayel tossed his hair back and used his hands to run through his silky purple strands.

"You mean those?" Index finger pointing towards the stacks of paints by the other side of the room. "God knows what other infection I will get this time. The last time you did my makeup with those paints, I ended up with conjunctivitis."

"Hey hey, now, you may insult the tools I have, but you never insult my skills, yeah? I would still admit I did a pretty good job with paint for makeup." He spoke proudly and he stood up, walking off to his lavish bedroom. It did not took him long before he appeared with a bucket bag in his hand. "So I made preparations this time."

He sat down on the floor, in front of you this time, and he opened the bucket bag to reveal all of the makeup tools. They all looked very new and awfully expensive. With silver handles and bristles that looked like it was made out of the finest hairs within the makeup industry you could imagine. "That is a lot of makeup." You blurted out. Can you imagine how many videos he had watched just to get the right makeup kit for you?

"It is to save you from having to bring over your makeup next time and gives me another outlet to channel my creativity. How about we both stay home for now and I take the time to do your makeup, yeah?" He nudged your nose, a smile forming on his pink lips. "I know that I do not like waiting, but for you, I will always be more than willing to wait."

Xavier stood outside of the claw machine outlet, arms crossed on the front of his chest and he was looking everywhere. For you. He glanced down at his hunter's watch. 2pm. But he has not even seen your face since the last hour. You were supposed to meet up at 1pm, but your no-show is getting him a little worried.

He took his phone out of his pocket, going through messages, sliding thoroughly across his message app to ensure he does not miss out on anything: Jeremy...work...work...Jeremy. He really has no friends I guess. Welp, less time for others, more time for you! But none from you. As he was about to give you a call, his cerulean eyes caught sight of you running past the square, before stopping to look at traffic and you continued running. By the time you arrived in front of him, you were huffing and panting. Hands on your knees as you struggled to catch your breath.

"Did your work held you back?" Xavier bent down, clearly concerned as he was analysing the way you were breathing. His eyes at the meantime, scanned your body to ensure that you did not have any wounds on you till he came to your shoes. It was rare for you to wear heels given your job and that you have to constantly be on watch for your surroundings. Xavier's eyes could not leave your pink platform heels. "You ran in those?"

The pointing towards your heels made you snapped your head up to his and his eyes widened, as if he was shocked at your sudden reaction. "Yeah, I figured I might as well dress up a little as this is a date afterall. And furthermore, these heels are only 2cm in height, it will not stop me from fighting wanderers. Stylish and practical." Your chirped, answering his question and giving him extra information that you know he would ask eventually. As you stand up straight, he finally get to take a look at your whole outfit. A white loose polyester-made sweatshirt tucked in behind a denim overall skirt, and it is clear as day that you had put on some makeup. "What are you looking at?"

"It...uhm...you look different." He said, hands coming up to rub his lips, a nature of his when he is either flabbergasted or in awe. "I think you look pretty today." His eyes caught yours again and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"Oh yeah, before i forget, I am sorry Xa---." You wanted to apologise for making him wait for an hour for you. There are times where you would be late to work or to a date, but being an hour late is definitely inexcusable and Xavier had every right to receive compensation from you.

"Don't be." He interrupted you mid way and disregarded your apology. "I can wait. I had nothing to do anyways. I even managed to take a short nap as I was waiting for you." He displayed a small smile, a comforting one. "But I would like for you to pay for my meal as you did made me wait for you for an hour." Hearing that request, you could not stop a smile from appearing onto your face. Getting complimented by him and also getting forgiven by him seemed like a huge green flag to you and well, you are his afterall as he is to you. You finally take your time to analyse his outfit for the date. There is no doubt he put some effort into this date as well.

A white shirt with black slacks, with a pale yellow cardigan for the an accent of colour to his outfit. Guess he is not that bad at dressing himself up. "You look dashing as well yourself." You complimented and his eyes caught yours once again, a smile emerging on his face. "I like the colours that you had chosen for today. It fits your aesthetic, especially with your blonde hair, the pale yellow really suits you." We all love the soft boys aesthetic, especially if Xavier is your type, squeal.

"I did took some time to research on the outfits that guys would usually wear for dates. Most of the searches showed tuxedos and blazers but I figured that would be too much for casual dates so I ended up settling for this." He gestured towards his own outfit, his tone carrying a hint proudness when he talked about his searching progress. "Anyways, what you do you plan to eat?"

"How does hotpot sound, Xavier?" You reached out to grab his hand and he took the chance to intertwine his fingers with you as both of you started walking down the street together. You noticed how some passerbys would eye Xavier, I mean, who would not? He is such an eye candy especially with the outfit he had chosen for himself.

Xavier looked up at the sky, what was once a sunny scene is now becoming gloomy, with dark clouds closing in one another. A rain is expected to be arriving. "Hotpot in rain sounds like a great date to me. And I personally think with you accompanying me to eat hotpot, I would gladly wait for you always."

The ringing of your phone blasted through the silence of your room and you were jolted awake. You hastily grabbed the device and held it to your ear. "Where are you?" Zayne's voice rang through your speaker.

You sprung up on your bed, the sudden movement made your bed creak and you hear another sentence came through your phone. "Were you asleep?" You hesitated, as you did not want his suspicion to be confirmed. But you did not even get a chance to answer before he spoke. "I am coming over now."

You hurriedly rushed to the bathroom, thinking you could tidy yourself up to give yourself a better reason to explain on why you were late for the morning coffee date you had set with Zayne since last week. But your late night movie marathon gave you such a dopamine rush that your had forgotten the dictionary word of 'sleep' and 'waking up early for a date'.

After you had brushed your teeth, you were going to take a shower next before the sound of the doorbell spooked you. IT WAS BARELY 3 minutes. How close was he to your house? The last you recalled, the coffee shop you guys were planning to visit was halfway across town and that would take around a 30 minutes drive. Another ring of the doorbell turned your fast walk into a straight up sprint, running past the corner of your house to get to the front door. But a slip on your floor mat, made you stumbled and you hit your shin against your coffee table and you squeaked. Yes, squeaked like a rat.

Once you got to the door, you unlocked the bolt and you opened your door, revealing the tall man, wearing all black, with dark features being his trademark. You adjusted your stance and stood still, eyes wandered everywhere, purposely avoiding his intense stare. "You looked like you were in your dreamland." His monotonous voice cut through the tension in between you two. "Is that the reason why you were late?"

You stood aside as he took a step into your house, taking his leather shoes off and he placed it on your shoe rack neatly. "I am sorry Zayne." You closed the door, and muttered your apology as you turned around to face the towering man. "I overslept and forgotten about our date. I am really sorry."

"You do know that if you constantly sleep late at night, it would deteriorate your health right?" He reached out his hand to the small of your back and he slowly guided you towards the couch in your living area. You nodded, eyes still refusing to meet his as you felt guilt eating into your gut. Noticing how you were slightly limping on one leg, he squatted down immediately to take a look at your leg. "It seems like the bang that I had heard just now was from you."

"I...I did not want to make you wait at the door as I was already late for our date." You muttered and mustered just enough courage to run your hands through his slick black hair. His hazel-green eyes looked up to catch yours and he seemed to relax a little. "I am sorry Zayne."

"Come, let's get you seated." Before you could say anything, he lifted you up bridal style and took a few long strides before seating you onto the couch. "Getting yourself hurt just so you can reach to me on time is not an ideal scenario to me. The last thing I would want is for you to be hurt. Wait here." He stood up and took strides towards your bathroom, probably to get your med kit.

Indeed, he comes back with the med kit and immediately started working on the small cut accompanied by a bruise on your shin, applying antiseptic on it before placing a plaster onto the wound. "I am sorry Zayne. I will not be late again. It is so careless of me to miss out on our date when today is one of the only days I get to meet you throughout the week."

"People forget, it is part of the human's nature. Eventhough I am busy, you can always stop by to visit me at Akso Hospital. I can schedule my surgeries to have short breaks in between if your concern is that we are not spending enough time together." His respond is the method he uses to accept your apology. He is not good with comfort, but he does have his ways to show you that he cares about you and about this relationship. "Does your shin still hurt?" The shake of your head indicated a no and he took in a deep breath, packing the items he had used for your wound back into the med kit and he took a small stool and sat onto it. A big man on a small stool making me gag through my laughs. Although the stool is not that tall, but with a giant like him sitting on it, his eyes are levelled against you. This allows him to see you at a better angle, to analyse your facial features better.

"How long have you been waiting for me?" You asked, eyes looking into his mesmerizing ones and he took your small hand into his. His eyes looked down towards your calloused fingers and he placed a kiss onto the back of your hand, his warm lips no longer a foreign feeling on your skin. Your cheeks flushed at the interaction.

"I figured I could fetch you there instead of having you to sit on public transports to reach there. So, I had my car parked outside of your condo since an hour ago." He said, hands reaching up to touch the side of your cheeks. "Although I was a little frustrated that you were taking a while, but I was more concerned on what had happened to you. You are weaker than what you seem."

"I am not weak." You responded, lip turning into a frown. The sight of you pouting at him calling you weak made him smile. "I was just busy watching movies that I liked yesterday night and I just happened to sleep late. But I am in no way weak or whatsoever. I can take care of myself just fine."

"I never doubted your capabilities to take care of yourself. But for some instances---" He pointed at your plastered shin and flashed you a smirk. "I am glad to identify myself as your appointed physician. But you said that you were watching movies till late night yesterday, and that you overslept?"

You nodded and he added on. "Then I suppose as your prime physician, I would advise you not to sleep late anymore. Instead, we can both watch however much movies you want whenever we are on a date so that could probably prevent you from oversleeping on our dates right?" He looked at you with comforting eyes and he pulled you to sit onto his lap. "And regardless, waiting for you will always be better than seeing you being hurt."

I may or may not have gone haywire on the wordings, so hopefully these would give you guys a good brain rot.

Drop me comments as it would brighten up my day and lemme know if you have any requests as well for any stories :)

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #lnds #fluffy #fluff #lnds x reader

610 notes · View notes

mrrharper · 3 months

Text

Coach's Process of Developing a Jock

TW: mentions of bullying and harassment

There are three pillars that Coach considers vital to the development of his jocks.

The first one is physical strength - football jocks need to have the primal urge to lift heavy things and spend hours at the gym, as well as a never-fulfilled desire for their muscles to get bigger.

The second is football intelligence. A jock shouldn't spend time studying or revising for exams, these things ought not to occupy his mind. But he has to have a detailed understanding of the rules of football, so that he can demolish every oponent he comes across on his way to a championship. He has to know how to execute plays perfectly, read the other team and adapt accordingly.

But the third pillar is just as important as the other two - the attitude. Coach, someone with - let's say - a conservative streak, believes his jocks should present all the masculine traits he deems important, and do this publicly, without shame.

It all begins with pride. From the very beginning of their mental conditioning, Coach makes sure his jocks will he proud men, ready to show off their achievements. A football jock has to make sure everyone around him is aware of his triumphs. This also serves the purpose of keeping the morale in the locker room on a high level - all these jocks have to remember what beasts they are on the field and that they are capable of completely demolishing everyone if they so desire (and Coach makes sure they do desire it).

Next one is domination. As a football machine that is programmed to win, a jock needs to be able to take control of any situation, make himself the alpha in the room and on the gridiron. This assures that he will fight to get that W in all circumstances, not accepting "no" as an answer.

The two traits above are then accented with arrogance. A jock walks around like he owns the place, because he does. The university gets the funding and prestige because of his dominance on the field. He is on top of the social ladder and doesn't question it. He also knows what people are below him and treats them as such, always looking down and displaying his higher status.

All of this is then augmented with anger. Some would call it toxic behavior or "problems with anger management", but for Coach a real jock requires that streak of aggression flowing in his veins. This allows him to function in his environment with ease, as no problem is really a problem when you're ready to just crush your way through it.

And it starts from the very beginning. Hypnotic videos and tracks Coach uses are infested with examples of dominant and cocky behavior. They set the example of how an aggressive and proud football jock acts, and make conforming to such a way or being a high priority.

Later stages require orchestrating scenarios that encourage the expected behaviors and test the instincts of prospective football jocks. When a jock's grades fall below the NCAA threshold Coach suggests getting a nerd to do the hard work. Violence as a way of solving conflicts between jocks is not discouraged, as long as the injuries don't influence in-game performance. Someone always begins a wave of flexing and posing at the end of a team workout sessions.

Every batch of jocks turns into a form of a high-control group after enough time. Bros who respond better to mental conditioning begin to influence other jocks who need some more time to conform, as their proud, masculine behavior and dominance forces the others to either ascend to the same level and join the alpha bros at the top of the ladder or attain the status of "lesser". No football jock will ever be lesser under Coach, so it doesn't take that long for the locker room to become a textbook example of masculinity, cockiness and dominance, with not a single exception to the rule.

In later stages its only a matter of overseeing the jocks in their life on the team, taking action every time it's likely that a jock is sliding back into his "pre-football" ways.

Coach sometimes has to work a bit harder to maintain the order he's created. The league and NCAA officials are not always keen on violence on the sidelines, so when one of his defensive linemen's fist lands on an enemy WR's face, some strings have to be pulled in the background. There are elements within the university structure that are hostile to Coach's methods and the jock attitude he's nurturing inside of his locker room. But every allegation of bullying or cheating can be worked through in such a way that the jocks come out on top. It's not a question of if, but of how.

Every time Coach sees one of his jocks push over a loser on the hallway, trash talk their conference rivals, take part in a biceps measuring contest in the gym or extort some assignments for class, he knows his methods are working exactly as intended.

Now onto the next batch of recruits.

#jock #football jock #jock development

566 notes · View notes

justrustandstardust · 3 months

Text

i’ve touched on it briefly, but i’d like to delve further into kenjaku’s purpose as a literary device because it’s genuinely really fucking interesting. what gege did with kenjaku was actually genius, because kenjaku is a physical manifestation of gojo's love for geto in the form of geto himself.

the love between gojo and geto is both explicitly and implicitly demonstrated throughout the series. we see it in open declarations (he was my best friend, the only one i had) and in subtler ways (how they never fight each other directly, how geto is careful not to kill gojo’s students in combat). these, however, are from gojo and geto’s perspectives. we only see what they want us to see; much of the beauty of their relationship is in how so much of it is meant for the two of them alone.

as an outsider, kenjaku overrides them and drags their intimacy into the limelight, providing unobjectionable evidence of the love between them. he supersedes their carefully curated impressions to point at the undeniable truth in the most violent, grotesque way imaginable, making their love clear for all to see through hijacking geto’s body— which he could only do because gojo loved him.

not only does kenjaku’s plan require geto’s body to work (because gojo couldn’t throw him away) kenjaku literally only exists in geto’s body for the same reason (because gojo couldn’t throw him away). gojo’s sentiment and his weakness come back to haunt him; shibuya happens because kenjaku knew the only surefire way to disarm gojo was through the body of geto himself.

from a literary perspective, gojo’s love for geto is not implicit— it literally arises from the dead to serve as walking, talking proof that gojo loved geto too much to let him go. kenjaku functions to mechanize gojo’s love through the body of the person he loved so dearly and in doing so creates a living representation of the explicit, blatant and undeniable love between them. it’s not subtext; it’s just text.

as a literary device, kenjaku exists as material evidence that they loved each other. it’s not speculative, it’s not conjecture, it’s not reaching— it is right there. we’re not meant to trust gojo’s word; he is not a reliable narrator of his own nature. gojo never had to say he loved geto because kenjaku says it for him. it’s analogous to vehemently denying your guilt in court only for someone to turn up with the body and your handprint around its neck.

and kenjaku delivers a guilty verdict, sentencing gojo to the prison realm and dooming everyone else because being the strongest wasn’t enough to save gojo from love himself.

508 notes · View notes

celluloidbroomcloset · 6 months

Text

I was thinking about the idea that homophobia doesn't exist in the world of Our Flag Means Death. I think it's clear that this is not the case, but it is a more complicated issue than what we think of when we discuss straightforward homophobia, and is closely aligned with how the different worlds represented in the show perceive sex, love, and desire.

(Before I get going, I want to be clear that I'm discussing the world of the show itself, not the world of the historical Caribbean in the 18th Century. Our Flag Means Death primarily uses history as a useful lens through which to filter our own time period and the things it wants to discuss, and so only uses history when it serves the show's purposes. These are all just my thoughts - I'm always happy to discuss them!)

There are two major worlds at play in the show: the English gentry that Stede comes from, and the pirate world. In neither world is homosexuality explicitly treated as illicit or unacceptable, though it is never mentioned or shown in the English world. Most of the homophobia expressed by characters lies in the perceptions of the "right" and "wrong" ways of performing gender and sexual roles. I talked about this a bit here in regards to Izzy's homophobia.

In both the English and the pirate worlds, Stede's gender presentation is openly questioned. Stede is a fop - not necessarily a sexual marker one way or the other - but he's also, in the words of the show, soft. His father labels him a "weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered little rich boy" who has never done a "man's work," blanches at the sight of blood, and is only inheriting his power from better, more masculine men.

Within the world of the show, Stede occupies a role typically reserved for female characters, in which he's sold in marriage to build his family's wealth. His romantic desire to marry for love is knocked down; it doesn't matter if he loves Mary or she loves him, or if there is even any desire on either side, because the whole point is to unite their wealth and produce heirs to carry on that wealth.

In Stede's memories, the shift from getting married to having children is instantaneous. Sex is implied, but it barely exists for him - it was simply something that he had to do to fulfill his part. Again, this casts Stede in a role often reserved for female characters in fiction. The function of sex, in the English world, is procreation. Desire hardly enters into it, and love certainly doesn't. So it is likely that Stede's only sexual experiences are ones without desire and without love. They are simply to fulfill a function.

Pirate society is significantly more open when it comes to expression of sexuality, but it is still steeped in sexual roles and requirements. Stede's outward queerness marks him out, but it's his inward queerness and how that integrates his emotional core that makes him unacceptable within the masculine hierarchy represented by Izzy and Calico Jack.

I've gone into Izzy's toxic masculinity and hatred of Stede's gender presentation elsewhere, but to reiterate briefly - Izzy's biggest problem with Stede is that Stede does not occupy the correct gender role within the masculine hierarchy, nor does he occupy a properly defined sexual role. He is, in Izzy's view, supposed to be submissive to a dominant male, and he's anything but. He breaks the rules of piracy and he breaks the rules of masculinity, without seeming to be aware that there are rules to break (at least in the pirate world). Stede is "wrong" in Izzy's understanding of masculinity and homosexuality, just as he is wrong in the Badmintons'/his father's understanding.

It is Stede's breaking of those rules that attract Ed to him in the first place. He doesn't act like a pirate should. He's strange. He's off-script. He's...queer. That queerness draws Ed in - far from being repelled by it, as Izzy thinks he should be, he's fascinated by it. Stede's softness and gentleness are things that Blackbeard should either reject or attempt to dominate, and he does neither.

What comes out in Stede and Ed's interactions is that Ed himself doesn't just desire softness, but is soft himself. Beneath the masculinity he puts on, he wants to be touched with kindness, he wants to be embraced. One of Stede's first questions is if he "fancies a fine fabric." When Ed says he does, Stede doesn't laugh at him or view this as un-masculine. He shows Ed as many fine fabrics as he can, excited to finally have another man with whom to exchange this love.

Ed also wants to be submissive without being hurt. He gets Stede to stab him in a performance of sex, but the act implies even more than that - that sex and pain are closely related in the pirate world, tied to sexual roles (men who penetrated and men who are penetrated). But Stede, once more, is a gentle man who penetrates. He doesn't see the stabbing as a sexual act, nor does he get a sexual thrill from causing Ed pain. Ed submits to a man who cares that he's being hurt, and it is this softness that Ed wants and is, as yet, unable to ask for.

(It is notable that, when Ed recalls the stabbing in "Fun and Games," his main memory is of Stede's look of concern.)

The role of sex, love, and desire in the pirate world is made clearest with Calico Jack, far and away the most explicit representation of a pirate's toxic masculinity, who also highlights the reading of sex as about power and pain, not love. Calico Jack and Stede's conversation is the first time that sexual relationships between men is actually raised, in explicit and vulgar terms as Jack asks Stede if he and Ed are "buggering each other" and tells Stede "Blackie and I have had our dalliances."

Jack views Stede's response as being ashamed, but we see clearly that it's not shame but anger. Stede doesn't like who Ed is with Jack, and he doesn't like Jack's vulgarity, simplifying sex, and especially sex with Edward Teach, down to pure functions, not expressive of love or desire, just as they are in the English world. Jack's attitude that this is simply what men do to (not even with) other men when they are at sea, and he's proving his dominance by telling Stede that he's done it with Ed.

Stede is not ashamed at the assumption that he and Ed are having sex, but angry at the implication that sex between them would be "buggery" and "dalliance," not love (and, what's more, that Ed would be treated as a thing instead of a person by another man).

Stede's queerness is part of his emotional core - it is not a whim. It is not something he can discard or mask, regardless of how he dresses or behaves. It is not something that just "goes at sea," or that can be reduced to functions. It is integral to himself, and so he's been completely unable to conceal it from being perceived in either the English or the pirate world, though he has tried very hard to conceal it from himself.

Ed has also tried to conceal the emotional reality of his queerness via his performance as Blackbeard, turning it outward as violent games between men, without softer emotions. It is with Stede that his own emotional core is revealed, and the big mean pirate is shown to be a man who wants to be held and touched, to be submissive without being shamed or harmed.

They allow each other to be vulnerable, to move beyond their worlds' insistence on sex as being purely a function and to unite it with love and desire. Their romance develops out of friendship and a powerful emotional understanding that claims softness as strength.

Neither Stede nor Ed are acceptable in worlds dominated by toxic masculinity and controlled by rules of masculine hierarchy and power. But they are acceptable on the Revenge, filled with a crew of the "worst pirates in the world," all of whom openly, and increasingly, express fluid gender and sexual roles and identities that shift with relationships and feelings. Both are aligned with the queer liberation of the Revenge, itself shaped by Stede's ethos of kindness and breaking the "culture of violence" of piracy, but they have to break out of their worlds' underlying homophobia to find their way to each other.

#ofmd #ofmd season 1 #stede bonnet #edward teach #ed teach #gif #ofmd meta #our flag means death #queer liberation #rhys darby #taika waititi #my wee thoughts #long post

610 notes · View notes

sometimesanalice · 1 year

Text

Give Me Your Hand {Here Is My Heart}

Summary: You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like to be in Bradley Bradshaw’s bed, and now you finally get to find out. (Spoiler: It’s even better than you could have ever imagined.)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K+

Warnings: so much smut with a side of fluff (Minors DNI)

(This is a 2-Part series for the “Like I Can” Universe. However, it can be read on its own!) Read Part 1 here!

“Well, are you coming?”

You are two lace trimmed bits of cotton away from being naked, and you can feel his heated gaze traveling over your body as you walk towards his stairs with a teasing sway of your hips.

If you had known you were going to end your night shimmying down your little red dress in front of Bradley, you might have tried to wear something a bit more underneath it, just for him.

But there was no missing the intensity and the desire that was in his eyes as he had watched you strip before him. It was more than clear that liked what he saw.

The appreciative way Bradley was looking at you made your everyday underwear feel sexier than La Perla ever could.

You don’t get very far before your whole world tilts as you’re lifted off the ground and tossed over his broad shoulder.

“Oh my god, Bradley! Warn a girl.” The sound coming out of you part gasp, part laugh.

“Heads up, kid.” There is no missing the smug smile in his voice, as he grips you a little tighter.

You’re dangling behind him trying to support yourself on his lower back, a useless endeavor since every step he takes up the stairs only serves to make you lose your grasp.

“Are you sure you got a strong enough hold on my ass there, Bradshaw?” you complain flippantly.

You wiggle a little trying to alleviate some of the pressure on your stomach.

“Stop trying to distract me,” he grunts, digging his fingertips further into the fleshy muscle in a way you didn’t mind at all. “I’m carrying some precious cargo.”

He tops off the end of his sentence with a light swat of his hand on your other cheek like he would a cherry on a sundae. And you have to bite your lip to keep from making the noise that was trying to crawl it’s way out of your throat, one that would give away just how much you liked his strong hands on your ass.

Bradley stops at the first door on the left and bends a little as he eases you off his shoulder. You lean back against the wall watching self-indulgently as he straightens up in front of you.

There is nothing subtle about Bradley Bradshaw. Not the commanding way he enters a room. Not the force of his energetic smile. Not the powerful build of his body. And definitely not the way he is checking you out.

It’s your first time being up here, there’s never been a reason to come upstairs before. You can’t help but wonder if the spaces here have the same sense of functional practicality as his downstairs does. Everything has a purpose, but nothing has much of a personality.

And Bradley has the best personality.

Maybe if you ask nicely he will let you help him pick out some things to make his place feel more like a home. More like him.

Reaching out you thread a finger through one of his belt loops and tug him closer to you. Bradley grins as he comes to crowd you against the wall before leaning in to kiss you, his warm hands coming up to frame your face.

For the other men you’ve dated in the past, kissing was a means to an end. A mandatory part of foreplay to perform in order to speed things along. But with Bradley, he kisses you with a type of single-minded determinedness that always sends your heart racing.

He has never been the type to do anything half-heartedly. Kissing is the agenda. It is the main course. He is happy to take his time to savor the taste and feel of you. He’s not thinking about how quickly he can move on to the next thing. He kisses you like he couldn’t dream of doing anything else.

You have never felt so entirely treasured in your life as you do right now outside of his bedroom in his arms.

It’s hard to fight back the smile that makes it impossible for him to keep his lips on yours, and when he pulls back the look on his face is nothing short than pure fondness.

“I’m excited to have you like this,” you admit to him, soft and sure.

It would be a new first, a new moment, a new memory. His and yours alone.

“Yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile quirked to one side. “I am too.” He settles his hands on your hips, his thumbs skimming over the skin at right above the waistband of your panties. “We go at your speed, sweet girl. As much or as little as you want. Whatever you want is what I want too.”

“And if I want everything?”

“Then I’ll give you everything,” he promises, pulling you close to get his mouth on yours again. You could taste the unspoken always in his kiss.

There was still a small part of you that was nervous about what feelings could come up in the after, the worry that bittersweet what-ifs could color all of your perfect memories with him. But you were done with not letting yourself have everything you want with him.

And with one more indulgent kiss to his lips, you take his hand and lead the way into his bedroom.

Bradley lingers near the door as he watches you take in his bedroom. One could call it snooping, but he knew you’d have some other smart-assed term for it.

He had been able to tell that something was on your mind for a while. And the last thing he wanted to do was put pressure on this new thing between the two of you by making you talk about it before you were ready.

You had always been in his life, but when you moved to San Diego after living separate lives for over fifteen years, he couldn’t deny that it felt different being around you again. In a good way, in the best way.

And those terrible dates you went on had made him come to terms with his feelings much earlier than you. Bradley knew exactly what he wanted with you, and he would give you all the time you needed to get there too.

He is amused, but not surprised, when the first thing you do is go to investigate is his bookshelf. Your fingers skimming the spines as you read over the titles.

It’s mainly a collection of NATOPS manuals he’s memorized inside and out from the aircrafts he’s been trained to use and other technical handbooks, along with his old collection of the Hardy Boys, a few political biographies and mystery novels he hasn’t had the chance to read yet.

He had felt like such an idiot when he made that joke about sleeping with the enemy in your car on the way to the surprise movie date you had planned for him. He hadn’t missed the way your body had tensed up. Or how you would always pull back and stumble over some flimsy reason why you had to call it a night when things would get on the exciting side of too heated or too physical.

He knew that you would come around to telling him what was holding you back on your own time, he just didn’t expect it to be after you had come in his lap from rubbing yourself on him in that sinful dress of yours.

The one that taunted and tempted him from the second he had opened his door that night. The one now a heap somewhere on the floor of his living room.

“So why do men love bitches, Bradley?” The question shakes him from his musings.

You turn to him with a mischievous smile painted on your pretty face as you gleefully show off the book that he had completely forgotten about like you have hit the jackpot.

“How do I still have that?” He huffs a laugh crossing towards you, leaning on hip on his desk to get a closer look. “Nat give it to me after I broke up with my ex a few years ago, they never got along. She even drew some red flags on the paper she wrapped it in when she gave it to me.”

“Ah, that explains the inscription. ‘Know the playbook, so you don’t get played again.’” you read with a snort. “For what it’s worth, I never liked Paige either. She was always seemed like such a shit-stirrer. Good thing you came to your senses. He’s pretty and smart, folks.” You send him a playful little wink before you go back to your investigation of his room.

It’s not even a contest, you are his absolute favorite person in this world.

And you look so perfect, so real in your nude bra and white panties in his bedroom. He likes that this wasn’t planned, that he gets to have you so authentically. He wants you just as you are.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he can’t help but wonder a little self-consciously what his space must look like to you through your eyes as you wander around.

His room is a mismatched collection of furniture that people have passed along to him over the years. Stuff that others didn’t need or that they upgraded from to something newer and better. Everything else that wasn’t donated to him were easily assembled things from IKEA.

He didn’t mind it in here, but he’s also never particularly liked it. It’s always just been a place to sleep.

He has his sturdy wood bed frame against one wall, it creaks sometimes when he turns over but he that’s what he got for putting it together after a few of beers. There is large print hung above it so the wall wasn’t totally bare. Next to his bookcase was a desk and small filing cabinet. He has a spare room in his condo that he has been meaning to turn into an office, but this set up was familiar to him after so many years of living in the barracks.

But if you were going to be here with him, Bradley wanted you to be comfortable in his home. Maybe he could find a few new things for the room to make it nicer, cozier for you with stuff that wasn’t other peoples’ cast offs.

There was only one nightstand for fuck’s sake, which is where he watches you linger in front of now.

“Wait, Bradley. Is this…” you trail off, picking up the framed sheet music from his nightstand. Your finger traces over the upper righthand corner in the exact spot where he knows three vibrant blazing fireballs decorate the page.

Hand-drawn by a ten-year-old you.

They were overly cartoonish in the way that most kids’ drawings were at that age. But it was obvious you had spent time on it for him by the way the reds, oranges, and yellows of your colored penciled artwork had been perfectly blended.

“Yeah.” He has to clear his throat, “Yeah, it is.”

“I can’t believe you still have this,” you say quietly.

You had given him the book of sheet music that included his favorite crowd-pleasing song to play on the piano for his twelfth birthday. He had had the notes memorized for almost a decade before he had put it in a frame, he had wanted to have this reminder of home with him instead of sitting in a box somewhere.

Other than the mounted toy fighter jet his mom had given him, it was the only thing that he had always taken with him as he moved around the world from base to base.

He thought he had seen every expression that’s ever crossed your face, but you have never looked at him like quite like this before. Your face is filled with such tenderness and something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Well, you know what Marie Kondo says about things that sparks joy,” he jokes light-heartedly, trying to find his footing again.

“Is there anything else in here that sparks joy in here?” You put the frame back down, observing him with your head tilted to the side as you sat on his bed and leaned back on your hands. It did amazing things to your chest.

“I can think of one or two things,” he says, playing along. You look so perfect in his bed, it was going to feel too big without you in it now.

“Are you going to come join me? Or do you just want to keep on checking out my breasts from over there?” you ask teasingly, pushing yourself back further on top of his bed. Your feet are resting on the edge, knees knocked together swaying enticingly from side to side.

You are easily the prettiest thing in his room.

Bradley takes his time as he saunters over to come join you at the bed. But when he comes to stand at the edge of the mattress, you stop him with a dainty foot to his chest.

“That’s bold of you to assume you this is a clothing permitted establishment,” you say popping up onto your elbows, applying a bit more force to where you’re pressing into him.

“Is that so?” he hums. Wrapping his hand around your ankle, he lets his thumb circle over the rounded joint there. “You know you’re in my room, in my bed, right?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m very aware. I like how it smells like you in here.” He watches as your hand makes indistinguishable shapes on the top of his linen duvet, “I’ve got to say, I’m pretty sure I’ve the best view in the house right now.”

He rakes his eyes over your figure, “Hm, think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.”

“You might be right,” you tell him cheekily, “My view could be so much better if you’d take some clothes off.”

“You sayin’ you want a show, kid?”

“I wouldn’t say no to one, if you are offering,” you say stretching like a satisfied cat. And there are those dimples of yours. If only you knew how just how gone he was for them.

“I can give you a show.” His voice is whiskey smooth as he squeezes your ankle.

Bradley holds your hot, greedy gaze as he removes his watch and sets it down on the nightstand. The way he undoes the buttons on his shirt could almost be called lazy if it weren’t for the purposeful way he watched your every shallow breath, as he listened to your unsteady exhales.

He has to tap on your foot to remind you to lift it off of his chest so that he can take his shirt off. You rest that foot high on his thigh instead, dangerously close to his quickly hardening cock. And then he is tugging his shirt off and tossing it somewhere behind him.

The fabric of his comforter is clenched tight beneath your fists.

Reaching behind his neck he grasps the collar of his tank, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion making sure that his biceps and abs are flexed for your benefit. If you wanted something to look at, he was going to give you an eyeful.

He lets out a satisfied sound as lets his hand indulgently, leisurely trail down his chest, down his abdomen as he watches you steadily. There is no reason for him to hold back his proud smirk when sees the way your lips part as he reaches the top of his jeans.

“How am I doing?” he drawls knowingly.

Your eyes are glued to his hand as he languidly unbuckles his belt.

“Good. Yeah, very good.” He sees the way you swallow hard as he begins to pull it out from his belt loops. The thick tension building between the two of you has his pulse pounding.

He likes the desire he sees reflected in your eyes as you take him in, “I’d leave you at least four-stars on Yelp.”

Bradley lets his belt fall to the floor, it lands with a satisfying clunk. Your eyes fly to his at the sound.

“Mm, only four-stars? Such a tough critic,” he muses lightly as he casually runs his finger up and down your calf. “What’s a guy gotta do to get five?”

You’re devouring him with your eyes and he wants to take over the way you’re nibbling on your lower lip with his teeth. “Drop the denim, Bradshaw.”

“You’re right, it’s only fair,” he concedes, admiring the way your nipples are raised against the cups of your bra. He teases a finger under the black elastic band that is peeking out from over the top of his favorite jeans, “I’m telling you now that what’s under these isn’t anywhere as pretty as what you’ve got on.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much,” you say as primly as possible given how affected you are, pressing your foot harder into the muscle of his thigh. “Plus, I think you’re plenty pretty.”

God, he loves that he gets to have you like this.

That even when you’re both half naked and riled up you can still banter with each other. That he can still make you smile and you can still make him laugh all while the undercurrent of need pulses around you.

“Bradley, come on.” The hint of whine that accompanies the way you say his name goes straight to his cock. He wouldn’t mind hearing you beg sweetly for him sometime, but not tonight.

He was going to give you whatever you wanted.

“Patience, sweet girl. I’m putting on a show here, remember?” he tells you with a playful grin as he bends over your body to kiss you deeply. Your legs part for him and come up to hug his hips. When he pulls away after a few moments you move to sit up, chasing the feeling of his mouth on yours. But he puts a hand to your sternum pressing you back down onto his bed with his fingertips before standing up to his full height above you.

The silence in the room is deafening as he unbuttons the top of his jeans. And then he is slowly pulling his zipper down for you.

Your heart is hammering as Bradley peels off those form-fitting jeans of his strong legs.

His body is a work of art. You could stare for hours and still find something new to admire. From the rounded definition of his shoulders, the smattering of chest hair between his full pectorals, the ridges and valleys of his abs, to the v-shaped muscles that lead your eyes directly to the outline of his hard, thick cock that you’re getting an up-close look at for the first time.

It looks as good as the rest of him does.

“Good god,” you groan, covering your eyes. “Honestly, Bradley?” The sound of his deep, warm chuckle has you pulling your hands away from your face, he is clearly amused by your reaction. “Be serious with me right now, that is totally how you got your callsign, isn’t it?” Gesturing to his sizable cock with a wave of your hand.

“I’ve told you that story before,” he tells you as he climbs on the bed and settles next to you.

“You’ve told me a story, but I’ve never believed it.” You turn on your side to fully face him, throwing one of your legs over him as nonchalantly as possible, as if it was totally normal to be half-naked in his bed with him. “‘I was just the only morning person on my squad’,” you say lowering your voice mimic his, “I don’t buy it. Not to mention, Natasha always made a face whenever you told that version to someone who was flirting with you.”

“Fine, you really wanna know?” he asks as he squeezes your hip. His cheeks are already lightly flushed, and now you’re downright giddy about this new development. It’s not often you get to see him so bashful around you.

“I knew you were withholding important information from me, Rooster,” you trill.

He grunts something unintelligible before he has you gasping when he grips your thigh and rolls over, pinning you underneath him.

And oh. You like the feel of him pressed against you.

There is something comforting about the weight of his hard, sunkissed body as he relaxes more fully on you. It wasn’t like you didn’t know he was built but the sheer sturdiness of him and how he fits with you like this is so good it’s dizzying.

He really is so handsome. With his face this close to yours, you can see every shade of brown in his pretty eyes. You bring a hand up to his face, letting your fingers brush over the coarse hairs of his mustache.

“Don’t think that just because you manhandled me, that you’re off the hook here. I’m not so easily distracted.” It’s a lie, but you think you pull it off well.

“Ok, ok,” he relents, kissing your fingertips then guiding your hand around to the base of his neck. “There are usually two versions of the story that pilots will tell, the one that makes them look good and the one that actually happened. But most pilots get their callsign from doing something stupid or screwing something up.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” you say with a teasing grin. “Which category do you fall in?”

“Believe it or not, both,” he admits ruefully. A small boyish smile on his face.

“Oh, I believe it,” you beamed.

“So,” he continues, with a fond shake of his head, “There was a girl I used to hook up with in my squadron. We had a friends with benefits type thing for a while when we were first deployed.” That made you scrunch you nose, he chuckles leaning in to kiss your cheek. “But she was always, uh, loud. Especially when I would go down on her.” He says that last part in a rush, almost like he is trying to gloss over it.

It wasn’t a secret to you that Bradley had gotten around, you had heard the whispers when you visited him at UVA and in the bathroom at the Hard Deck when you had first moved here. And it wasn’t like you had been sitting on your couch knitting like some Jane Austen spinster, you have had your fun too.

“Mmm-hmm.” You stroke his leg with your foot encouraging him to continue.

He is entirely adorable in the way he full-blown blushing now as he tries so hard not to fidget, even as his fingers idly play with the strap of your bra.

“We were fooling around early one morning after she has stayed over. Which I am sure you can guess, that kind of socializing was very much frowned upon,” he allows with a sheepish dip of his head. “As it turned out, one of the Petty Officers decided to do a surprise barracks inspection that morning. And, uh, well, we didn’t hear his arrival and the announcement or any of the noise in the hallway-”

“Because you’re good with your mouth,” you gleefully interject.

“You said it not me, kid,” he says nudging your cheek with his nose. You are grinning so wide now because he is getting so flustered as his story goes on. “So fast forward to us getting caught in the act. They let her run back to her own barrack, but I had to stand there at attention for the whole inspection in my boxer briefs with a hard-on.

The mental image of that was equal parts amusing and appealing, especially after the show he just gave you.

“And since my clothes were still on the ground from the night before, I got an auto-fail for having gear adrift. They even called in some of the guys from my unit to double check the inspection results and make an example out of my, um, indiscretion. After that, well, Rooster stuck.”

“I knew it!” you hoot before bursting into a fit of laughter. “I knew there had to be an X-rated reason, you dirty bird. Oh my god, Bradley! No wonder why Nat can’t keep a straight face.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he chuckles good-naturedly, his eyes crinkling in the corner. “There you have it, that’s the whole story. And just so you know, it is literally on the record that I was an early riser when I got written up for it. So technically that part is true.”

“In more ways than one,” you titter with a lewd wiggle of your eyebrows.

He looks up to the ceiling and groans, “How long are you going to tease me about this, kid?”

You make a big show about doing the math in your head until he nips at your collarbone.

“Probably for as long as you’ve had your callsign, I’ve got a few years to catch up on. It’s only fair since you lied to me, your best friend, for so long. I’m wounded,” you lament unconvincingly.

“I had an image as a responsible adult to maintain.” That makes you snort as you wrap both of your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you.

You half-heartedly roll your eyes, “I’m only two years younger than you.”

“Mm, that makes you the baby here,” he hums against your neck. “Wasn’t gonna give you the full version back then, not when you had such impressionable ears.”

His body is so warm, so solid against yours. And his thigh is pressing into the center of you. You’re surprised how quickly he can go from making you laugh to making you squirm.

“You know what I don’t get?” you muse tugging on his curls.

He runs mustache along your neck, “Enlighten me.”

“Why would they punish you when they could have just made you pose for the cover of a Navy pamphlet? Seems a little shortsighted, if you ask me,” you quip, a bit breathlessly. “I mean, they’d be turning down new recruits left and right. Everyone would be so inspired to serve their country. Propaganda with a side of eye candy.”

Bradley pinches your waist, making you yelp and rock against him. He sucks in a sharp breath at the contact. The mood shifting instantly from playful into something else entirely.

“You like what you see, huh?” He shifts his weight into his arms, lifting up a bit. Not only do you have a stellar view of his abs now, but also of his defined biceps by your head.

“Are you fishing for compliments, Rooster?” You glide your fingers along the crests of his ribs.

“I don’t mind getting my ego stroked every now and then.”

“What about other things?” you murmur, sliding your hand in between your bodies to grasp him through his boxer briefs.

He groans your name before claiming your mouth for a hot kiss.

“Come on, Bradley. I want the full experience,” you pant against his lips, “I heard how the girls talked about you.”

“I’ve learned a few more things since then,” he rasps, grinding himself more fully against you.

“Good, I’d hope so. Now, show me.”

Show me. Show me. Show me.

He can’t keep his mouth or hands in one place for too long. He wants to taste you everywhere. He wants to touch you everywhere.

You are looking at him with such open want. Your pupils blown wide, your lips kiss-swollen. He was unprepared for just how perfect your body would feel under his. You’re so beautiful spread out before him on his bed. Green might be his favorite color on you, he was biased, but you looked stunning pillowed against his navy duvet.

He had told you he’d give you anything you wanted and he meant it. If you wanted the full experience then he was going to give you the best damn time of your life.

Bradley licks his lips before lowering his head back down for a kiss, moaning at the slide of your wet, soft lips against his. He loves the sound your needy whine as you cant your hips against him.

You tilt your neck to the side giving him more room to get his mouth on the delicate column of your throat. The smell of your perfume and shampoo makes his blood thrum in his veins. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this desperate for someone in his life as he is for you.

He slips his hand around your ribcage and under you, groaning when your breasts rub against his chest as you arch into him. He runs his fingers along the band of your bra feeling for the little clasps that are preventing you from being bared before him.

After the third pass he makes, you pull away from his mouth with a little grin, “Bradley, it’s a front clasp”. Taking pity on him you guide his hand to the shiny little closure resting in the valley between your breasts.

He chuckles self-deprecatingly toying with it for a second before asking, “You mean to tell me this is both pretty and functional?”

Your giggle turns into a whimper when he flicks it open and pulls it off of you. Tossing it somewhere to be discovered later.

And then his is finally, finally getting to see you in the way he’s spent many nights with his hand wrapped around his cock imagining.

“How are you so soft everywhere?” he murmurs tracing a finger down your bare sternum. He rubs his mustache over the sensitive tips of your pebbled nipples before claiming one with his mouth.

Your hands fly to his hair as he sucks and teases this newly uncovered part of you. He moans as you start grinding against him in earnest before switching over to the other, his hand coming up to cup and squeeze the taut bud that was wet and shiny from his mouth.

The sounds you are making are nothing like he has ever heard from you before. And he can’t wait to spend hours with your body learning all the things that make you whimper and whine and sigh.

With one more flick of his tongue against your nipple, he trails hungry kisses down your neck. He stops once to admire the little freckle high on your right ribcage before continuing his way down your body. He likes how easily your legs fall open for him as he settles himself at the center of you. At how much trust you are handing over to him.

“You still doing good, sweet girl?” he asks into the crease of your thigh.

“So, so good,” you exhale roughly. One of your hands is skimming along the skin of his shoulders, your delicate finger stroking over the scar there. “Five-stars, Bradley. Easily.”

“Mm, you sure I deserve that? Haven’t done anything to earn it,” he hums, teasing kisses along the lace edge of your white panties. “Haven’t even made you come yet.”

“Bradley.”

“Can I take these off and make you come with my mouth?” He slides a finger under the elastic band. “Can I earn that five-stars?”

“Yes, yes,” you nod rapidly, “I want that.”

Bradley slides his thumbs under the sides of your perfectly practical panties and starts to pull the last of your clothing off. He’s dreamt about you naked and on display for him, he is eager to discover every freckle, every mole, every scar on you.

You are almost revealed to him when he stops. His eyes snag on a spot on the inside of your right hipbone. A tattoo.

The tattoo.

He remembers the night at the Hard Deck when he had learned about its existence with picture perfect clarity.

Fanboy had been showing off the fresh ink on his forearm for the full sleeve he was in the process of getting, which had then turned into display of skin as his friends pulled up and rolled up their clothes to share their own. It was probably for the best that he had an aversion to needles or else he probably could have ended up with some misspelled Latin phrase like Payback had along his forearm.

Just as Hangman had finished tugging his shirt back down, he had turned towards you at the tall stool you were sitting on and asked, “What about you, darlin’? Anything to share with the class?”

There was gleam in his eye that Bradley had not appreciated in the slightest. Especially since he had made it perfectly clear that his best friend was off limits to the group of cocky aviators.

You had only relocated to San Diego a couple of months ago, and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed living in the same area as you. And you were already fitting in with everyone like you’d been there for years.

“Yeah, I’ve got one,” you shrugged taking a sip of your drink while he nearly choked on his.

“What? No, you don’t,” he asserted as he elbowed Hangman out of the spot he was leaning on next to you.

“Uh, yeah, I definitely do.”

He didn’t get why you were looking at him like he had a second head. You were his best friend, that’s something that definitely would have come up in conversation at some point if you did have one. Right?

“I’ve never seen one on you,” he’d said adamantly.

He eyes quickly traveled over your body, you were in some laidback loose-fitting jeans with rips in them and a creamy colored knit tank top, as he looked for any hint of ink on your skin.

“Well, you wouldn’t,” you said like the reason should be completely obvious to him.

You kicked out at him in annoyance. He caught your foot easily with his hand, and gave it a quick, sharp tug in warning. Smirking at you when you gasped and scrambled to hold onto the stool, “What does that mean?”

“It means it’s not for the viewing public, Rooster,” you huffed at him.

“Sounds like there’s a story here,” Nat interrupted, looking on with keen eyes.

Yanking your leg out of his hand, you went on to tell the story about how you had gotten it done one drunken night at a house party your junior year of college. A “silly, girly thing” was all you’d had to say about it.

“Sounds like you’re lucky you didn’t get hepatitis or a staph infection,” he grumbled. You took the beer out of his hand in retribution and claimed it as your own, while throwing him the middle finger as you took a swig. And he’d let you.

“If it makes you feel better, bird boy, the guy who gave it to me now works at a pretty popular tattoo shop in New York.”

It hadn’t and he never forgot about it.

There had been more than one occasion where he had caught himself looking at you a bit too closely in a swimsuit from behind his aviators at the beach trying to get a glimpse of it.

And now he finally knew.

His fingertips are drawn to the fine, dainty lines of the ink on your skin. The pair of delicate butterflies were placed discreetly on your lower pelvis. One looked like it was in mid-flight with its wings spread wide, while the other was waiting to take off and join it.

“These are pretty, they suit you,” he murmurs leaning in to touch his lips to them. “Definitely not for the viewing public.”

“Just you, Bradley,” you agreed, setting your hands on top of his where on your hips. And together you both work off that last bit of fabric off your body.

“God, you’re so beautiful. I don’t know how I got so lucky, sweet girl.” He kisses your pretty tattoo once more, then the spot below your bellybutton, the top of your pubic bone.

“You said you’d give me your mouth,” you whisper eagerly, your fingers carding through his hair. He loves the way your nails felt against his scalp.

“Whatever you want.” A reminder of the promise he had made to you in the hallway, before he even had you in his bed.

He inches himself even closer to your body, getting one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you to his hungry eyes. This part of you, just like your butterflies, was for his eyes and fingers and mouth alone.

He parts you with his tongue enjoying your little whimper and gives you a couple slow licks as he gets acquainted with your taste. He wants to savor you like a fine wine, to identify all the individual notes that made up the essence of you.

You’re already so wet for him.

And then he is exploring your pretty pussy with unrestrained enthusiasm. Using his tongue and lips to get you squirming before introducing his fingers. Your moans are better than any kind of music as he starts rubbing your clit with gentle precision.

His chest fills with smoky coils of masculine satisfaction as you prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him as he works you with mouth. He holds your intense gaze when he slips one of his fingers inside the silky center of you.

Bradley can feel his heart beating in his throat as he watches your jaw drops in pleasure as you start to lose yourself to his mouth, “Tell me what you like.”

You’re so responsive to his touch. Your knee is trembling on his shoulder as he tries out long, smooth strokes and short, curling thrusts of his fingers determined to learn what makes your toes curl.

“I’ve never—,” you start before stopping, shaking your head.

“Never what, sweet girl?” he repeats, patiently looking up at you from between your legs. He is still circling your clit with his thumb as you work to find your words.

“I’ve never been able to come this way,” you confess like it’s something you’re embarrassed about. “But it feels really good. I just don’t want you to think I’m not enjoying this with you when I can’t get there.”

The burst of red-hot irritation that hits him like truck for all the men who have failed you in the past makes his jaw clench. Men who would prioritize their pleasure over yours.

He knows he is capable of getting you there. He wants to show you, to prove to you just exactly how capable he is about giving you the pleasure you deserve. It’s what he would give you every single time.

“Can I try?” Bradley waits until you nod your head yes, still propped up watching him. He places a kiss to your inner thigh in thanks for trusting him with this. “Tell me what makes you feel good,” he coaxes, “Tell me what you need from me.”

He’s tempted to suck hard enough to leave an indelible mark at the delicate skin of your perfect thigh. He wants you think about being back in his bed with him, when you’re at your apartment in your own bed. He just nips at the spot instead, before kissing it again.

“Can I give you another finger?” he asks.

“Please.” You whimper when runs his thumbnail across your clit before he gives you another one of his fingers.

“So polite,” he teases as he gets his mouth back on you. “I’ll give it to you right.” You clench against his fingers as they sweep against your front wall.

He is so hard, but all he can think about is how good you feel under his hands, under his mouth.

He is watching your face for every expression. He wants to know which motion of his fingers makes your breath catch in your throat. He wants to know what kind of touch makes your eyebrow pinch together and gasp.

Yes. There. More. Just like that.

It doesn’t take him long to get you writhing and keening for him as explores your body as you tell him exactly what you like.

“That, Bradley, that. Don’t stop, please.”

Your pupils are blown wide as you watch him tease his tongue against your clit with a pressure so gentle it makes your whole body shiver. He moans his contentment against your slick-shined center when you reach out to cup his jaw and stroke his cheek with your hand when he finds that spongey spot inside of you.

Your head falls back and you convulse spectacularly as you come with his tongue on you and his fingers in you.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises low and rough, “So fucking pretty when you come.”

Bradley hopes you can feel his grin against the soft skin of your thigh.

He lets you bask in the warm glow of your orgasm, all while his thumb keeps making the softest of circles against you, “Think you can do it again?”

Your heart is still beating erratically in your chest as you attempt to come down from your orgasm. You still can’t believe he made you come with his mouth in the first place, let alone that he thinks he can get you there again.

And when he puts his hot mouth back on you, your arms give out and you fall back against his soft duvet, “Fuck, Bradley, oh my god.” The feel of his mustache against that sensitive part of you was overwhelming.

Bradley works you like he is trying to erase the memory of any man before him.

The only other sound in the room besides your breathy panting was the wet sounds your body was making as his fingers curled and thrust in and out of you. You’d be embarrassed by it if was anyone else other than Bradley.

Because he is the one making you feel this good.

The coiling sensation in your stomach was tightening with every lick and suck and flick of the tongue he used to bring you closer to the edge. You savored the burn in your hip flexors as his thick forearms held you open for his talented mouth.

“Sorry,” you gasp, unable to control the way your hips roll against his mouth.

“Don’t be. Do it again,” he rasps, gripping your thigh harder, “Use my mouth.”

He hums in satisfaction when you do it again, this time on purpose at his command. The vibrations against your clit reverberate through your whole body as you rock against his mouth and ride his fingers.

The woodsy smell of his bed, the sound of his voice and dirty praise, the feel of his body on yours was building you up much quicker than before. Your hands were fluttering everywhere. In his hair. On your breasts. Tangling in his sheets.

You are hyperaware of his every touch and it has you feeling high strung. You’re there teetering having been built up so stunningly. Your body is pulled taut like piano wires with unreleased pleasure that you just can’t seem to reach.

One of his warm, comforting hands soothes up and down the side of your waist as you twitch and writhe beneath him.

“C’mon, kid. You’re there, I can feel it,” he says pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your tattoo before sealing his mouth over you again. “Want you to come for me.”

For him. For Bradley. You want to come for Bradley.

It is almost instinctual how your body responds when he laces the fingers of his free hand together with yours. You have been feeling so untethered in your own skin by the promise of another deliciously devastating orgasm. The squeeze of his hand is your gravity, anchoring you back in the moment with him

And he is holding more than your hand in his as you fly apart for him. He has your heart.

You can hear his gentle murmurs, but your brain can’t process anything other than a few choice words as he peppers kisses back up your body.

He leans over reaching for the forgotten half-full water glass on his nightstand, probably some misguided attempt to be courteous, but you need his mouth on yours right now. He makes a noise of surprise as you pull him to you, your mouth is already parted and ready to chase the taste of yourself off of his tongue.

It’s slow and languid and just what you need.

“I’ve never come so hard before,” you laugh pulling away from him after a few minutes, the endorphins hitting you hard. “You should lead with that. Bradley-Gives-Great-Head-Rooster-Bradshaw.”

His eyes glimmer with amusement, “I don’t think that would fit on a helmet, but you can introduce me that way if you want.” His voice is smug, but it’s his satisfied smirk that thrills you the most.

“Oh my god, you’re preening! You’re so pleased with yourself right now,” you giggle, your thumbs stroking over his mustache at the wetness still there.

“Damn right I am,” he rasps leaning in for another lingering kiss.

Bradley kisses you like a wildfire, all unrestrained heat. And you will happily burn for him. Under his touch you are regenerated, reenergized, revived.

“I want you,” you breathe into his neck, tugging on the band of his black boxer briefs. His body was already a visual treat and his heart even better, but you want to feel him against the center of you with nothing standing between your body and his.

You don’t want to want anymore, you want to know.

With your help, he pulls them down his strong thighs and off completely. You’re treated to the reminder of just how big he is, it would almost be intimidating if you weren’t so desperate for him.

You run your hand up and down the length of him. He was right that night on the phone, you’d need to use both hands next time.

Savoring the way he drops his head down and pants into your clavicle, the coarse hairs of his mustache rough on your skin in the best way. With your other hand, you play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. His biceps quaking from where they’re rooted on his mattress next to your head.

You want to make him feel as good as you do.

“Can I go down on you?”

Your mouth would be the end of him.

“Next time,” he grunts out. He’s barely able to think with the way your hand is stroking his cock, let alone speak.

“Haven’t you thought about my mouth on you? Come on, Bradley,” you purr temptingly. You both know you’re not playing fair when you tighten your grip on him.

“Shit.” He’s breathing hard now. “Of course, I have. I thought about it this morning when I got myself off in the shower, sweet girl.”

He’s treated to both the sight of your dimples and the clever twist of your wrist at his confession. He knows you think you’re going to get your way, like you usually do, so he changes tactics, “I promise, the next round you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Already planning for round two, huh?”

“Yeah, kid,” he says hoarsely, “Did you think this was just going to be one and done?”

You collect some of the precum from the tip of his cock with your thumb and lick it off as you look up at him doe-eyed and innocent, “Well then, I hope you can keep up, Lieutenant.”

A feral groan rips from him and he drops his head down to yours feeding you his tongue. He dominates your mouth as he slides and swirls his against yours. You whimper prettily as both flavors melt across your tongue.

“Do you like the way we taste?” he rumbles, his voice like gravel.

Bradley doesn’t know how to interpret the sound you make or the way you choke out oh my god.

“Sorry, too much?” he asks raggedly, checking in. The last thing he wants to do is make you feel uncomfortable because he can’t stop from running his mouth.

“God, no. I’ve never been so turned on, Bradley,” you pant, as you rock your warm, wet pussy against him. “Don’t want you to hold back with me.”

You’re both naked and it’s no secret how this night is going to end. He loses himself to the feel of you as you roll your hips against him, whining every time the head of his cock connects with your swollen clit.

“Hold on, hold on,” he doesn’t know why he feels nervous bringing it up, but he needs too while he still has the brain function to talk about it. “I’ve got condoms. It’s been awhile for me, but I got a new box in my bathroom. I just need to go grab them.”

He moves to get up, but you tighten your hold on him.

“I’m on the pill. I, um, got back on it after our first date,” you say almost bashfully. “So if you wanted to go, ah, without it would be ok. I would be fine with it if you didn’t wear one. More than fine, actually.”

There’s something about your endearing self-conscious babbling that helps him get out of his head, “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything, always. You know that,” you tell him, nudging your nose against his.

“I haven’t done this without one before,” he admits.

And it’s clear from the way your eyebrows spring up that this surprises you, “Wait, never?”

“Never,” Bradley confirms. He brings your hand up to his chest so you can feel how fast his heart is beating.

While he’s had a couple serious girlfriends in the past, one didn’t like the way the pill made her feel and the other didn’t like the mess. It was never a big deal to him as long as everyone felt good. He liked that extra layer of protection, he never liked the idea of potentially getting someone pregnant and leaving them to care for his child when his job was so unpredictable.

And with one-night stands, the use of a condom was never even a question.

“So, I get to be your first?” A delighted grin overtakes your face, as you affectionately run you hand through his hair.

“If you want,” he offers softly.

“I want it to be me,” you say with such sincerity it makes his chest ache.

You pull him back down to you and wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer to you. The two of you are a frenzy of wandering hands and teasing tongues and needy noises.

“How do you want me?” he asks, low and velvety.

“I’ve imagined everything,” you whisper, your thumb caressing the long scar from where your hands are cupped around the side of his neck. “But I want you like this, just like this.”

He has always been wrapped around your finger, but with your hand on his cock guiding him to the center of you, he is at your mercy.

You trusted Bradley to be gentle not only with your body, but also with your heart. You were safe in his stupidly big and unfairly perfect hands.

There’s no holding back the sharp inhale as his thick, flared tip enters you for the first time. He’s barely inside of you and the way he is filling you is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before.

The low whine he makes as he slides into you without anything in-between your bodies is the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard. You are impossibly wetter at the knowledge that you are the one to make him feel this good, that it’s your body he’s experiencing this with for the first time.

Your eyes flutter close at the sheer stretch of him as he presses further into you.

Slowly, gently, deliberately.

“No,” he roughly rasps, pausing half-way inside of you, “Look at me.”

His desperate tone sets off more goosebumps over your body. With no small effort on your part, you do as he wants.

He looks just as overwhelmed as you feel. The flush from his cheeks and neck has worked its way down his broad chest, there’s a sheen of sweat collecting in the hollow of his throat and you want to lick him there.

“Want you to keep your eyes on me.”

You fight the urge to squirm as he slowly serves you the rest of his cock. He’s intensely watching your reaction to every ridge, every vein, every thick inch of him as he makes encouraging circles with his thumbs over your hipbones.

If you were to close your eyes again, you know you’d be seeing stars. But how could you when he was looking at you with such wonder.

You are nearly undone by the sensation of being so entirely wanted and cherished and lo—

“Bradley,” you whimper, unguarded under his gaze.

Every emotion is pounding away inside of you, eager for its turn in the spotlight.

“I know, I know.” His voice is rough and wrecked.

You can feel what he really means. We’re right on time.

Your heart stumbles over itself when he tenderly kisses the damp skin of your temple when his hips finally, finally press against yours.

And for a moment you two just hold each other’s eyes as you get used to being connected with each other in the most intimate of ways.

Your mind was taking snapshots of everything, you didn’t want to forget a single moment of this. All these little details of him that belonged to you. The length of his eyelashes. The flush of his cheeks. The state of his pretty wavy hair made messy by your hands. The pinch of his brow. The exact shade of his whiskey brown eyes as he stared into your eyes.

It is almost too intimate the way he is looking at you when he starts moving above you. As he took in your every dewy blink, every hitch of your breath, every little sound you made. As he slowly, purposefully rolled his hips against yours.

That untethered feeling was settling over you again. “Bradley, need you to kiss me.” You feel his hands tighten on your waist. He was inside of you, but you needed him closer. “Please, please.”

His lips are on yours like a flash. “Anything,” he murmurs in between deep, thorough kisses. “Anything you want.” You take his tongue just like you take the rest of him.

You’re on the right side of too full and he is hot and heavy inside of you. It is dizzying being this stretched around him, this surrounded by him. You can feel everything. The orgasm that sneaks up on you is a silvery, shimmery thing that coasts over you like stardust.

“Fuck,” he groans as your pussy lightly flutters around him, slowing down his thrusts to draw it out for you.

You recover quickly, the sensation that swept over you was not nearly as intense as the ones that he gave you with his mouth and fingers, but no less satisfying.

“Of course, you’re good at this too,” you laugh breathily.

He huffs one of his own in response, his mouth pulling crookedly to the side, “I told you we’d be good together.” He props himself up higher with his forearms from where they were lovingly, protectively caged around your head, “You feelin’ good, sweet girl?”

“So good, it’s so good, Bradley.”

You can feel his grin when he makes your back arch from hitting you just right. Grasping onto his thick biceps, your fingers dig into the corded muscle there. All you can do is let the rhythm take the lead as he picks up the pace again.

It’s hard to draw a full breath. Whether from being so filled by him or from the pressure building in your chest you couldn’t say.

He is everywhere, but it still isn’t enough. You don’t know if you want more or you need less. If you need him to go slower or if it’s not fast enough. You’re so overwhelmed, it’s just so overwhelming how good he is making you feel.

“Bradley, I need, I need-” you can’t even finish your sentence before you’re making a noise of frustration.

“Shh, it’s ok. I got you, kid.” He tosses your legs over his shoulders and raises up to his knees. Lifting your hips up as he reaches over to grab a pillow and slides it underneath you.

Next powerful thrust of his hips has you feeling like you are going to vibrate out of your skin.

Bradley has always been a big fan of mutually assured orgasms, but he had no idea sex could be this good. He has never felt so in sync or connected like this with anyone else ever.

And the way you feel around him with nothing separating his body from yours was indescribable. Only you had the ability make him feel this good.

He wanted your heartbeat to syncopate to the syllables of his name like his did with yours.

“Fuck, fuck. That feels so good,” you stutter out. The new change of angle has you even tighter for him as the sounds of your bodies coming together fill the room. “B-bradley.” a thrust “Your pillow.” a grind “The mess.”

“Fuck the pillow, I’ll get a new one,” he grunts. He clearly isn’t doing his job if you’re concerned about something as inconsequential as some feathers surrounded by cotton.

And then his loses himself in your whimpers and whines and the feel of your perfect-for-him body. In the silky warmth of you. Of his hands on your waist, on your hips, on your ass.

He has to remind himself this is the first time of many. He’s been dying to have you in every way possible for weeks. He wants to know if you sound the same as you do right now beneath him or if your sweet noises changed whether you were above him or on your hands and knees in front of him.

He couldn’t wait to find out.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises. You clench around him and his hips nearly falter in the slow, steady rhythm he has set, “Mm, of course you like a compliment.”

Bradley leans down to kiss you and you cry out at the change of position. Good girl. He teases his mustache down your neck, licking along the straining tendon of your neck. Pretty girl. And then he has he mouth on your breast again. Sweet girl.

The position is perfect for him to grind against your clit. The sounds of your soft sighs, of your breathy moans, and your shaky exhales as he hits that spot inside of you just right has him fighting the urge to chase his own release. And he can’t hold back his own sounds of satisfaction when your hot mouth trails along his collarbone, your tongue laving over that scar on his shoulder.

“I can feel you’re holding back,” you urge. “More, give me more.” One of your hands goes to his ass encouraging him to go faster.

“I’m trying to be romantic here,” he only partly teases, as he rolls his hips in that way he now knows makes you gasp.

“You are, you are,” you promise as you pet the side of his face. “But Bradley, I need you to romantically fuck me harder.”

Only you could make him laugh and make his cock stiffer all at the same time.

He’s never been one to deny you. He sits up on his knees again and flings one of your legs over the crook of his elbow, opening you up and giving him more room to give you just what you want.

“Look at you, I can’t believe you’re mine,” he groans. He can’t tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce as he gives it to you harder, faster, deeper. “Touch yourself for me.” The only thing he can think about was getting you over the edge, so that he could follow you.

He nearly comes at the pretty sight of your fingers making rapid circles on your clit. His hips are rocking into yours roughly, and the way you are whimpering his name is ratcheting his need for you even higher.

Your mouth feels too far away, he wants to taste his name on your lips. He drops back down caging you in his arms. The two of you groan together, he’s much deeper this way. Your hands are fisted in his hair, pulling tightly at his curls as you sweep your tongue against his.

There’s no way he’s going to last with you gripping him like this. He can already feel the tension building in his spine. He knocks your hand out of the way as he takes over the ministrations on your clit, rubbing you there with tight circles.

“Bradley,” you gasp and writhe desperately against him. The way you chant his name sounds so breathy and perfect in his ear as he speeds up the motion of his fingers needing you to come undone.

And then he feels as you spasm and arch and come apart for him with his name on your lips.

bradleybradleybradley

The blood is buzzing in his veins and his breathing has gone entirely ragged as he continues to move in you until you go soft in his arms with a full-bodied sigh.

And then he gives into the desperate way his body needs yours as he chases his own climax.

He presses his face into the curve of your neck, mouthing at whatever skin he can reach as he comes. Nothing has ever felt so good to him as it does emptying himself inside of you, as he thrusts deeper into you as your body convulses around his.

It’s an earth-shattering orgasm that takes and takes and takes.

You don’t know how long you and Bradley lay there tangled up in each other, all heated skin and rapid heartbeats. It’s the most you can do to run your hand through his damp hair from where his head is still tucked against your neck and up and down his muscular back.

He’s long since pulled out of you and you can feel him dripping out of you. But if Bradley isn’t worried about the mess, then neither are you.

You’re still getting use to the weight of him. Still getting use to the shape of your bodies pressed against each other in this way. But it’s better than you could have ever hoped for.

He’s better than you could have hoped for. In every way that mattered.

“So, same time, same place tomorrow?” you ask finding your voice first. You can feel his chuckle as he kisses your neck once, then twice before he pulls away to look at you.

His brown eyes are rimmed with hazel and crinkled around the edges. All the affection and happiness and familiarity evident on his flushed face.

And then he smiles at you. And you know you’re wearing a matching one.

And then you giggle. And he lets out a laugh as he reaches up to softly brush the sweaty strands of hair away from your face.

“You know what’s not fair?” He lets out a hmm of acknowledgement for you to continue as his thumb traces your cheekbone. “You’ve got all these nicknames for me, but I don’t have one for you. Should we try some on for size?” you croon against his ear. Feeling very pleased with yourself when the heavy hand resting on your hip tenses in response.

You kiss along his jaw. Honey. Over his cheek. Baby. On the corner of his perfect mouth. Sweetheart.

“Bradley,” he murmurs looking at you softly.

“Bradley?” You repeat it back to him. Not questioning, but there’s a curiosity there. You love the way he leans in into your touch as you comb your fingers through his waves.

He nods and you’re hit with a wave of affection for this man in your arms. Your Bradley.

“Ok, Bradley,” you say indulgently as you drop a lingering kiss to his lips. “I can work with that.”

And then you’re whispering his name and alternating kisses to his skin, his stomach tensing and flexing as you work your way down his body.

Not one to break his promises to you, he keeps to his word and lets you whatever you want.

After you’ve gotten your way and after he’s gotten his again, you’re wrapped up in his strong arms tangled in his sheets. You’ve never been more satisfied in your life than you are with him here and now, warm and cared for.

You’re too contented in the blissful after you had been so needlessly worried about to fight sleep as it comes to claim you.

Will you two stay intertwined like this all night? Or will he chase you across the bed like he has been chasing you in your dreams?

Snuggling in closer to Bradley, you think about how excited you are to wake up next to him in the morning. Knowing him, he will probably be up before you, hopefully waiting with a steaming cup of coffee for you.

With his soft breaths in your ear, you let yourself drift off to the sweet potential and possibilities of tomorrow.

There’s so much to look forward to.

More of Bradley, more with Bradley.

The two of you are perfectly and exactly on time.

This was written as the part of a series for characters in the “Like I Can” Universe. If you missed Part 1, you can read it here!

They’re right on time, and boy, was it worth the wait!

If you’re curious about what Bradley’s room looks like, you can check it out here! (I’ve updated it to include some headcanons)

I wrote this little series as a birthday gift to my favorite Taurus Moon twin @gretagerwigsmuse! It only took a couple months, Jordan, but its the gift that keeps on giving!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

2K notes · View notes

starleska · 9 days

Text

73 Yards has devastated me and i have some theories

we all agree that 73 Yards was a genre-defying, harrowing episode...and i think there's some really interesting themes and ideas going on here. tw for discussion of trauma, abuse, neglect and abandonment:

i hope we're all on the same page that the Woman seems to represent Ruby's fear of abandonment, brought to life. always present, always out of the corner of her eye, and whose primary mechanic is to drive people to scorn and leave Ruby without explanation. even people who do not know her, or people she's just met, or who are incredibly warm towards her...they speak to the Woman, and they look back as if to confirm their suspicions, and then run away, maddened and horrified. it is an unbelievable stroke of genius to make the Toymaker's breaking down of the boundaries between science and fantasy bring Ruby's abandonment into being...and for Ruby to weaponise her. but that's it - as soon as Roger ap Gwilliam was taken care of, we expected the Woman to disappear, right? but that could never happen, because Ruby's fear of abandonment will never disappear...no matter how purposeful her life is, or how much she distances herself from others. the use of the cruel, distant individuals in the Welsh pub to set up Ruby sympathetically is excellent...and then, we see people approach Ruby at all levels of emotional connection, when time and again she is considered untouchable, as if her very being is contagious. and all this time, we have the fairy circle being broken and hope vanishing...with hope being the Doctor. the one man who potentially holds the key to uncovering Ruby's deepest desires - to find out why she was abandoned, and by who. and at the end of it all...even in death, Ruby doesn't find peace. she is transported into a neverending hell-loop where she is her own abandonment. the two are inseparable, inexplicably the same, because Ruby's very existence as herself is built on the bedrock of abandonment. and i think this resonates heavily with any trauma survivor...the way that our trauma and our very real anxieties brought on by that trauma are inextricable from ourselves. i think the plot with Roger ap Gwilliam shows off a very real symptom in trauma survivors: we often daydream that our hurt and pain will be useful one day - functional. and not only does Ruby get to do that...she gets to be the quiet, unsung saviour of the whole world, protecting us from a world-ending terror in spite of the abuse and neglect she's faced. she endures menial work and constant fear, while only confiding quietly in one other person...Marti, who i believe is coded as another trauma survivor due to her response to Roger (who she describes as a monster). if Ruby can't receive love and affection from anyone else, at least she can feel satisfied that she served her purpose. on a practical level, the presence of Mrs Flood and Susan Twist in this episode AGAIN gives me pause. my theory that someone here is another of the Toymaker's Legions, and is the embodiment of Story, has only deepened. the fact that we had a cold open without the title sequence, we met Susan Twist very quickly, we seem to have flipped genres for the show and Ruby was able to embark on a self-destructive wish-fulfilment saviour fantasy in real life...it all indicates to me that the boundaries between reality and fiction are fully collapsing. when Kate says things are trending towards the supernatural lately, i think we've only hit the tip of the iceberg. on a broader level: my God Russell T Davies, what a brilliant script!!! this is one of my favourite ever episodes of Doctor Who, and is absolutely my highlight for the season. huge kudos to Millie Gibson for giving such a killer performance...i am now terribly endeared to, and protective, of Ruby, and hope against hope she gets the happy ending she so deserves 💖

#i need to lie down. every episode of this fucking season makes my brain require a system restart #doctor who spoilers #doctor who #73 yards #the doctor #fifteenth doctor #15th doctor #ruby sunday #roger ap gwilliam #kate lethbridge-stewart #russell t davies #ncuti gatwa #millie gibson #aneurin barnard #jemma redgrave #mrs flood #susan twist #starleskatalks #long post

349 notes · View notes

mask131 · 2 years

Text

A guide for reading The Sandman: Part 2

So... You have read the full Sandman series. You went from issue 1 to issue 75. From beginning to end. You had all the ten volumes. Congrats!

But I am sorry to tell you, you don’t actually have the full Sandman story. You see, Neil Gaiman wrote and created much more than just the numbered issues. He created a lot of side-stories, side volumes and “specials” whose presence are either exciting and thrilling additions to the Sandman mythos, or key elements needed to understand the plots and happenings of the main story. Don’t get me wrong, if you just read the numbered issues you’ll get the full story without problem. But you’ll still be missing the second part of the complete Sandman world. The “specials”. In French we have a clever word for that: the “hors-séries” (literally means “outside of the series”, it is still part of the world but not inside the numbered series).

Given there is a lot of those specials, I’ll classify them by “publishing order”. You’ll get what I mean.

I) The Sandman library

After being released as a series of numbered issues, The Sandman was collected in the ten volumes I described previously. Out of these volumes, one included actually more than just the numbered issues: volume 6, “Fables and Reflections”, added two Sandman specials.

# “Fear of Falling” was originally a story published as its own for a one-shot issue called “Vertigo Preview” whose function, as the name indicates, was to serve as a big preview for most of the Vertigo titles. As a result, the issue contains previews and half-stories for most of the Vertigo titles: Hellblazer, Doom Patrol, Swamp Thing, Shade the Changing Man... It also includes previews for two specials I will talk about later, Death: The High Cost of Living, and Sandman Mystery Theater. But these are all just previews. There is only one full, complete story, which is precisely “Fear of Falling”, conceived originally as a way to give a taste of Sandman to newcomers.

# The Song of Orpheus. Originally it was published as its own as “The Sandman Special”, but it was included into this first collection of Sandman issues due to how important the story is : for you see, it gives the complete backstory of Orpheus, who is an important character in The Sandman. And while just a retelling of the myth, it is still very precious to understand the full impact of the character.

II) The 30th anniversary edition

After publishing those ten volumes, DC celebrated the 30th birthday of The Sandman by reprinting them... WITH FOUR BONUS VOLUMES!!!

# The first added Volume, Volume 11, is called “Endless Nights”. This specific volume was originally published as its own under the name “The Sandman: Endless Nights”. Published in 2003, so long after the end of The Sandman, it is a set of seven stories, each centered around a different Endless sibling, and their whole purpose is just to further expand the world of The Sandman, and flesh out more the other Endlesses by showing stories from THEIR perspectives. It is technically an “anthology volume / expansion volume” that is not needed to understand the full story, but makes a nice addition to better understand the scope of the world and the working of the Endless. It does however contains spoilers for “Brief Lives” and further, so... it is at its right place as “Volume 11″.

# The second added Volume is NOT called Volume 12 as you would expect. It is rather called... Volume ∞. Of its full name: The Sandman: Overture. This volume was originally a six-part limited series created by Neil Gaiman in 2013 (so LONG after the end of The Sandman, and well after Endless Nights). This is the latest and final work by Neil Gaiman in The Sandman world so far, and it was designed as a sort of “grand finale”. Some people will tell you “It is the first work in chronological order so you should begin here”. DO NOT DARE! THESE PEOPLE ARE LYING TO YOU! Beginning here is the WORST idea you can have. If you want to begin The Sandman, you begin at issue 1, like Neil Gaiman himself.

For you see, “Overture” is a dual story, two series of events tied together that happen, one after the end of The Sandman (so after issue 75) and the other before the beginning of the Sandman (so before issue 1). Overture is both the prologue to The Sandman AND its epilogue. Beginning and end, alpha and omega... Hence the ∞ symbol. It is without a doubt the best way to end the series.

# The two other volumes are both unumbered and called “The Sandman: The Dream Hunters”. And they both tell the same story. So why are there two volumes? Because one is an illustrated novel, and the other is a full comic book issue.

Originally, Neil Gaiman published “The Dream Hunters” as a novel/novella in 1999 (so three years after the end of The Sandman, but before the publication of Endless Nights). It was a fictional story he invented, based upon and inspired by Japanese folklore and Japanese fairytales. Illustrated by Yoshitaka Amano, it takes place in The Sandman world, though it is not part of the main plot and you can actually read the story with no prior knowledge of The Sandman. It became so popular that for the 20th anniversary of The Sandman, in 2008-2009, the novel was adapted into a comic book, a four part mini-series that became its own Sandman volume.

Fun fact: when Neil Gaiman published the story, he wrote in it a fake “origin” claiming he was just adaptating a part of Ozaki’s famous “Old Japanese Fairy Tales”. It was a lie, as Neil Gaiman had entirely invented the story, but it fooled a lot of people who sincerely believed it was some sort of secret or missing story from Ozaki’s book. (He notably had to clear up the matter in “Endless Nights”).

III) The Absolute Sandman

Now you probably think: wow... this is a lot. But I got everything, right? NO YOU FOOL! DC, seeing the enormous success of The Sandman, decided to reprint a new edition of the compilation: The Absolute Sandman, even bigger than the 30th Anniversary edition. Not ten or twelve volumes, but rather six (five numbered volumes plus Overture), containing everything I talked about above (The Sandman Special, Endless Nights, Overture, The Dream Hunters...). Plus more specials not yet included in compilations! Resulting in five volumes + The Absolute Sandman: Overture + one special volume called “The Absolute Death”.

# The Vertigo: Winter’s Edge comics. Vertigo’s Winter Edge was a limited series published from 1998 to 2000 celebrating, every winter, the different lines and series of the Vertigo imprint with special stories. It ran for three issues, and each of them has one story created by Neil Gaiman tied with or part of The Sandman universe. One will maybe ring familiar to the viewers of the show: “A Winter’s Tale”, published in the second issue (1999). This story is actually a description of Death’s backstory, answering many questions about her “life” before the events of The Sandman (and also revealing answers to some questions raised in “Endless Nights”, even though it was published AFTER this story). Parts of it were adapted in the first season of The Sandman tv show.

The other two stories of Winter’s Edge are “The Flowers of Romance”, from Winter Edge 1998 and “How They Met Themselves” from Winter Edge 2000. These stories are fascinating because they actually depict Desire as the protagonist and “hero”. You see, as Gaiman points out, Desire plays an antagonistic role in The Sandman merely because Dream is the protagonist. But here he decided, why not show the reverse, the world where Desire is the protagonist, the “nice” side of Desire: the result are those two stories.

[ The Vertigo: Winter’s Edge issues also contain stories belonging to “The Dreaming”, a spin-off of The Sandman, but given Neil Gaiman was not involved in those I’ll keep it for a later post]

# “The Castle”. This story was originally published in “Vertigo Jam”, which is basically quite similar to “Vertigo Preview” and “Vertigo: Winter Edge”, just a one-shot issue that was an anthology of various stories, each taking place in a different series of the Vertigo imprint.

# The Death mini-series. In 1993, the same year as The Dream Hunters, Neil Gaiman wrote a mini-series with Death as the main protagonist. It was called “Death: The High Cost of Living”. This Death-centered story had three years later a “twin mini-series”: “Death: The Time of Your Life” in 1996 (coupled with the return of Hazel and Foxglove from “A Game of You”). These two were then gathered here as a duo in a special volume of The Absolute Sandman called “The Absolute Death” and centered around, you guessed it, lot of Death material.

# The “educational” Sandman. This “Absolute Death” volume also contains two “PSA material” or “Very Special Episode” issues. One is a story centered around Destruction and called “The Wheel”, which was originally part of a very special DC volume: 9-11: The world’s finest comic book writers and artists tell stories to remember. You can safely guess what the story is about. The second story is not actually a story, but a Death-centered AIDs pamphlet called “Death Talks About Life”. It had been originally coupled with several other issues of DC comics: it was found in the issue 32 of “Shade the Changing Man” (the 1990 series) ; it was also found in the 62nd issue of Hellblazer, and finally in the 46th issue of The Sandman. But it also existed as its own, unique pamphlet distributed in schools to raise awareness of HIV and AIDS.

# Sandman Midnight Theater. The last of the specials created by Neil Gaiman, and one of the last pieces to The Sandman puzzle. Long story short... There were several “Sandman” super-heroes in the DC Universe. In fact, Neil Gaiman began “The Sandman” as his own personal take on the several Sandmen super-heroes of the DC world. The very first of those Sandmen was Wesley Dodds, a Batman-like vigilante of the 30s that was part of the Golden Age of comics. In fact, Wesley Dodds himself appears in the first issue of Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman, and is part of The Sandman universe. After the end of Neil Gaiman’s series, the popularity of Wesley Dodds increased again and so in 1993 was launched a “reboot” of the original adventures of the Sandman, a new series around Dodds called “Sandman Mystery Theater”.

Sandman Midnight Theater is precisely a crossover issue between Sandman Mystery Theater and Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman.

# “The Last Sandman Story”. This is actually not a comic book story. It was a prose story, semi-autobiographical, written by Neil Gaiman for “Dustcovers: The Collected Sandman Covers”, which as the name says compiled all of the covers of Dave McKean (plus I think he also illustrated this specific story?). It a sort of confession story, a text by Neil Gaiman about real-life and his relationship with The Sandman series and the character of Dream. And, as the name says, it was written to be released at the conclusion of the main series, post-issue 75.

There you go! These are all the specials created by Neil Gaiman and that are part of the canon and official Sandman series. Of course there is more bonus to talk about: Neil Gaiman gave a lot of interviews about The Sandman in which he reveals all sorts of details and secrets, and they can be found across various books - the Sandman Companion, the Absolute Sandman editions, the Omnibus Sandman editions, there’s plenty of places to look at.

So... is it done? Is it over?

Yes and no. With this, you have covered everything in The Sandman world made by Neil Gaiman. So this is basically all the “canon”.

But The Sandman created a lot of spin-offs and side-stories that were not created or that are not linked to Neil Gaiman... as with many comic book worlds, it expanded beyond its original creator. So maybe I will cover all the non-Neil Gaiman Sandman stories in a third part. Maybe. If I have time.

#sandman #the sandman #comic books #comic book #comics #reading guide #neil gaiman #specials #dream of the endless #death of the endless #desire of the endless #destruction of the endless

5K notes · View notes

howtofightwrite · 9 months

Note

I love picking at plot holes like scabs so i want my fight scenes to be as realistic as possible. However. There’s a creature in my head that says a buster sword is SICK AS HELL. What modifications would it need to be even remotely wieldable while still keeping its central appeal (huge sword big blade cool and sexy) intact?

You’ve made a mistake. You mistook suspension of disbelief for realism. This is a common problem that gets in the way of a lot of fantasy and sci-fi authors. So, don’t worry. It isn’t just you. However, realism vs believability is where your hangup is. Stories don’t need to be realistic to be believable.

The quick and dirty (and possibly unhelpful) answer is to create a world that justifies your buster sword, not a buster sword that’s trying to justify itself in a world that doesn’t want it. You step back from the sword itself and away from a world where reality dictates that it’s too heavy, too clumsy, too slow, and ask yourself: “in what type of world does this thing make sense?” And there’s about a billion different ways to create that.

The hangup with the realistic argument is that all of fiction is a lie. Good or bad, that’s what stories are. They can be very compelling, addicting, manipulative, feel incredibly good, and still be fake. The goal of a creator isn’t just to create stories that are believable, but for your audience to want to believe in them. Storytelling is always a joint venture between you and your reader. You are the salesperson asking your audience to come along for the ride. To keep their attention, you’ve got to spin up a good yarn. Build trust. The world has to feel right, but it doesn’t have to be right. Reasonable, not right. The goal is to take a cool idea and work backwards to how your society got here so that when seen from an outside perspective, the choice ultimately looks like a reasonable conclusion given the surrounding context. One of the better ways to build your reasonable conclusions is by studying the history of technological invention from the beginning to the midpoint rather than starting with the end point—the results.

History is full of weird, wacky, wild attempts and failures at creation. You’re not the first person to look at a human sized sword and wonder if it could, in fact, hit good. Or, really, better than swords that currently exist. Or, fulfill a battlefield role the sword was currently not occupying. Or, as we like to say, have real battlefield applications. The Claymore, the Zwhihander, the Zhanmadao are all real weapons that saw real, if not necessarily extensive, use. Like all weapons, they were specialized tools meant for particular battlefield uses. In this case, mainly as anti-cavalry support.

Ask yourself, why? Not just, why would I want it? Ask, why would I use it?

What actual purpose does the big cool blade serve beyond looking big and cool? What function does it fill on the battlefield? Why use the big cool blade instead of other weapons? What does it do better? What are some offsets which might account for the massive size? Technology? Superhuman enhancements, mystical or otherwise? Gravitic fields? Magic? Why is the big cool blade better suited to ensuring a character’s survival? What advantages does it provide? What is its practical value to warriors within your setting?

The initial defensive reaction is that we don’t need a reason because we have the Rule of Cool. That could be the reason, but I challenge you to go deeper. Go deeper than, “this was the weapon my character was trained to use.” The followup question is: why were they trained to use it?

In the real world, we can answer these questions both from a personal and from a larger social perspective. We may not be able to answer whether we’d use a gun, but we understand why humanity developed guns, why we use guns, and the purpose they serve both for personal protection and in their military applications. The answers don’t necessarily need to be good or smart. What matters is that an answer exists to feed your audience. When your reader starts struggling to believe, they begin to ask questions, they pick at the fabric of the narrative trying to figure out why their mind has rejected the story they were previously enjoying. What we, the writer, want to create is a chain of logic underpinning the narrative and its world. This way, when questions are asked, a reasonable answer is ready and waiting. While we won’t win over everyone, trust that your audience wants to believe. Trust that they’re smart enough to figure it out without being spoon fed. That way, you won’t fall into the trap of infodumping.

Worldbuilding always involves a lot more happening under the surface than ever makes it onto the page. Your characters will be the ones to demonstrate and act on the internal logic that’s been created for them without needing a billion questions to lead us from Point A to Point B.

If we look at human history in a wide view, we find that weapons are a fairly steady march forward that matches a civilization’s technological growth. We keep what works and discards what doesn’t. The crossbow replaced the bow as the main form of artillery in martial combat, but we still kept the bow. The bow still had practical applications. Guns eventually replaced the crossbow just like they replaced the sword, but it actually took a very long time. We had functional firearms in the Middle Ages.

Ease of Use

Ease of Training

Lethality

From a military standpoint, these are the three most important aspects for widespread adoption of any weapon. Easy to use. Easy to train. Lethal. The longer it takes to train a soldier on a weapon the more time your army is losing out on using that soldier and the more effective the weapon needs to be in order to justify its expense. Why give your soldier a big cool sword if they’ll never get close enough to reach the forward line to make the assault? Why have them use the big cool sword if operating the laser cannon is more efficient, effective, and keeps them alive longer? In the coldness of battlefield calculus, it’s often better to have cheap, efficient units rather than more expensive ones that might be more lethal but take longer to produce. No matter how good they are, you’re eventually going to lose them. Therefore, easy replaceability becomes a factor.

If you can answer those questions (and the myriad of other similar ones) you won’t just have a weapon, you’ll have a world. You’ll have more than a justification, you’ll have battlefield strategy, tactics, and a greater understanding of how the average layman characters in your setting beyond your main character approach warfare and possibly a technological history. You might even have several functional armies.

Ultimately, this is a game of value versus cost. Most settings that use big cool swords sacrifice ease of use and ease of training to amp up lethality. The weapon having a specialized function or only being usable by a specialized unit helps if that unit’s battlefield effectiveness is justified. Or, you could just have a weird technological outlier where its effectiveness doesn’t quite justify its cost even if the individual warrior is effective. A good example of this is in shounen anime where one character has a specialty that no one else has, a really cool, effective weapon that never appears anywhere else, because the length of training, high skill floor, and finicky nature of its use make it difficult to justify widespread adoption.

The danger is assuming there’s a right answer. There isn’t one. The value in learning the rules of real world violence is so you can break them. This way you can tell the difference between the vital rules necessary for suspending disbelief and don’t accidentally break the ones you needed to keep your audience invested.

-Michi

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #michi answers #how to fight write

546 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

mothmeadoww

jayc-posts

Jay.C

profoundlycolorfulgladiator

Untitled

glitter-cafe

Glitter Cafe

faeshittrap

Fay!