#block of uranium

[hvpo-archive]

does circuit have darrell in this au ?

Block of Uranium.

[sunnydayaoe]

Circuit but dressed like chel and block of uranium dressed as companion cube

that would be nice :)

-🐇

itty bittys X]]] Circuit would never wear this for more than a little bit, but also he's one of those pet owners who would do photo shoots with their pets all dressed up haha [ID in ALT]

[elementcattos]

did a thing where i RNG'd 4 numbers from 0 to 118 and i got these four so i drew them :3

awww dsgkjds i love how ppl have referenced the neutron jar comic with Uranium twice by now

Also wow that Roentgenium design. I should've drawn a close-up bc it's too small in the Table to see what's going on in their head but it's actually supposed to be their leviathan nucleus and army of electrons! But I like this planet idea too, perhaps it could be related to X-ray astronomy or something

[entity56]

admission to being toxic in the past does not mean you are still toxic

[raintailed]

STOPPP YOUR FUNGURARY SLUGCATS ARE SO CUTE oh my god. one billion slugs be upon ye. i dont know how i wasnt following you here hi im uraniumglass on th :] if you do any more design trades or sales id be so interested...

HEHEHEHEH :]]]]] hi uranium!

thank you! and i love doin design trades, though i am currently worn out by funguary stuff.

im not planning on doing many more funguary designs, but i do have a few more ideas to do!

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #24

June 21-28 2024

The US Surgeon General declared for the first time ever, firearm violence a public health crisis. The nation's top doctor recommended the banning of assault weapons and large-capacity magazines, the introduce universal background checks for purchasing guns, regulate the industry, pass laws that would restrict their use in public spaces and penalize people who fail to safely store their weapons. President Trump dismissed Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy in 2017 in part for his criticism of guns before his time in government, he was renominated for his post by President Biden in 2021. While the Surgeon General's reconstructions aren't binding a similar report on the risks of smoking in 1964 was the start of a national shift toward regulation of tobacco.

Vice-President Harris announced the first grants to be awarded through a ground breaking program to remove barriers to building more housing. Under President Biden more housing units are under construction than at any time in the last 50 years. Vice President Harris was announcing 85 million dollars in grants giving to communities in 21 states through the  Pathways to Removing Obstacles to Housing (PRO) program. The administration plans another 100 million in PRO grants at the end of the summer and has requested 100 million more for next year. The Treasury also announced it'll moved 100 million of left over Covid funds toward housing. All of this is part of plans to build 2 million affordable housing units and invest $258 billion in housing overall.

President Biden pardoned all former US service members convicted under the US Military's ban on gay sex. The pardon is believed to cover 2,000 veterans convicted of "consensual sodomy". Consensual sodomy was banned and a felony offense under the Uniform Code of Justice from 1951 till 2013. The Pardon will wipe clean those felony records and allow veterans to apply to change their discharge status.

The Department of Transportation announced $1.8 Billion in new infrastructure building across all 50 states, 4 territories and Washington DC. The program focuses on smaller, often community-oriented projects that span jurisdictions. This award saw a number of projects focused on climate and energy, like $25 million to help repair damage caused by permafrost melting amid higher temperatures in Alaska, or $23 million to help electrify the Downeast bus fleet in Maine.

The Department of Energy announced $2.7 billion to support domestic sources of nuclear fuel. The Biden administration hopes to build up America's domestic nuclear fuel to allow for greater stability and lower costs. Currently Russia is the world's top exporter of enriched uranium, supplying 24% of US nuclear fuel.

The Department of Interior awarded $127 million to 6 states to help clean up legacy pollution from orphaned oil and gas wells. The funding will help cap 600 wells in Alaska, Arizona, Indiana, New York and Ohio. So far thanks to administration efforts over 7,000 orphaned wells across the country have been capped, reduced approximately 11,530 metric tons of carbon dioxide equivalent emissions

HUD announced $469 million to help remove dangerous lead from older homes. This program will focus on helping homeowners particularly low income ones remove lead paint and replace lead pipes in homes built before 1978. This represents one of the largest investments by the federal government to help private homeowners deal with a health and safety hazard.

Bonus: President Biden's efforts to forgive more student debt through his administration's SAVE plan hit a snag this week when federal courts in Kansas and Missouri blocked elements the Administration also suffered a set back at the Supreme Court as its efforts to regular smog causing pollution was rejected by the conservative majority in a 5-4 ruling that saw Amy Coney Barrett join the 3 liberals against the conservatives. This week's legal setbacks underline the importance of courts and the ability to nominate judges and Justices over the next 4 years.

[coshechka]

my tumblr for you page just gave me a friends post a disney discourse post and a royal family post. what are you even doing at this point

[madamepestilence]

The Chemical Structure of Redstone

So I was curious about what the chemical structure of Redstone looks like, and Minecraft Education Edition, albeit unintentionally, gives us a canon look into what Redstone is made of:

In Minecraft Education Edition, putting a Redstone Block into a Material Reducer shows that it's composed of 31 Carbon, 31 Uranium, and 38 Unobtanium, which we can assume to be measured in grams

Dividing the Redstone Block into Redstone Dust, each Redstone Dust is then composed of approximately 3.4 Carbon, 3.4 Uranium, and 4.2 Unobtanium

Again assuming that's measured in grams, that's 0.17 cm³ of Uranium, 1.496 cm³ of Carbon, and ???³ of Unobtanium per Redstone Dust

So what does this tell us about the chemical structure of Redstone? Basing this on Redstone Dust's composition, we can estimate that each Redstone molecule is composed of 3 Carbon atoms, 3 Uranium atoms, 4 Unobtanium atoms, a little under half of the time it binds to an extra Uranium and/or Carbon, and 20% of the time it binds to an extra Unobtanium

This also has some horrifying implications for how Redstone works:

Redstone would be extremely volatile as the radioactive decay from Unobtanium and Uranium would occasionally release Helium ions through alpha radiation, sometimes breaking apart Carbon into two Beryllium atoms (as it absorbs the extra proton and neutron from the Uranium) or merging into Oxygen

So Redstone should, in theory, be extremely flammable and potentially explosive, which implies that cave static, or the player mining Redstone with an Iron Pickaxe, could lead to a spark that causes an explosive cave-in

As Unobtanium is just a placeholder for unobtainable elements (hence the name), I'm going to estimate Unobtanium in this case as Unbinilium, the placeholder name for element 120

Why?

I'm estimating the Unobtanium as Redstone as being larger than the largest man-made element, Oganesson, which holds an impressive 118 protons

Each valence electron shell, from innermost to outermost, can bind with 2, 8, 18, 32, 32, 18, and 8 shells respectively, so I'd like Unobtanium to be an element we haven't discovered yet, and consequently I'd like to jump up to the next shell

While I could estimate with element 119's placeholder, Ununennium, it would have one electron in the next shell, so Unbinilium allows for easier chemical binding

So what does this molecule look like then? Well, horrifyingly...

It looks like this. As Redstone forms in crystal lattices, and only two Carbon atoms are free to bind, I can absolutely see why it's so brittle that it breaks into powder.

This makes the structure of Redstone:

C3U3Uno4 (55% of molecules) C4U3Uno4 (13% of molecules) C3U4Uno4 (13% of molecules) C4U4Uno4 (7% of molecules) C3U3Uno5 (5% of molecules) C4U3Uno5 (3% of molecules) C3U4Uno5 (3% of molecules) C4U4Uno5 (1% of molecules)

An extremely radioactive, flammable, and explosive compound.

[nights-flying-fox]

Leon with a bat, what will he do?

*gives all the Leos bats with nails* The bat saga begins a new

I'll let them dig up their bats... as a little treat.

[superbat-love]

"Batman-02, requesting access to the Yellow Sun Room," Bruce said.

"Access granted. Welcome, Batman," the robotic voice intoned, and the door slid open.

Bruce stepped into the room, the UV lighting casting a purple glow. His eyes immediately fell on the figure huddled in the corner.

"Clark, how are you feeling?" Bruce asked, deliberately keeping his voice low, careful not to agitate Clark’s heightened senses.

A garbled sound came from the man. Bruce stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment, before realizing that Clark was speaking in Kryptonian. His language processing centers hadn’t recovered yet.

"Everything feels wrong," Clark moaned. "My heartbeat’s like a bad drummer at a rock concert, my nerves are firing off everywhere, my tear ducts won’t stop leaking, and... and I sound like an unhinged Decepticon!"

Bruce sighed softly and set aside the tray he was carrying. Without a word, he stood in front of Clark, arms extended in silent invitation. Clark hesitated only for a moment before pushing himself off the ground, gratefully collapsing into Bruce’s embrace.

Clark was always a mess right after a kryptonite extraction surgery. His body was so focused on healing that it temporarily forgot how to simulate human physiological reactions. Thankfully, the Yellow Sun Room helped regulate his temperature and blocked out the overwhelming sensory input from the outside world.

"Give it time, Clark," Bruce said, his voice steady and calming. "Your body just needs to recalibrate. Try to slow your breathing, and listen to my heartbeat."

Clark nodded weakly and pressed his ear against Bruce's chest, taking a deep breath and attempting to sync his heart rate with Bruce's steady rhythm.

"That’s it," Bruce encouraged. "Let me know if your symptoms get worse, okay? And don’t worry about your voice—you sound like a respectable robot to me."

"Optimus Prime?" Clark asked, looking up hopefully.

"Is that what the robot in Dick’s favorite movie is called?" Bruce said. "The small, yellow one."

Clark frowned. "Bumblebee? But... he couldn’t talk."

"He could," Bruce corrected. "It’s just that no one understood him."

Clark buried his face into Bruce’s shoulder, sobbing harder.

"But I can, and that’s all that matters for now," Bruce quickly reassured him. Clark sniffled, curiously peeking over Bruce's shoulder.

"Something smells good."

"Iron bars and steel pipes, spiced with mini uranium bombs. You need to replenish your vitamins," Bruce said, relieved to see Clark’s mood lightening.

Clark’s eyes lit up. "You got me uranium bombs too?"

Bruce led him to the small dining table. "Yes, and let me tell you, they’re not easy to make."

As they sat down, Bruce stayed close, holding Clark’s hand to help maintain their synced physiological reactions while Clark eagerly scarfed down the food Bruce had prepared.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Three Four, That’s the Magic Number - Hangman

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin / Wife!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog is 18+ Only!

Warnings: (Unplanned) Pregnancy; (Failed) Vasectomies; Humor; Suggestive Language; Marital Disagreements; Threats of Kicks to the Balls; Female Reader with No Description, No Y/N, Second Person POV, Use of "You"

Summary: You thought that three kids was it. But apparently your husband, Hangman, didn't have as successful of a vasectomy as you initially thought.

Master List

Holding your head in your hand, you tried to quell your sudden nausea as your husband continued to drive you and your family across town to the Bradshaw family home for a Dagger pool day. Your head was pounding and you swore that your body was naturally swaying on its own and your kids fighting in the back seat was not helping your mood. 

“Hey!” Jake barked when your son kicked the back of your seat, causing all three of your kids to jump. “Sit down and apologize to your mama right now, Charlie.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Charlie mumbled out quietly.  

“Thank you, baby,” you replied softly, still feeling out of it. 

“If you three don’t stop fighting, we’re not going to the pool,” Jake warned your three kids. Coming to a stop at a red light, he turned around to shoot them the classic ‘do not test me today’ look that your kids knew to not test. “So, if you want to go to the pool and play with your friends, you’re going to stop fighting. Got it?”

“Yes, Daddy,” the three of them chorused together. 

Turning to shoot you a concerned look, since you hadn’t looked like yourself for what felt like days now, Jake started driving again when the light turned green. Pulling into the Bradshaw driveway, you slowly got out of your seat and moved to pull your kids out of the back. Jake grabbed the food and took Liam and set him on his hip so that you could walk in without any extra weight. 

The Bradshaw house was packed with the Daggers and their families. The years since the uranium facility mission had only made the Dagger relationships stronger and even though they didn’t all live near each other anymore, they made efforts to get together when they could. Especially with a lot of their kids being around the same age. 

Your three kids quickly joined in the activities with the other Dagger babies, letting you get a brief moment of peace. You and Jake stepped out into the backyard with Jake resting a concerned hand on your lower back, as if he was worried that you’d collapse on him. 

“Are you sure that you’re fine?” Jake asked worriedly.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I probably just need to eat and drink some more water. That’s all.”

“Go sit down. I’ll grab you something.”

Jake reluctantly parted from your side and headed inside again while you made your way over to where Phoenix and Payback’s wife Dana were sitting by the pool. The direct sun caused your head to pound once again. 

“You look horrible,” Phoenix commented, causing you to sigh and drop onto a chair. 

“I feel horrible,” you muttered, shifting the umbrella over to block the sun. 

“Are you sick?” Dana asked, sitting up. 

“No. I don’t have a fever or anything like that. It’s probably just some stomach thing or just me being exhausted.”

“You’re nauseous?”

“Only sometimes,” you replied with a shrug, lying flat on your back. 

“Have you been sleeping well?”

“No,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes and blinking slowly. “Liam’s still sleeping in our bed most nights and he usually kicks one of us awake. Mostly Jake, actually.”

“Eh, Hangman probably deserved it,” Phoenix muttered, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Love you too, Phoenix,” Jake muttered, arriving on the scene. 

He offered you a plate of food and a cup of water. You took the offering from your husband and shot him a small smile. In return, Jake leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Thanks, baby,” you told him, smiling softly. 

“You’ll let me know if you need to go home, right?” Jake asked you, shooting that look that he always did whenever you over-exerted yourself. 

“Yes, Commander Seresin,” you replied sarcastically, shooting him an exasperated expression. 

“We don’t need to be here for your foreplay,” Phoenix stated from behind Jake, causing Dana to burst out into snickers. 

“Daddy!” Annie called, causing Jake to immediately spin around to see her standing on the steps of the pool with Bob right beside her. “Come play in the pool!”

“I’m coming, Princess!” 

Jake peeled off his shirt and handed it over to you. Shooting you one last concerned look, Jake headed over to join Annie in the pool. You folded his shirt up and set it beside you before reaching for your water. 

“How long have you been feeling ill?” Dana asked as you sipped at your water. “Jake seems pretty concerned.”

“About a week,” you replied quietly, reaching for the food that he brought you. 

“You made an appointment?”

“Not yet. But I’m worried that he’ll make one for me if I drag my feet anymore,” you stated honestly, popping a grape into your mouth. 

“Are you telling me that we’re in for another classic Hangman freak out?” Phoenix sighed, taking a long sip of her beer. “I haven’t had enough drinks to deal with that yet.”

“I think that Annie’s keeping him distracted for now,” you responded, smiling as Jake tossed Annie up in the air and caught her. Annie squealed as Jake pressed a kiss to her cheek and tossed her in the air again. “She’s got him wrapped around her finger at all times.”

You moved to eat some crackers and cheese, keeping everything lighter and stomach friendly. But when your caught a whiff of potato salad that all seemed to be for nothing. Plugging your nose, you quickly set down your food and sipped at your water to try and keep your stomach from rolling dangerously. 

“Do you need Jake?” Dana asked, sitting up.  

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Phoenix added, sharing a look with Dana. 

“I’m fine. And stop looking at me like that or Jake is going to notice.”

“I’d make that appointment soon,” Phoenix told you honestly. “Not much gets by him. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“No, you’re right,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair. Staring up at the umbrella over your head, you sunk a bit more into your seat. “I’ll make the appointment.”

~~~~~

“Any allergies?” the nurse asked you. 

“No, none,” you replied, sitting up on the exam table of your doctor’s office. 

“Any changes to your medication?”

“Nope.”

“When was your last period?”

“I don’t know, probably three weeks ago or something like that,” you replied, not entirely sure. You hardly kept track of it anymore at this stage in your life. 

“And any chance that you could be pregnant?” she asked, causing you to shake your head. 

“My husband had a vasectomy.”

“But are you still sexually active?”

“Yes.”

“In the last few months?”

“Yes.”

“Then, we’ll need you to take a urine test,” the nurse assistant replied, pulling out a plastic cup from the cupboard. “It’s standard procedure.”

Reluctantly, you took the cup and headed down the hall to the bathroom. After what felt like twenty years, your doctor finally entered your exam room. 

“How are we doing today, Mrs. Seresin?”

“I’ve been better,” you replied, swinging your legs back and forth. 

“Yes, I understand that.”

Your doctor asked you a series of questions, did a quick physical exam, before returning to the computer in the corner of the room. Typing in your answers and some notes to herself, your doctor turned back to you. 

“Well, I think with all of your symptoms and your test results, there’s one clear cause of your illness—you’re pregnant.”

“That’s funny,” you laughed off, but your doctor remained serious. 

“Mrs. Seresin, you’re pregnant. Your urine test came back with clear results. Based on your hormone levels, I’d put you somewhere around six to eight weeks.”

“But my husband got a vasectomy,” you insisted, as if that changed anything. “There’s no way that I’m pregnant.”

“Do you use protection with him?”

“No,” you replied, as if it were obvious. 

“Might I suggest making an appointment with your obstetrician?” your doctor spoke softly, causing you to sink into your seat. 

~~~~~

Making dinner that night, you swore that you weren’t seeing or thinking straight. Your doctor’s words kept echoing around head and stole any smidge of sanity that you maintained. Your kids were running around causing a ruckus as they always were and Jake still wasn’t home, which only added to your inner turmoil. 

You hadn’t told Jake about what the doctor told you. It didn’t feel right breaking that kind of news over the phone or text. And frankly, you were torn between stressing about Jake’s reaction to your news and wanting to have the upper hand so that you could jump out strangle him the second that he got home. 

“Daddy’s home!” Charlie called, setting off a chain reaction. 

You looked up to see the kids run over to the door to greet Jake. Trying to not get too caught up in how excited the kids were to see their dad, you focused on getting the table set up for dinner. The door swung open and Jake stepped inside, immediately dropping his bag and holding out his arms. 

“You’re all here for me?” he teased, pulling your three kids in for a hug and kiss. “Well, aren’t I just the luckiest guy?”

Sniffling, you set down the plates full of food for the kids before turning back for the kitchen to get started on the dishes. Jake usually did them after dinner, but you just needed to do something to steady yourself. Jake released your kids, telling them to go and wash their hands, before turning to you. 

“Hey, Mama,” he greeted you, playfully tapping your ass. Wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you away from the dishes, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder and then your neck. “How was your day?”

“Oh, I just found out some news,” you replied, seemingly calm. 

“What kind of news?” Jake asked curiously. 

“The kind that will have you sleeping on the couch tonight,” you stated, a bit more aggravation seeping into your tone. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Jake questioned, confused and looking a bit like a kicked puppy with your harsh tone. But that look wasn’t going to do him any favors today. 

“You didn’t keep up your end of the deal.”

“Honey, what deal?”

“The one where you promised to not knock me up with another one of your heavy, always late, big-headed children!”

“Wait, you—you’re pregnant?” Jake breathed out, inspecting you closer. “Really?”

“I could easily knee you in the balls right now,” you warned Jake, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I need to since your ‘vasectomy’ clearly didn’t work!”

“What’s with the air quotes?” Jake asked, grabbing your hands. “Honey, you were there.”

“Not in the operating room.”

“Were you supposed to be?”

“Jacob,” you warned him, shooting him a look to shut up. 

“Mommy, Liam was trying to eat the soap again,” Charlie complained, causing you to look away from Jake. 

“For the love of—Liam, what did I tell you about eating soap?”

“I got this,” Jake told you, turning to walk over to the bathroom. “Just . . . sit down and breathe.”

Jake walked off to grab Liam while you scrubbed away at the dishes again. Charlie sat down at the table, closely followed by Annie and then Jake carried out Liam and sat him in his chair. Turning to see you still erratically scrubbing at the same pot, Jake sighed and approached you. He called your name, but you didn’t look up. 

“Honey,” Jake tried again, “let’s just eat and I’m sure that you’re exhausted and probably just want to shower and go to bed.”

“I made an appointment with my obstetrician and with your urologist,” you replied, changing the subject on your husband. 

“My urologist?”

“About your ‘vasectomy’,” you stated, adding passive aggressive air quotes again around vasectomy. “It’s in a month.”

“When? I have a bunch of—”

“—I already called your secretary and picked a time that fits into your schedule.” Turning to shoot your husband a look, you wiped off your hands on a towel. “You’re going.”

You stormed past him, leaving no room for argument. Jake winced and watched you walk over to the dinner table with your three kids. And although you looked just about ready to rip his head off and could very possibly read his thoughts, Jake couldn’t help but think about how much better the dining table set would look with six chairs instead of five. 

But he wasn’t going to talk about that right now. He wanted to wake up tomorrow morning. 

~~~~~

Jake sat on the exam table while you paced around the room with your arms folded across your chest and your purse in the optimal position to swing it and whack your husband. You were already starting to show and your appointment with your obstetrician was the week before. You and the baby were perfectly healthy despite the fact that you were in ‘advanced maternal age.’ 

Your husband slept on the couch after that appointment too just because you were feeling spiteful about that. 

Jake was still dressed in his uniform, on a short break from work to attend this appointment. He met you at the doctor’s office while Dana Fitch invited your kids over for the afternoon. And although he tried to brighten your mood by promising to grab dinner on his way home and maybe something extra, you face was permanently screwed into a frown since you arrived at the office. 

A knock on the door caused you to stop pacing and turn as the urologist slowly stepped into the room with a kind smile. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Seresin. How are we?”

“Pregnant,” you stated bluntly. 

“Yes, I heard. Congratulations,” the urologist replied somewhat awkwardly before taking his seat. “Though I’m assuming you’re wondering how that’s possible.”

“You read my mind,” you responded calmly and not at all sarcastic. 

“Well, I should inform you that you’re not the first couple to have a pregnancy after a vasectomy. While it’s not common, it can still happen.”

“And in this case?”

“I’m not entirely sure without any additional tests,” the urologist replied honestly. “And in this case, I think that starting with a sample is the best course of action. Once we have those results, we can discuss whether or not another vasectomy is necessary.”

“Another one?” Jake asked quietly. 

But he instantly tried to bite back his words when he caught the way that your head snapped around to shoot him a glare. 

“Oh, that must be so inconvenient and painful for you to have to deal with,” you drawled sarcastically, causing Jake to wince. 

“Sorry.”

You left the room to let Jake talk with the urologist privately and to check in on the kids. Glancing at the door to make sure that you were in fact gone, the urologist turned to Jake. 

“I’m not trying to overstep and cause any trouble but we often ask men in this position if there is any possibility of them wanting a paternity test,” the urologist offered, causing Jake to chuckle. 

“Not necessary,” Jake replied, laughing off the absurdity of the urologist’s suggestion. “Just some strong swimmers. That’s all.”

~~~~~

Jake headed out to the parking lot to see you sitting on a bench in the shade of the building, furiously typing away at your phone. Approaching carefully, like he was approaching a wild animal, he slowly sat down beside you. 

“They’ll call me back with the results in a few days,” Jake stated, causing you to nod and put away your phone. “Are you okay?”

“I still want to kick you in the balls,” you stated, shooting your husband a look. 

“Have I mentioned that I greatly appreciate your restraint?” Jake offered, causing you to scoff. “Honey, I can’t read your mind. Please just tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I just . . . I can’t believe we’re those people,” you sighed, holding a hand to your head. 

“What do you mean by those people?”

“You know, those people. Those couples who were dumb enough after having three kids to not know what birth control is. Those couples that can’t keep their hands off of each other and just fuck around like a bunch of animals and there’s evidence for all of it! I mean, who sets out planning to have four kids?”

“Baby, who gives a shit about what other people think about us?” Jake replied seriously, grabbing your hand. “It’s none of their business about how many kids we do or don’t have. And I’m not going to apologize to anyone for maintaining a healthy sex life with my wife after three kids. Are you?”

“No,” you huffed, folding your arms across your chest. “Of course not.” Pausing for a moment, you turned back to Jake. “I kind of rubbed it in stupid Gina Denison’s face that we’re still banging a few days ago.”

Gina Denison was one of the moms of Charlie’s friend group. Her husband was a tool and looked like he hated his life every time he showed up.  And Gina was always so flirty with Jake, grabbing his arm and complimenting him on everything, that you contemplated kicking your son’s soccer ball straight into her face. 

“She did look pretty glum actually,” Jake mused, rubbing your knee. 

“Good.”

“Then what’s there to worry about?” Jake asked, causing you to sigh. 

“There’s the whole bedroom situation first of all. Unless we want to turn the guest room into the nursery, the kids are going to have to share.”

“We’ll just convert the playroom upstairs. Easy fix. A new coat of paint and moving some things around and we’re fine.”

“And we can only fit three car seats into the back of your truck.”

“Then we’ll take the other car for family outings,” Jake pointed out softly, rubbing your knee again.

“And Liam’s still coming into our bed most nights. What happens when I’m eight months pregnant and there’s no room?”

“I’ll have a talk with him about it,” Jake offered, causing you to raise an eyebrow. 

“You’ve talked to him about it a hundred times already. What’s changed?”

“I have my ways.”

And by ‘his ways,’ Jake was quietly referring to the fact that when you were heavily pregnant, you snored. Loudly. And now Jake had never told you that when you were heavily pregnant you snored because he wasn’t an idiot. It was like complaining about how uncomfortable the chairs were in the delivery room. Only a fucking selfish pathetic loser complained about that stuff to his pregnant wife. 

And he already had a slip up with the whole second vasectomy thing in there and he was trying to quickly recover from that. 

Turning to you and gently cupping your cheek so that you turned to him, Jake leaned in and rested her forehead against your own. 

“Honey, you know that I’m here, right? You don’t have to go through this alone and you don’t have to hold all of the stress about it. We’re fine. We have the money. We have the space. We have the extra hands if we need babysitters. And for anything else, just tell me about it. I’m here for you and our four babies. Anything you want, you let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. Smiling up at your husband through your eyelashes, you suddenly grew serious. “I want you to get another vasectomy.”

“Yeah, I thought you were going to say that,” Jake sighed, wincing a bit again. 

~~~~~

Jake was turning forty this year. The big 4-0. And it only seemed fitting to him that he got to have his four kids by his side for this birthday. But since it happened to fall on a random Tuesday that Jake had to work, you and the kids just put together a small party for him. You cooked him his favorite dinner and the kids gave him the card that they made for him. And then it was time for the cake. 

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday Daddy, Happy Birthday to you!” you and three of your kids sang along. 

But little baby Hazel, who was about a year and a half now, was more focused on trying to touch the cake with her finger than singing. Jake smiled and grabbed her hand, shaking it to distract her long enough for you to take a photo. 

“Alright, time to blow out the candles!” you called, holding up your phone to take the photo.

“On three,” Jake instructed your kids. “Ready? One . . . two . . . three.” 

Your four kids, who were all seated or standing next to Jake, blew out the candles with him. You snapped a few quick photos before putting your phone away. Jake started clapping, causing Hazel to giggle and clap along too. You quickly grabbed the cake and cut it up. Passing around the slices of cake, you smiled and pressed a loving kiss to your husband’s lips. 

“Happy Birthday, Jake.”

“Thank you, baby,” he returned, shooting you a wink. 

Your kids talked excitedly with Jake about the upcoming weekend. Jake’s parents were flying in for his birthday and you were going to take a short vacation as a family. Jake listened and talked intently with your children before it was time to start the bedtime routines. You and Jake worked together to get Hazel and then Liam and then Annie and Charlie all ready for bed. 

And once the kids were all asleep and tucked away for the night, you grabbed Jake by the hand and pulled him into your shared bedroom. In about three seconds flat, you had Jake on his back and straddled him. 

“Happy Birthday,” you grinned, pressing a set of needy kisses to his lips. 

“Are you my present?” Jake asked coyly, kneading your hips with his hands. 

“Sure am, Cowboy,” you replied, pulling off your shirt and tossing it onto the floor. But before you kissed him again, you quickly cursed and got up to lock the door to your bedroom. Smiling apologetically at Jake, you quickly hopped up onto the bed again. “Don’t want to risk the kids walking in on us.”

“It’s my birthday. Tonight, you’re mine. All mine,” Jake agreed, pulling you in for another kiss. 

And with assurance that his second vasectomy was successful, you happily started on your birthday gift for him.

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of them. This place is something that they had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not their home and it has never been, until now. Now, Avery, at least, is stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, she’d had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, she is met with a smiling family picture. Only, she’s not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of her bags in one hand behind her today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind her, reminding her that she’s standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings. Avery’s last name isn’t Mitchell because her biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because her mother’s husband knew she wasn’t his and would rather die before letting her take his name.

She shrugs her duffel bag closer to her body and turns left. Bradley huffs under the weight of her luggage, watching her walk her cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of her single duffel bag, she turns slowly to face him and frowns slightly. “My room.” 

Avery doesn’t remember Bradley. Not in her own memories, anyway. She knows he was around, she’s seen him in pictures but the image in her head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a very slight familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” Avery realises with a hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was hers. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was hers, too. It’s not like she had ever kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that she would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between the two of them. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on her face, right in front of him, is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. Avery thinks about it and finds herself pretty sure that she’s never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that she had stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on her face, he hadn’t even considered leaving her here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for her sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” Avery agrees, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like hers, anyway. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. She calls Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of her bags and nodding for her to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as they walk silently across it, neither one of them would know that. Neither one of them was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind her, following her up. She stops at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind her.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around her and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at her. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, her shoes along the tan oak floors. Her fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Suddenly, Avery’s throat is thick with the knowledge that all she knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that she’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding her of why exactly it is that she’s here.

Fire burns behind her eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets her bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling her eyes out, and Avery refuses to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again.

That thick feeling sits in her throat like a stack of weights as she sits down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking her weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to her and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since she had even set foot in this house last. If she had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… she sits and thinks to herself about if she would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting her head, she blinks at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing her onto her feet again. 

Mobile once more, Avery turns slowly to take in her surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, she was prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing she wants is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” She nods, setting into motion to help take the sheets off.

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, she hasn’t seen how he has been for the past few days.

“I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to her with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of them until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

Then, there’s a moment of total stillness between the two of them. Her gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of them.

Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of them.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

Avery watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. She wonders if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. She stands there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew her dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking her brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, Avery can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside her shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, her experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to her as any of the other guys in the stories she grew up hearing about. Her very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at her.

He can’t hide from her forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of them as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when she had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of them, now. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. Avery has barely unpacked. She set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever her space to claim.

She chews absentmindedly at the bite she had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above their heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why she isn’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for Avery. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here she is, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at her. Her hair is up differently now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs, tidier than it had been earlier. She’s wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes she got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think she looks that much like her old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when she offers him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. They both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” Avery asks quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows she probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in her spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

She stops chewing. That last bite sits in her mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. She stares across at him, awkwardly making herself swallow down the last of her bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at her mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” She tells him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. She’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” She picks up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell her not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches her, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.”

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For her, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into hers under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” She hums, pushing back in her chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that Avery wakes up. He hears her coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s hers, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making her uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as she strolls into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at her eyes.

She’s wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt she had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if she’s wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making her lift her gaze from busily tapping at her phone. Her gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, she finds his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. She locks her gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” She heads right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when she grabs the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. Avery the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching her face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” Avery skims her fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much she knows about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for her to get herself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” She asks, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make her coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. She swings it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if she’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across her mind — what’ll happen to this place when she leaves it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into her tone as she curls her fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on her face, stuck between whether she’s sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of her tongue with a shrug of her shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for her without thought. His palm claps against her shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on her shoulder, her eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what she’s searching for, or whether she finds it. His fingers squeeze softly against her skin before the touch is gone all together.

They drink their coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in their silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — she doesn’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces her not to wear the more formal dress she had thought she’d have to wear. She slips into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes her dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, she watches him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; she silently appreciates that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when sleep is cut from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep Avery up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with her car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles Avery from her daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” She’s stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before she’s taking her next breath, leaving him to catch up to her. 

His long strides have him at her side before long, reaching ahead of her to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at her side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops her from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against hers.

He catches her forearm as she tries to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on her forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of her wrist as he nods his head towards her.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way Avery has stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards Avery, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who the girl at Bradley's side must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, Avery's lips parting slightly as she realises that this stranger is headed right for her. Bradley feels Avery's arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way she's trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch Avery when he can see how unnerved it makes her.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from her forearm and his palm falls flat between her shoulder blades, giving her a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid Lynn's hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while Avery continues down the hall.

Bradley catches up to her as she raps her knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against her thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind the young woman he had arranged this meeting with. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

Avery checks back over her shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind her, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into hers and shakes her hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting her hand go, he then reaches to her right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps her back as he leans into the handshake.

Avery steps away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?”

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to her than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

Avery sits in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him, not really.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

Avery blinks at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Her brows knit together, lips pursed, unimpressed.

“But— he’s dead.” She frowns abruptly, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at her, her words like a jolt of ice-cold water, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in her expression, no fear or sadness. Pete deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from her side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

She shoots him a look. When it’s clear that she isn’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects are delivered to you.”

She drags her teeth across her plush bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of her head. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pictures the moment that this is all over. She can get out of here and pretend it never happened.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns her. He’d heard that she had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead her about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for her. 

She’s biting at the inside of her cheek so hard that she must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of her skirt and breathing like she’s trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing her across the parking lot, listening to her try to control her breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching her cautiously as she crowds herself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around her. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes her bicep, bending his knees so he can catch her eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

Avery knows that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, she’s sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left her with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of her plate for her. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at her bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in her eyes not to spill over.

She sniffs, turning her gaze towards the ground. The lump in Avery’s throat burns and bobs as she tries to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that she is in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than her. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[hitwiththetmnt]

Would donnie like some uranium? I have purchased uranium, uranium ore, uranium glass rods, uranium in a perodic table block, ect (all in protective casing for saftey). He can have them. No catch. I like giving uranium out.

Uranium + Donnie + family reunion = extra disaster

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

Cabin #7 (7 Wonders of the Turtleverse)

[pixiecaps]

so as luzu is dungeoning he finds “radioroca” which is like radioactive rock and starts mining it. he says he has a bad feeling but keeps digging further until he finds acid. he finds uranium and starts mining it. saying he isnt sure if hes even meant to touch it but he cant look away. he gets radioactive poisoning. he starts crafting buckets and gets buckets of the acid. qluzu says he knows he shouldnt be there but theres something telling him to go back there, to return. he starts crafting blocks of uranium. he questions what would happen if he falls into the acid. he then says “hereinafter i only have one master. the brightness of this cave. i only want the shine of this cave.” as he grabs more acid in buckets. which for those unaware the acid shines a bright green. he says he never wants to leave and he wants to stay in the radioactive cave forever. he goes on to say he feels a little weird. he questions if he truly wants to stay there because he likes it or if this is a trap of sorts warping his mind to believe he likes it so that he stays and dies? after contemplating this he jumps into the acid and starts dying and screaming that he cant get out of the acid. the screen cuts to luzus end screen and he says “no hay ningún sitio del que salir” which means “there is nowhere to go” or “there is nowhere to leave”

[etheralisi]

I’m not planning on a third soon, but hey, who knows. Whenever inspiration strikes, right? Anyway, here’s part 2 of Rottmnt fake posting. 

Find part 1 here  and 3+3.5 here

🌎yes-the-earth-is-flat Follow

Yea the Earth is flat. What’s my proof you ask? Everything is flat.

#I keep trying to tell you all #It’s a 2D world and we’re all just living in it. #But do you listen? Nooooo

126 notes

🏒 HOCKEYORDEATH Follow

YOU WILL HAVE MY BROWNIE RECIPE OVER MY DEAD BODY

💀outoftouchoutoftime Follow

Then why don’t I have your recipe?

🏒 HOCKEYORDEATH Follow

… I’M PAYING FOR YOUR THERAPY

13 notes

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Do not teleport mid sneeze

It is not a good idea

Sincerely with regret, me

🌫️mistyme Follow

… okay???

🌼i-eat-plastic-flowers Follow

Tp in what game again?

63 notes

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

2k into a Lou Jitsu Jupiter Jim crossover fic and I’m shutting the tab because he would not say that

I knew that summary was too good to be true

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

Shocking. You read?

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Look, it was a pod fic but still

372 notes

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

HOT

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

SOUUUP

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

SOUUUUUUUUP!!!!!

🏒 HOCKEYORDEATH Follow

CROSS BUNS

🥊 red_hotsoup Follow

HOT SOOOUUUUPPPPPPPPPPP

🌽 sherlock_corn Follow

Someone misunderstood the assignment 

578 notes

thehibernator said: What happened to your Ghostbear sideblog?

🥊 red_hotsoup Follow

Red doesn’t like to talk about it 

#Nine times out of ten your heroes want to kill you #One out of ten and they turn out to be your dad #Yeah GB is still cool but it’s complicated 

56 notes

👥shadow-slunk Follow

Out of ten how drunk were you last night? Drunk enough to hallucinate a dancing bull in a suit next question 

8,965 notes

💀outoftouchoutoftime Follow

Tried apple pie for the first time today

100/10

👺noomenisgood Follow

Where were you eating rats????

💀outoftouchoutoftime Follow

In the caves 

107 notes

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

Yes Atomic Lass I am single

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Can you not

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

No one asked you to be here

43 notes

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Update: Purple has blocked me again

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Everyone spam his inbox in my absence. It’s what I would have wanted 

#revenge is a dish best served blue

22 notes

🐢daily-turtle-appreciation-blog Follow

I love turtles

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

And they love you ♡

695 notes

🦵kick-back Follow

If no one has ever seen the seven deadly vipers move in action, how do we even know it exists?

🚀jj-sails Follow

You take that back

🌽 sherlock_corn Follow

Oh it exits alright

#🤫

3,399 notes

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

Word on the street is that Purple Game 3 will be released soon.

🥊 red_hotsoup Follow

Purple no

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

Purple yes.

🥊 red_hotsoup Follow

Have you learned nothing????

86 notes

wise-girl said: You’re a doctor?

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

Yes. Here’s my PHD

532 notes

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Does anyone have another good website for buying Lou Jitsu comics in print? Jitsujungle shut down and I still need to restock my collection 

15 notes

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

Daily reminder to double check your vehicle for stowaway wizards. They get everywhere

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

He lives with us now

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

He gives warm fuzzy hugs

481 notes

🌽 sherlock_corn Follow

Guess who got fired again

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Me

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

The kitchen is burning 

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Send help

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

The what is burning??!?!!

#you are banned #you hear me #banned #square up blue

60 notes

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

DNI if you are a beach ball. This is a beach ball free zone. Any beach balls will be blocked on sight 

#not science posting #I may be hilarious but I am not joking

134 notes

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

The second I get my hands on uranium it’s over for everyone

🌽 sherlock_corn Follow

That’s the third time you’ve posted this this week. 

It’s Tuesday 

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

And it’s true. 

🥊 red_hotsoup Follow

This is meant to convince us to let you have uranium how?

97 notes

📋klipt Follow

Wouldn’t it be sick if New York had its own real life super heroes? 

#I used to love reading Silver Sentry comics as a kid #please please tell me those lights are superheroes 

688 notes

🌰that-old-chestnut Follow

Since everyone is discussing superheroes lately, why don’t we bring this old gem back? Reblog this with your chosen superpower. Then someone else will reblog that with a terrible side effect

👑titanity Follow

I can teleport!

🍗are-you-chicken Follow

You have no control over where you’ll end up. Want to visit the Bahamas? Too bad, you’re in some back alley in New Jersey. Have fun

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

#blue

9,763 notes

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Nooooo. My Duolingo streak

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

It’s over. It’s all over. The end of the world you could say

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Ah. Sorry.

10 notes

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

Making a cat sculpture out of ice cream is fun in theory 

#my hands are cold cold cold #very bad idea #but if she’s not cold she will melt

207 notes

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Thought I saw my sleep paralysis demon. Turns out it was purple trying to steal my blood.

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

On second thought, yeah. That’s my sleep paralysis demon.

341 notes

cheesecrust said: is @ bluejitsu really your brother?

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

Who?

#purplebox #though this is none of your concern

85 notes

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

New York, what a town.

1,250 notes

[hypnobrainwasher]

Reverse Jeopardy

We don't need another game show that celebrates how smart some people are. No one cares if you know how many protons are in a uranium atom, or can take Pi out to twenty decimals in your head, or if you know the date the Berlin Wall came down. We don't need another game that celebrates education.

We need a game that celebrates de-education. A game whose winner has forgotten the most in favor of embracing a bimbo lifestyle. I want medical doctors giggling and tossing their hair when asked a question a first-year student in their field would know the answer to. I want lawyers jiggling their titties at their podium instead of forming coherent responses to basic questions. I want educators licking and deep-throating the microphone on their podium trying to outdo the first two contestants to show they're the best bimbo as the host applauds them all and the studio audience high fives each other.

I want a show so deplorable, jealous wives quietly go onto the cable box late at night to try to block it. A show so debasing, when hubby is flipping around during that half hour, she stares at him with the intensity of a thousand Suns and a "don't you dare look at that channel" expression on her face. Because she's afraid to embrace what so many good girls have already, and what he already knows: silly and empty minds are just happier.

Don't educate yourself. De-educate yourself. Let all that troubling information go in exchange for edges and giggles and happiness, and maybe you too can be a contestant on Reverse Jeopardy someday!