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januaryembrs · 2 months

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HOT UNDER THE HELMET | Poe Dameron x Mechanic!Reader

Request: Hi, would you mind writing for Poe Dameron where Poe accidentally injures the reader (whose a mechanic), which is how they meet for the first time. And would you mind using the dialogue prompt “Oh, oh my god! It was an accident! I’m so sorry!”?

Description: Poe finds out the hard way the best mechanic in the resistance is also most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; too bad you’re so hot headed.

word count: 1.5k

trigger warnings: sexism, fire, women in stem facing problems even in space (because ofcourse they do).

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As much as you would love to admit times of war made people more benevolent towards each other, you’d be dead wrong. Not only had you been one of the only females in the resistance who knew her way around a wrench, but as it also turned out, not even the risk of dying could pull a males head out of his arse.

You heard snickering before you saw them. The other three mechanics in your squadron crowded around a starfighter, laughing to themselves as they watched you tinker with a leaky engine, your body strewn across a lying board as you worked above yourself, your tools against your foot.

Rolling out from underneath the ship, you paid them no mind as you searched for a screwdriver small enough to fit the flathead you needed removing. Scanning your work area, that you were proud to say you kept much neater than the blaster brained males you shared a space with, your brow furrowed when you saw your equipment nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for something?” You heard Zagg, one of the males, say, and you felt a rage boil up inside you at the smug look on their faces as you regarded them with a sweaty, pissed off expression.

“Where’d you boneheads put it?” You snapped, hauling yourself to your feet as you approached them hotly, your scowl only growing as they burst out laughing, “Real mature. The galaxy is going to bantha fodder, and you guys are hiding my tools,”

“You know, if you need help from someone who knows what they’re doing, you could just ask,” The tallest of the trio, Bran, goaded you, a smarmy smile on his face as he watched your cheeks puff with exhaustion, whirling around to charge up to him, no matter if you did have to turn your neck upwards to confront the pig of a male.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, instead of going after little girls who make you look like rookies,” You hissed, eying up the other two who seemed to exchange a sneer, “Leia chose me herself, handpicked me from the academy. You three nerf herders got through on sheer size alone, and it’s obvious you feel the need to compensate everywhere else possible,”

You sauntered away, back towards the rear of the workshop where spare apparatus was kept, banging around the drawers with a foul mood, muttering about how useless the opposite sex was in times of crisis.

As if he had heard the call of a siren, Poe strolled into the hangar, fully suited with his helmet under his arm, an all too cheery smile on his face for the belly of the beast he was unknowingly heading straight for.

Catching the eye of one of the mechanics, a freakishly tall man that seemed to be chatting to the other two as they stood around an X-wing with a huge hole ripped into the body of it, he watched the worker drop his bitter face and regard him with raised eyebrows when he saw the chirpy pilot approach.

“General,” He nodded respectfully, though there was not a single trace of regard on his face. “You’ve come for your ship?”

“Leia said you had your best guy on it?” He said, almost missing the way the three of them nodded hesitantly, “She said it should be ready today,”

“Right this way, General Dameron,” The shorter, beefy one said, leading him away to a pristine looking starfighter, by far in the best shape he could see it being without it being brand new. He thought he caught a snigger behind him as the mechanic, whose oiled badge read as Kripply, took him over to the ship, “Why don’t you give her a whirl? As you said, we had our very best on the case,”

Poe looked at him with an odd mix of a smile and wariness as he couldn’t miss the devilish excitement the man looked at him with. Had he sat in paint again, he wondered. Finn had had a field day walking him around the entire compound with two white ass cheek marks on his suit, he wouldn’t put it past his co-pilot to try his luck again seeing as Poe had been the one to win at cards last night and had not so graciously rubbed his credits in the man’s face.

“Sure, let’s give this baby a whirl,” He said after a moment, his hair falling all over the place as he shoved his helmet over his thick, sable locks.

Maybe he had a case of bedhead, he wondered. Afterall, he’d not exactly been sober as he’d stumbled back to his room last night, his winnings buying him round after round of smuggled Corellian Whiskey.

He hopped up onto the wing, yanking himself into the cockpit that had been cleaned thoroughly, and he didn’t know why he ever doubted his repair team if this was the condition they left their vehicles in. The engine hummed to life as he flicked the tiny lever, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the oddly floral smell inside the small flight deck, and he wondered if they had gone so far as to spray freshener in there.

You had found a spare tightener that would fit the screw, the last thing that needed fastening up before the engine should be good to run, Leia’s general would be by any second now.

Rolling back under the vehicle, you tuned out the way Zagg cackled over the sound of an engine springing to life, you assumed their own, focusing on the tiny panel you had yet to cover the machinery with to protect the pilot from any stray blaster fire cutting the engine.

But no sooner had you settled on your back beneath the jet, your hand reaching up for the metal sheet, you heard the familiar rumble of oil being fired through the motor, the drums whirling as the ignition started and a short blast of heat hit you in the face.

You blanched as you knew that meant, knew what would come shooting out any second now. Heat always got kicked out of the engine first, the left over energy dishcharged out of the bottom grate. Because then came the fire as it sprung to life.

Your hand came up before you could think through what you were doing, the hard work you were unravelling in the interest of keeping your face intact, your brain from turning to crispy mush, as you yanked the oil pipe from where you’d connected it to the drum, the thick black liquid pouring over your entire body as you stumbled from out beneath the plane, just incase your plan hadn’t worked.

You heard the engine cut, the sound of the cockpit sliding open as someone cursed from above, and you were filled with a new wave of rage as two feet jumped from the wing above you, turning to the three men who watched with entertained chuckles.

“What happened, I thought you said-” Poe had started chewing out the males who didn’t seem to care all too much about the fact the jet had broken down, when he felt two hands shove him from behind, and he spun on his heel with annoyance.

His face dropped entirely when he saw you, covered head to toe in a thick, gunky oil, your nostrils flaring as you glared at him with a heat he had yet to see from a woman before.

Usually women were so receptive to his charming good looks. Not this one it seemed.

“What the kriff was that, man,” You yelled, shoving his chest again with your slimy hands, and he quickly put it together what had been the problem.

“What that me?” His brows flew into his hair line as you looked at him like he’d just learned there were stars in the sky, “Oh, maker! It was an accident! I’m so sorry!”

“Oh he’s sorry. Thank goodness he’s sorry,” You threw your arms up, wiping the oil away from your eyes with slippy hands, and Poe had no idea what to say for the best.

Though, he supposed telling you you were by far the prettiest woman he’d seen in moons was not the correct thing to go for, despite the fact it was the first thing he’d thought.

“I’m a decorated pilot, I would never intentionally-” He spluttered, but you had already turned away, heading towards a small work bench where a bunch of old, dirty rags lay, supposedly for hands only.

“You can decorate my ass, general. You’re waiting another week for that plane,” You seethed, barely regarding him over your shoulder.

And he stood there, speechless, because what was he supposed to say. No one had ever spoken down to him like that, not since he’d grown into his good looks and had women falling at his feet to be near him. Certainly not since he’d become leader.

You huffed past him, as he was rooted to the spot, jaw hung slack as you left the workshop, cursing him out clearly to yourself, and it was only then that he turned to the other three males who had watched him get his ass served to him with another round of sniggers. “Who in the maker was she?”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x you

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hotvintagepoll · 8 days

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Propaganda

Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof)—iconic actress with purple eyes and a double row of eyelashes, the real ebony dementia ravenway of old hollywood. known for her stunning tastes when it comes to jewelry and her incredible, incredible advocacy during the AIDS crisis.

Nutan (Bandini, Anari, Seema)— In an era where plump and petite women were considered the height of beauty, Nutan was thin and gangly. While her beauty is obvious today, she was considered somewhat unusual throughout her acting career, which contains over 70 films. Contrary to the belief that female actresses careers ended after marriage, Nutan won four of her five Filmfare Awards after her marriage and the birth of her son. Nutan was known for her gorgeous, emotive brown eyes and her incredible singing voice.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Elizabeth Taylor:

I've been trying to steer clear of the absurdly-big names, but damnit, those violet eyes got me. The *talent*, the *presence*, the string of marriages and (temporally out-of-bounds) work in combating AIDS and pioneering in the concept of the celebrity fragrance line.

Not only did she have gorgeous violet eyes and lashes for days and one of the hottest voices ever, she was also a big supporter of the gay community

Child actress turned starlet, Liz dominated films as one of the greatest screen legends of classic hollywood. If your protagonist has violet eyes, they're imitating hers.

A Legend. She was serving milf rage in Whos Afraid Of Virginia Woolf. A Star in every sense of the word.

She was renowned for the beauty of her eyes; they were a dark blue but could look violet in certain lighting, something that photographers would actually touch up to look even more so in pictures. But even more striking was a genetic mutation that gave her a double row of eyelashes. She was also famed for her string of husbands -- 8 marriages to 7 men. Two-time hubby Richard Burton once said she was “a wildly exciting love-mistress… beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography.”

Her EYES. Early and loud support for gay rights and AIDS victims. Married a bunch of hot dudes, Burton twice!

just look at her. she's gorgeous. there's a video somewhere of her applying her eyeliner in the mirror and I think about it all the time

THE Hollywood actress of all time. Not only was she known for her long dark locks and blue-violet eyes, she also had one of the wildest life stories ever….. She’s Carrie Fisher’s stepmother because her father Eddie Fisher cheated on Debbie Reynolds with Liz. She was knighted as a dame of England. She was married to seven different men, one of them twice. She was also very kindhearted and did a lot of charity activism.

Asides from being an iconic actor, she did a lot of philanthropy and co founded the American Foundation for AIDS research. She’s sometimes considered one of the last great stars of old hollywood

Nutan:

#Elizabeth Taylor #nutan #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4

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yandere-romanticaa · 8 months

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William frustrates me beyond belief but I'm still so incredibly, madly in love with him. Also, reader is kinda yandere for William here as well. Reader is female.

The pale moon in the night sky starkly contrasted the glow of a freshly lit candle, its warm flames just barely reaching the parchment of paper. Her hands shook violently as (y/n) analyzed it, word for word, heart racing in her chest as she positively beamed with joy, her (e/c) blown open wide with excitement.

William had written back to her. Finally.

The two had developed a friendship a little bit over a year ago but what William remained oblivious to was that (y/n) had been helplessly in love with him for years now. The Moriarty family was well known and regarded within polite society and their status as free bachelors boosted their popularity even more so, especially amongst the women. No matter which Moriarty brother entered the room, they would turn heads and people would talk. Be it in awe or jealousy, the entire family was something worth gawking at. Truth be told, their staff was also the hot talk of the town. They were easy to talk to and friendly, Moran and Bonde in particular. That was exactly how the girl managed to step into the threshold of the house and finally have a proper word with the handsome mathematician.

Their talks started off innocent enough with William indulging her with his company every now and then. She managed to slide through the tough cracks of the mysterious man, bit by bit. She would watch him grade papers sometimes, his gaze cascaded downwards as (y/n) played the role of the dutiful young lady who was minding her own business over some hot tea.

(y/n) was many, many things and eager was one of them. This, whatever this was - it was not enough for her. More, she needs more. Having afternoon tea with William was the highlight of her day but by God, it felt as though she was going to implode!! William, ever the gentleman, never once made a move on her, no inappropriate glance, no comment, nothing. Be it day or night William was constantly keeping her at the edge of her seat, wondering whether or not he would actually do something. Sometimes, if she was lucky, she could feel the touch of his slender fingers against her own as they both reach for the sugar. Their eyes would meet and William would give her a sweet smile, never actually recoiling in shame or embarrassment. Did this mean he was fond of her? Was she overanalyzing it? She couldn't know, William was such a hard person to get a good read on. (y/n) knew that no one was perfect in this world but in her eyes, William was more brilliant than the stars that hung high in the night sky.

Letting out a sigh, (y/n) hugs his letter close to her chest as she looks out the open window, the crisp air giving her a sense of relief as it blew into the room and onto her hot skin. It was so late in the evening, no one was awake now. What even was the point of all this?

Unbeknownst to her, William was wide awake in his office as he looked out his own window, his cheek resting on the palm of his hand as a wicked little smirk made its way onto his face. Several papers were sprawled out in front of him, all of which were your letters. William took great pleasure in reading them all from time to time and analyzing everything you said. You tried so hard to act like a perfect little noblewoman, always having a polite smile on your face and carefully choosing each word you dared to utter. He felt a little bad, toying with you like this, keeping you dancing on the very edge until you finally crack.

William was desperate to see the real you, the oh so jealous (y/n) who did her best to hide her seething rage in front of the other ladies who gushed about William right in front of you. He never failed to spot the way you bite the inside of your cheek, the rage in your eyes was so evident but oh so precious. He was selfish, keeping you on his tight leash like this but it was all worth it in the end. He was driving you mad with desire and before long, he was sure that you are close to your breaking point.

He can't wait to have you, all of you.

There was nothing in the world that could stop him.

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bradshawsbaby · 4 months

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Letters to My Love // Part X

Rosie the Riveter

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Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to update this story! One of my goals for 2024 is to get this series completed. Although it's taken me so long to update, Bobby and Peach are never far from my mind and are always in my heart. I hope you enjoy this latest installment of their story!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter is obviously a tribute to the iconic figure of Rosie the Riveter. But it was also inspired by the song of the same name by The Four Vagabonds, which you can listen to here!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, Clara (@luminousnotmatter). She was the first person to listen to all my endless ramblings about this universe, and she has never stopped supporting me or believing that I can get it finished. Thank you, Clara!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to casualties of war and grief, slight angst, lots and lots of fluff.

July 8, 1943

My Dearest Peach,

I want to start by saying that I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your last letter. I think I’ve worn down the paper to nearly nothing with how many times I’ve read it, but it’s been hard to get a free moment to sit and write you the response you deserve. Things are really heating up over here, and we have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to start a new letter, only for us to be called up just as I set my pen to the paper.

To set your mind at ease, I want you to know that I’m alright. I’m not sure how much information they’re sharing with you all back home, but I know one of the fellas got a letter from his wife recently and she told him that three different families on their street got notified that their boys had been killed in action in just one week. It made her real scared that she was going to be the next one getting a knock on the door. I won’t lie to you, Peach, because I don’t think that’s fair—we’re losing a lot of men over here. It’s scary to think that any day now, it could be me they’re sending a flag home for.

I hate to start this letter off so morbidly, but there’s been something weighing on my mind lately, especially since my buddy got that letter from his wife. If anything happens to me over here, you won’t know. They’ll tell my family, sure, but not you. And I can’t stand the thought of you waiting for another letter that isn’t going to come. So I’ve spoken to Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny about it. If anything happens to me over here, Peach, they’re going to write to you and let you know. It gives me some comfort to think that their words will be a little softer and kinder than the formality of Uncle Sam.

I hope this doesn’t make you sad, Peach, although I admit it makes me a bit sad to write. The truth is, I’m quite alright right now, like I said, and I don’t plan on letting anything happen to me over here. We have to take that drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier, after all. I tell you, that thought alone is enough to get me through even the hardest days over here.

Alright, enough of all this. Time to get back to your lovely letter. They’re calling us for dinner right now, but as soon as I’m finished, I’m coming right back to continue this letter. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting it to you.

I’m back, Peach. All the fellas were teasing me in the galley because of how quickly I scarfed down my dinner, but I didn’t care because I knew I was getting back to you and your sweet words, and that means a whole lot more than the crummy food they’re serving over here. Boy, I tell you, I sure do miss home-cooked meals. They even had—I’m not lying, I promise—they even had peach cobbler for dessert tonight. It made me think of you, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as the cobbler your family makes, so I didn’t even bother giving it a taste.

Now I do have to say that you’re right, of course. I hate hearing you call yourself shy and mousey. If that’s the way you feel when I call myself boring, then I certainly promise I won’t ever do it again. It’s a deal—neither of us will talk about ourselves like that anymore.

Nothing you say could ever sound silly to me, Peach. Even though we only got to spend a few hours in each other’s company, your letters have made me feel like we’ve known each other for years and years. I’m honored that I’ve been able to make you feel seen. I do see you, Peach. You’re the most beautiful, interesting, intelligent girl I’ve ever known, and I hope you can see that in yourself. For what it’s worth, you’ve helped me to come out of my shell, too. Paul was just saying the other day that I look like a new man—that I’m standing taller and seem more confident than he’s ever seen in all the years he’s known me. I had just finished reading one of your letters when he said that. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You’re turning me into a new man, Peach, and I like it. I like it a lot.

I’m glad that you passed along my well wishes to Emily. Even though part of me still thinks her fiancé is a dunce, I do wish them all the best. Has she heard from Eddie? I don’t know where he’s stationed, but if you’d like to find out and send the information to me, I can try to keep an ear out. How has the wedding planning been going? I’m still confident you’re going to make the prettiest bridesmaid.

I did pass along your invitation in my last letter home to my family, and my mother said she would certainly inquire after the Sheridan residence should she ever happen to find herself in Charleston. I think she’s happy that you and I are still writing to each other. She’s even happier about the thought of swapping recipes with you. Watch out—if the two of you ever do meet, I think she’ll hold you hostage in the kitchen all day.

Now I am very proud to hear about all the fine work you and Dottie have been doing with your Victory Garden. I’m sure there must have been a lot of progress since you last wrote to me! I eagerly await news about the beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I’m sure you’ve been able to make lots of hearty soups and healthy salads. My mouth is watering at the notion. Like I said, the food in the galley has been pretty crummy lately.

I’m sorry to hear there’s been some trouble back home. I’m sure it can’t be easy for anyone, with all the rationing and the fear and the worry. I promise that we’re doing our best over here to bring this war to an end quickly so that life can return to normal for all of you over there. For us, too. We really can’t wait to be home again.

Peach, I want you to know that it is our duty, our honor, and, quite frankly, our privilege to be fighting for you over here. I know the other fellas would agree with me saying so. So I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything at home to “earn” us fighting for you. That said, I think it’s incredible that you want to contribute to the war effort in that way. I’m sure you haven’t been waiting for my response or my approval—which you shouldn’t, by the way—but I give a wholehearted yes to you applying for that position at the air station. We just recently saw Mr. Norman Rockwell’s illustration of Rosie the Riveter on the cover of the Post, and I have to say that I think you’d wear those coveralls a hundred times better.

I’m so proud of you, Peach. I want you to know that.

Speaking of the war effort, we have a couple big campaigns coming up very soon. I can’t say much more than that, but your well wishes and prayers for success would be very much appreciated. I’m always thankful for them.

Until next time, Peach! I’m already counting down the days until your next letter arrives.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I almost forgot! I told Paul how much you loved the fact that he sends drawings home to Clara and Paul, Jr.—by the way, that reminds me, how is little Frankie doing?—and he was more than happy to create a few illustrations for you. He did a couple portraits—one of me and one of you, based off your beautiful photograph. He said to apologize that he’s too much of an amateur to capture all of your beauty. He did say that he thought he did a fine enough job capturing my likeness—I’m telling you, Peach, I think my friends officially like you better than they like me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

July 31, 1943

My Dearest Bobby,

Please don’t ever feel like you need to apologize for how long it takes you to write back to me. I can only imagine how difficult it is to find the time to write with everything that must be happening over there, and yet you always find the time to pen the most thoughtful and wonderful letters. I cherish each and every one of them, and I promise that I’m more than content to read your old letters as I await the new ones.

I’m so sorry to hear about how many of our boys we’re losing. Just last week, our neighbors, the Pattersons—you remember I mentioned Mrs. Patterson had helped me and Dottie with our Victory Garden?—received news that their son, Clarence was killed in action in France. It was devastating. Dottie and I had just been coming home from the grocery store when we saw the officer standing on their front steps with a telegram in hand. We knew what that meant. Mrs. Patterson has been inconsolable since. Mr. Patterson is equally devastated, but I think he’s trying to be strong for her. Dottie and I have been taking turns cooking meals for them and spending some time over at their house. We just want them to know that they’re not alone.

I admit, Bobby, that every time I hear news of someone else being lost in this war, I immediately think of you. It feels selfish, but I’m always so relieved when the news is about someone else and not you. I don’t know how I would bear it. I pray every day that I never have to receive that letter from Paul or Tommy Boy or Benny, but I am touched that you’ve thought about how I could be notified. Oh, Bobby, I hope more than anything that your parents never have to experience what the Pattersons are going through.

But you’re right—you’re going to come home safely. We have too many plans for you to do otherwise!

I’m sorry to hear that the food aboard your carrier has been so crummy lately. I wish that I could whip up a home-cooked feast and send it in the mail with my letters. Every time I sit down to dinner now, I think of all of you, and I count my blessings. Things aren’t perfect on the homefront, but I know that we certainly have no room to complain with all you boys are going through. I promise to have a peach cobbler waiting for you when you come home—and a pumpkin pie, for good measure.

If I’m turning you into a new man, Bobby, then you simply must know that you’re turning me into a new woman as well. I hardly remember the girl that I was before I met you. Can you believe that it’s been over a year now since our paths first crossed? I feel like my life is totally different now. The way that I see myself, the way I interact with others, the way that I’m not so terrified to step out of my comfort zone anymore—so much of that is thanks to you, Bobby. I’m still me, of course. But I feel like I’m a stronger, braver version of myself now. I like it, too.

It’s so kind of you to offer to keep an ear out for Eddie’s infantry! Emily received a letter from him around the same time that I received my letter from you, and he seems to be doing well, same as you, thank goodness. Eddie is part of the 1st Infantry Division. Emily said that last she knew, he was stationed somewhere near the Rhineland. The wedding planning has been going very well. Pretty much everything is set now—all we need is the groom. Emily can’t wait for Eddie to come home for good. Once he does, they’ll be able to officially set the date. Us bridesmaids are going to be wearing lilac-colored dresses. Dottie says she already knows how she’s going to style my hair. I hope that you’re home, too, when the wedding finally happens. Emily said that I could invite you to be my date. Only if you’d like that, of course.

I would be very happy to be kept hostage in the kitchen with your mother! I’m sure there’s so much I could learn from her, and it sounds like a splendid way to spend the day. I look forward to meeting her one of these days!

Oh, the Victory Garden, Bobby! You wouldn’t believe how it’s grown! Trust me, no one is more shocked than me and Dottie. Well, maybe Paddy. He knows firsthand what brown thumbs my sister and I normally have. At first, we weren’t so sure what was going to happen—the cucumbers seemed a bit small and some of the tomatoes didn’t really take. But by the end of June, everything was thriving! It’s been such a joy to watch, and I have to admit, both Dottie and I are feeling extremely accomplished. Frankie loves to spend time in the garden with us, although he spends a bit more time digging in the dirt than helping us pick vegetables, I’m afraid. Now that we’re in the middle of summer, we’re experimenting with zucchini and eggplant. We might also try radishes and turnips. We’re turning into quite the farmers! If your mother has any recipes to share, we’d be more than grateful and happy to try them out!

Now I admit that I’ve saved the most exciting news for last. At the beginning of June, I decided to go for it and I applied for the position at the air station in Goose Creek, the one Paddy told me about. I’m sure being his sister-in-law gave me a bit of an advantage, but it only took a couple days for me to hear back from them. I got the job! I’ve officially been working on the assembly line since the middle of June. It’s hard work, and I’ve never been so tired in all my life, but I have to say that I’m really proud of the work we’re doing. It’s funny that you mention Rosie the Riveter—my job these past few weeks has actually been to fasten pieces of the planes we’re assembling with rivets! So I guess you could call me Peach the Riveter. Doesn’t have quite the same ring though, does it?

I know that the chances are small that anything I’m helping to build is going to reach you specifically, Bobby, but I can’t help but smile every time we finish a new part, or get a new plane put together. I imagine you and Paul, or Tommy Boy or Benny hopping inside and it brings me more pleasure and pride than I could possibly explain. I feel like I’m doing something important, something meaningful and special. If spending hours riveting until my fingers turn numb brings you home even a day faster, then it will all have been worth it. And it gives me a real sense of purpose, driving to work each day with Paddy. I feel proud of myself.

I’ve made some new friends at work, too! Florence and Virginia—we call them Florie and Ginny—are the loveliest, kindest girls. They had already been working on the assembly line for a few months before I got the job, so they’ve been showing me the ropes and teaching me everything they know. They’ve made me feel so welcome, so a part of things. I have to admit that I was terrified my first week or so, terrified that I was going to mess something up or make a fool of myself. But I’ve settled in quite well, thankfully.

It means a lot to me to know that I have your support, Bobby. Truly, it does. Thinking of you and all that you’re doing to protect us is what really motivated me to take this job, so thank you.

Of course I’m sending all my best wishes for the campaigns you have coming up! Wherever you are right now, I pray that you’re safe and that your missions are successful.

You’re so brave, Bobby. Have I told you that lately? Even if I have, you deserve to hear it again. I’m so, so proud of you. You’re my hero.

I hope this letter gets to you soon. I wish it could grow wings and fly to you. I know time is going to pass so slowly until I’m holding a new letter from you in my hands. But until then, Bobby, I’m thinking of you and holding you in my heart.

Most Truly and Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Paul is quite the artist!!! I now have his portraits hanging right beside the photographs you sent me. Please tell him how talented I think he is, and how much I love the drawings he made for me! I was especially touched by the little note he wrote me on the back of your portrait. I hope he’s doing well. Send my best to him and Tommy Boy and Benny!

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @cadencebeat2662 @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos @callsign-magnolia @the-wayward-daughter @becks-things @jostyriggslover96 @solo-pitstop-vibes @wretchedmo @muddwheelz123 @ryebecca @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #WWII AU #1940s AU #lewis pullman

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wanderingxiao · 1 year

Text

-Petty Lil’ Shit-

NSFW, 18+ only Plz~

Summary: Scara is having a pretty bad day, a talk with you gives him an idea to make his day better and get a little bit of... revenge

Pairing: College! Scaramouche x Female Reader

Warning: lots of foul language, degradation, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, Scara being a meanie and sweetie <3

Word Count: 4k

Enjoy~

“You may have this back when you learn to behave appropriately in class, Kunikuzushi.” A harsh growl came from the back of an indigo-haired boys throat as his phone and keys were taken from him by the teacher. His purple irises glared daggers into the back of the retreating older woman’s head, not once relenting his hateful glare towards her. He held back the urge to kick his desk out of irritation and annoyance for the old hag he was forced to listen to. The teacher proceeded with the lecture as of nothing had happened, ignoring the fact one of her students was radiating a pissed off aura that made the entire classroom shrink away from him as much as they could. After a grueling hour the class was finally over. “Kunikuzushi-“

“I’m coming, fucking hag.” The boy mumbled, scoffing at the sound of his real name being called once more by the older woman who just turned her nose up at him when he approached. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and stood in front of her desk until everyone had left in a hurry. “Give me my phone and my keys back. Those are mine.” The teacher gave the boy a stern glare as she crossed her arms across her saggy chest. How disrespectful! You’ll get them back when you’re respectful to your elders. Now please Kunikuzushi, I must prepare for my next class.” The boy stood frozen as he stared at the teacher in disbelief over the nonsense she just spotted out of her wrinkly lips. His expression turned dark, and he stomped his way out of the classroom, students scurrying out of his way before they got caught in his rage.

“What did you expect, Scara? You’re on your phone in her class all the time and never turn in anything on time.” A deadpan look crossed your face as he sat in front of you fuming boyfriend. He took an aggressive bite out of his chicken sandwich and sent a cold glare towards you. “Her class is easier than counting to one, it’s pathetic really. And to have to sit there and learn from a saggy tit granny? Hah! I could give two shits about her or the damn subject she teaches. I feel sorry for the old bastard she’s married to.” You sent a questioning look towards Scaramouche. He was being WAY harsher than normal. Usually, he’d just call her an old hag, but she must’ve REALLY pissed him off today for him to be chucking insults every other word. “Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”

Your boyfriend snapped his head in your direction, sending a cold glare your way, getting more irritated at your lack of reaction from his piercing gaze. You had known Scaramouche for years, hell you’d been dating for 3 years and living together for about 1 year. If you hadn’t gotten used to his bratty and controlling personality you wouldn’t still be sitting here with him in a university bench. Often, when he was being a brat or being a bit harsh, you would play along with his games and say harsh things about yourself. This always made him upset to the point where he would pout and come and cuddle you, telling you those things weren’t true and he was only being an asshole. Which he was. But you wouldn’t love your bratty short man otherwise.

“Very funny, brat.” Scaramouche scoffed and stuffed the last bit of his sandwich into his mouth, his cute pale cheeks full as he chewed. You couldn’t help but smile at his cuteness. He was the real brat. “Awe, c’mon Kuni…” He flinched slightly at hearing his real name slip past your lips instead of his other name. You were the only person allowed to say his name like that. He was forced to have his real name on his college transcripts. He loved how you said his name. “I know you don’t mean that, baby.” You got off the top of the table you sat on outside, wind blowing gently as other students passed by, paying you two no mind as they listened to their music or scrolled over their phones. You sat beside him and rested your hand on his chest, running your hand up and down his sternum. “You love me. You crave me and my touch constantly… like a drug you’re addicted to. You couldn’t live without me even if you tried.”

“In your fucking dreams, worm.” He scoffed harshly as he swallowed the rest of his sandwich quickly. His cheeks hinted a soft pink indicating that your words were in fact true, he was just too prideful to ever admit such embarrassing things. Your lips curled slightly hearing him call you a worm, that was your shy boyfriend for you. “I’m only your worm.” You lifted his chin gently and placed a quick peck on his crumb-littered lips. You licked your lips to get the crumbs off and sat back down, looking out over the courtyard as you waited for him to finish. Scaramouche was now unfocused on finishing his meal and more focused on your reply. “Hah! Never would’ve thought you would admit to being my slimy little worm. Spineless and cowardly.”

Your expression deepened with a frown. “Spineless? I’m not spineless! I do a lot of things out of my comfort zone, especially with you.” He knew you were referring to what you both did in the bedroom. Scaramouche was rather sadistic and possessive when it came to sex. He viewed the act as claiming possession over you and your body. Every inch of you then and there belonged to him and only him. You had been tied up, gagged, choked, pulled by your hair, smacked, and even once took part in role playing as Scaramouche’s slutty “secretary” and being bent over his desk until you couldn’t stand anymore. “That’s true… but-“ A handsome and suggestive grin spread across his perfect pale lips as he leaned over the table. His gentle and slender fingers curled under your chin, bringing your face closer to his as his lips grazed your ear. “You won’t have sex with me here, will you?”

His breath was hot against your skin, his tongue coming to lick slowly against the shell of your ear, an embarrassed heat rushing between your legs at the suggestion and his sexual advances on you. “H-Here? At the university…” Your voice was unsure and nervous. It sounded exciting though. The thrill of having to hide, the thrill of being quiet in order not to get caught. Your mind weighed heavy on the thought, but ultimately a voice in the back of your head screamed no. “Yeah, here. You’re always so willing to become my little slut at home, why not here as well? Maybe you don’t love me enough…” His voice began to trail off, encouraging you to retaliate against his statement and do whatever he wished. You could feel his hot breath ghost over your neck as he hovered his mouth over your pulse point. “You don’t love me enough to help me?”

“Y-You know it’s not like tha- ah!” You gasped in surprise when Scaramouche cupped your right breast with his warm hands, squeezing and grinding his hand against it. A flustered heat rose quickly to your cheeks, sending him a glare and grabbing his wrist tightly to stop his motions. “Are you crazy?! We’re still outside in the middle of the courtyard!” The indigo-haired boy didn’t seem to care and continued fondling your boobs until your grip tightening and started to push him away. His eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a frustrated snarl. “Are you honestly resisting me? Wow, I never thought I’d see the day you turn away a good dicking down.” He removed his hands from your breasts and grabbed your hands instead, pulling you up and shoving your things in your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Scara, wait-!” He didn’t wait for your reply, only dragging you along in his oddly strong grip towards an empty classroom. You tugged on your wrist embarrassed, heads turning your way at your struggle. Nobody bothered to save you as your boyfriend threw you into a certain empty classroom and slammed the door closed. In mere seconds your back was against the door, a pair of soft lips molding onto yours so perfectly you couldn’t help but fall into his touch. Feeling your body begin to submit to him, he slyly slid his cool hands up your waist, his thumbs coming to hook under the middle of your bra. His thumbs slid outward and towards your back, unclipping your bra and letting the material loosely hang on your shoulders underneath your shirt. He pulled away, “Lift those pretty little arms for me. I wanna see those perky tits.”

“Kuni…” You whined softly, slowly lifting up your arms and letting him remove your shirt and bro with one swish of his hands up. Your lips curled inwardly, pressing them together and turning your head away to try and avoid his intense stare. His fingertips glided over your erects nipples, touch feather light as he grinned at the way you shivered. “Mmm… I fucking love these tits. Look how hard your cute lil’ nips are for me.” He cruelly flicked your hardened buds, making you gasp and arch your back against the door, your chest presenting itself more for him. Scaramouche licked his lips and dove down to kiss down your chest and over the swell of your soft squishy mounds. “Hah… you smell so damn good…”

You moaned quietly as Scaramouche lifted one of your boobs and attached his mouth over your hardened bud. Your back arched, eyes closing as your fingers ran through his soft indigo locks. His warm tongue circled and flicked over your nipple while his other hand pinched and rubbed your other. A sticky wetness began to pool into your panties, hands shaking against his hair as they struggled not to move. You knew he didn’t like it when you touched yourself. If anything, he would do it for you and make you cum from his tongue, his fingers, or better yet his deliciously big dick. A slutty moan slipped past your wet lips when his knee harshly came between your legs, grinding you against his thigh while giving your tits his undivided attention.

“S-Scara please… Mmm! I-I want you…” Your needy pleas for his dick made him groan against your tits, pulling off with a pop before smacking your boob softly and moving to the other, giving it the same treatment. His other hand now went to slip down your pants, slender fingers skillfully finding your clit and rubbing sensational circles over your little love button. “Mmm! Fuck! Hah… Scaramouche! Ngh…” Your body shook, head turning side to side quickly as his fingers took you to edge of your euphoric bliss. You almost couldn’t take it anymore with how good he rubbed your clit. “That’s it…” He pulled off your nipple and started to leave bite marks and hickeys along your chest and the sensitive sides of your boobs. His face nuzzled into your neck, heavy pants almost searing your skin. “Fucking come undone from my fingers… that’s it baby… hah, fucking cum for me!”

“K-Kuni!!” You cried out his name as you creamed all over your smooth cotton panties, fingers trembling against his shoulders as you gripped him for support. Scaramouche dipped his fingers down to get his fingers wet before he removed them, admiring the contents of your climax over his fingers. “Hah! Look who’s enjoying all the fun over there. Cumming so quick just from having your slutty little clit played with. Pathetic.” His eyes lowered seductively, his tongue coming out to lick his slightly swollen lips. You could immediately feel heat rush to your cheeks when he slid his tongue over his tainted fingers, licking up your juices with a sexy glare. “I think it’s time for you to return the favor. Since I was so kind to give you the satisfaction of cumming without me.” Before you knew it, his hands were on your ass and pulling you up and against him, forcing your arms around his neck.

Your boobs smushed against Scaramouche’s neck as he expertly guided you both to lay you down on the teacher’s desk. His erection bumped against your clothed core as he carried you, making you hornier than you were previously. Once you were down, he got to work on stripping himself of his shirt, a thin layer of sweat already glistening on his pale toned body. Your hands reached out to run down his shoulders to his pecks, all the way down to his V-line. It was then you finally made eye contact with the obvious tent in his pants. “You like what you see there, slut?” He could practically see the drool coming out of your mouth as you stared intently at his clothed erection. Cool touches lingered against your hips as his slender fingers hooked onto your pants and slid them off with your panties. a deep moan erupted from his throat as he stared longingly at your sopping cunt. “Oh fuck… look how wet you are, all for me too? That’s so damn sexy...”

“D-Don’t look…” His beautiful view was interrupted by your hands as you covered your glistening lips with your hands, face flushed and turned away for him not to see how embarrassed you were with his gaze. A low growl rumbled through his chest as he pulled your hands away and slammed them down beside you. “Dont ever hide yourself from me again. Your body belongs to me. Not even a single hair on your head is to be called yours. You’re completely… and utterly, mine.” His voice dropped as he stated his claim over you, his dark lavender eyes lowering to study how magnificent your natural essence was. Trimmed pubic hair outline the area around your crotch and your lovely folds. The curves of your cunt had him mesmerized, how slick they were with your arousal, tiny clit now swollen from indescribable pleasure. The last thread of any restraint to be somewhat gentle snapped as your lips breathless called out his name. “Kunikuzushi, I’m yours… please… stop looking and just put your dick in me… I want you… I need you so badly, baby.”

“Ah fuck… you sound so fucking hot when you beg for me like the whorish slut you are.” His fingers made haste with unbuckling his belt, deep heavy pants leaving his mouth feeling his cock head twitch in anticipation. Relief washed over his figure feeling his hard dick be freed from the firm constraints they were previously in. The red tip twitched at the feeling of cool air blowing against it, his eyes twitching slightly as he bit his lip. You copied his movements as your lip caught between your teeth, pussy clenching on nothing as you anxiously shifted. “Kuni… Kuni please-“ a harsh slap came to your plump thighs as he jutted his hips against your lower regions, his dick slapping against your slick folds before rubbing the underside up and down. “Shut up. I’ll fuck you when I damn well please. Now hush and let me do as I please with my pretty little girl.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips at his words, your legs spreading a bit wider for him to have more access to your womanly parts. He obliged happily, stepping forward and reaching a hand down to grab the base of his dick. He rubbed the shaft up and down your folds, groaning at the feeling. He forced his tip to poke at your entrance before flicking it up to bump your clit, chuckling deeply as he watched your body squirm underneath him. Your mind suddenly flashed with remembrance, and you pushed against his chest earning a frustrated glare. “W-Wait, do you have any condoms?” Your worries were crushed with a glare from your boyfriend. He took your hands away and gripped your thighs, digging his fingers into your flesh as he started to press harder against your entrance. “We don’t need it this time.”

“What?! Scara what happens if I get pregnant? I’m not ready to be a parent!” Scaramouche looked up in thought, and a small loving smirk graced his lips. He looked back down to you, his eyes only reflecting his love for you despite his harsh teasing and cruel smile. “Then I’ll take responsibility. It’s not like I ever planned to let you go anyways. Trust me, (Y/N).” Your heart hammered against your chest at his loving and sweet words. Your resolve melted when he leaned down to kiss you lovingly as a measure of reassurance. The pressure against your entrance continued until you felt a firm thrust sheath his dick inside, forcing a small groan out of your mouth at the stretch. His large hands moved their way up to grab your hips, lips departing from yours as a string of saliva snapped between your mouths. “Sh-Shit it’s always so good… fuck I can’t control myself…”

“Kuni, mmm… feel so full inside.” His thrusts were slow and unbelievably deep at first. A wet sound came from below you as his dick came in and out of your sloppy insides. Your hands went around his neck, fingers entangling in the soft tussles of his indigo hair. The grip on your hips tightened as he started to set a new snd faster pace. Low groans rumbled in his chest while needy pants dropped from his lips. “You feel good, (Y/N)? Bet you’re feeling f-fucking amazing right now… ahhh, yeah, you’re my dirty little girl, aren’t you? You’re my dirty slut.” His hips were smacking against yours now, his eyes heavily lidded as he focused on the way your boobs bounced with each thrust, he sheathed into you. Your face was morphed into a blissful and fucked out expression, your eyes barely able to be kept open as you couldn’t help but solely focus on the pleasure Scaramouche was giving you. “Y-Yes Kuni, I feel so good… hah, oh my god, M-Mmm!”

“What else?” He called out harshly, his cold hands coming to grip around your neck, apply a gentle pressure to stimulate your eyes to snap open. You made eye contact with his gorgeous dark lavender eyes, half closed as he stared intently at you with lust swimming around the contents of his irises. His pupils were blown out with lust, threatening to swallow the lovely color of his eyes full. Strands of his indigo hair stuck to his forehead as sweat glistened on his pale skin. “I-I’m your dirty girl… all yours Kuni, all yours, hah!” He huffed out a strained chuckle, wincing as he unconsciously squeezed tighter around your neck. “Hngh! Fuck!” Scaramouche let go of you completely and slammed his hands on the desk, a loud crack being heard as he caged your body and thrust his hips faster. “Ahh! Kuni-“

“Just let me grab my papers out of my office.” A hand slapped over your mouth as quick as you first noticed a voice had sounded from outside. Your whole entire body froze, eyes blowing wide, pupils shrinking as all sense of arousal left your body. Your boyfriend squeezed your mouth tighter, clenching his teeth together harshly as he tried to withstand the unrelenting squeeze you had around his dick at the moment. The door handle jiggled, your legs coming to try and push Scaramouche off, but he wouldn’t budge. Your heart pounded harshly in your chest as you waited to be caught in such an embarrassing act. “Well, hey there teacher! My professor asked me to come get you! It sounded quite urgent… it seems somethings wrong the scantron reader, it’s giving all the students A’s. It’d be a shame if it was left the way it is.”

“Ngh… n-now I owe that nosy… f-fucking brat…” Scaramouche cursed as he let go of your mouth, panting and lightly trembling above you. Your lungs clawed at the opportunity for air, taking shallow gasps as you tried to stay quiet. The two figures outside retreated. It sounded like… “W-Was that Heizou?” A scoff came from Scaramouche as he clenched his fists together against the table. He curt nod came as he finally brought his eyes back down to connect with yours. You could feel his body tense up as he rocked his hips again with yours. “Where were we?” He whispered, letting out a soft groan before he leaned over you, his hair tickling your forehead, husky breath fanning over your face. Your hands grabbed his face, pulling him close to engage in a sloppy heated make out.

Scaramouche pushed your hip down with one hand while the other came around your shoulders to squeeze you tightly against him. A low grunt echoed in his throat, tongue swirling and flexing over yours as he started to pick up his pace. One of his knees came to rest on the desk to plunge himself deeper, snapping his hips brutally against yours, almost feral the way he desperately chased his release now. He shoved his face into your neck, panting harder and moaning into your neck, his hips stuttering slightly as they became sloppy and all the more desperate. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m so close… you’re squeezing, hah, the fucking life… o-outta me, ahhh… I’m gonna cum.” Your legs wrapped around his hips, arms wrapping around his head against your neck and sending your hands to claw at his back. “M-Me too! Mmm! Feels so g-good Kuni!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, cumming… cumming, gonna fucking cum.” You tightened your grip on him and came with a loud moan and squeal of his name as he fucked your sensitive walls after your god-like climax. He pulled up away from you quickly, hands slamming and pushing your hips roughly against the desk as he ripped his dick out of your throbbing insides. “Sh-Shit!” He came quickly after, spurts of sticky white coming from his twitching tip as cum splattered against important documents on the desk and all over the teacher’s keyboard and screen. You were too fucked out to even notice what he’d done. Your chest rose and fell heavily, trying to catch your breath and calm the trembling in your legs from how good Scaramouche fucked you. He collapsed on top of you, panting against your chest and neck as he too tried to regain his composure. “That was… fucking amazing.”

“I-It always… is baby. You’re always so a-amazing.” You panted out in agreement, a small smile on your face as you kissed his sweaty forehead, combing his sweaty bangs out of his face. He lazily rose his head up and placed a soft kiss to your lips before reluctantly pushing himself up. “C’mon, let’s get you dressed.” Scaramouche was oddly sweet when it came to aftercare with you. He knew he was harsh and a little mean when he got really into sex, to make up for his roughness, he tried to be a little kinder in aftercare not to make you think he was heartless. He helped you put your panties and bra back on before letting you get yourself dressed while he fixed himself up too. “Oh, Scara you came all over the teacher’s desk… we better clean it up before they come back.”

“Leave it. That old hag deserves it.” He opened the desk and pulled out his phone and keys, smirking at the work he’d done making a mess on the teacher’s desk.

“…you really are a petty lil’ shit aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“…you really are a petty lil’ shit aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

#scaramouche x you #scara smut #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #college au #meanie scara #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer

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eldritch-spouse · 6 months

Note

So I am nearly six feet tall which is on the taller side of women (I am female) and mid rage for men. Which is why I love your OC's cause plenty of them are gigantic. But the impcubus are vastly smaller compared to me. I like to be dominated, thrown around (I'm also quite curvy), and babied. so my question is which of the impcubus would pair well with me? Who would like having a Goliath human partner? Who could set my height aside and see that I am zero percent a Dom despite having the bod for it.

Feel free to ignore this.

["Impcubus" is a play on the words "imp" and "incubus"- To which there is only one in the servants' cast, Lacai. I understand you're talking about all the imps in general though.]

One thing you have to kind of take into account is that, given the physical variety within monsters, there isn't much of that "As a woman, I should date someone taller than me" or "As a man, I should date someone shorter than me" kind of tendency that many human groups have. Neither is it very often assumed that the taller element of a dynamic is inherently the more assertive one.

Imps especially are very used to pursuing partners bigger than themselves. Sometimes it's a fetishized thing, sometimes it's simply how their love life unfolds. And just because their partners are larger in size doesn't mean they will bend over backwards, as they (most) tend to be defensive and not acquiesce so easily to someone who wishes to make them entirely placid.

You would be loved and appreciated as a bottom by all the imps here. That being said, some might take more visible enjoyment out of this:

Nena. Oh when she's done sweating bullets around you, she's going to fucking ruin your giant ass. You'll never see Nena smile the same way she does when you're on your knees in front of her, it's a totally different expression on her sweet little face. In public, it most definitely seems as if you're in control of everything, but Nena is subtly pulling the strings to most events.

Rei. You think he didn't sniff the bitch in you immediately?! Get real, Rei regularly folds over fans of his that are three times his size. You're not even that tall! And guess what, he's still picking you up, he's still throwing you on that bed, and your weak little human ass can't do shit to stop him, girlie.

Flints. He doesn't need to make any sudden movements or raise his voice to have you crumbling. Much like many others, he's got an eye for this, and studying a bit of your body language, your mannerisms, was all it took for Flints to lock on. He enjoys making you squirm with curt sentences and watching you try to remain composed around him.

Jayde. Jayde loves a pretty girl. A tall, thick girl with nice legs? You have him by the dick. He's going to chase after you madly, and though he's a switch at heart, Jayde will very easily adapt to your lack of dominant drive. It works out great, he gets a fix from this too.

Rieba, the tallest of the imps so far. She's full of frustrations, getting to take it out sexually on a partner bigger than her is cathartic. Although she's capable of great gentleness, she clearly enjoys having someone a lot more manageable to take care of, someone who appreciates her.

#Nena oc #Rei oc #Jayde oc #Flints oc #Rieba oc

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denimbex1986 · 9 months

Text

'Before I saw the Barbie movie, I was resolutely against ever seeing the Barbie movie. Despite the fact that as a child I loved Barbie, who I interviewed regularly for important radio segments in her coral peach ball gown, I decided that the last thing I needed was 90 neon-coloured-Margot-Robbie-filled minutes of a film which would obviously have nothing new to offer me; a grown-up feminist woman who stopped idealising the problematic Barbie aesthetic decades ago.

But then the reviews from angry men started rolling in. You only had to be vaguely near the internet after Barbie’s release to hear the resounding roars of the mostly middle-aged; outraged that such an abomination against “all men” could even be allowed to exist. The reviews began to read like dreamy promotional soundbites: “An alienating, dangerous and perverse film”, “They won’t be happy until we are all gay”.

These men were really, really wound up about this film. They loathed it. They were spitting fury at Greta Gerwig for creating a piece of such obvious, glaring, “anti-men, feminist propaganda”.

And so, when I was asked by one of my teenage children if I would be up for a day of “Barbenheimer”, I said “yes”: newly salivating at the potential of a project that could cause this much delicious backlash.

I decided I would swallow my aversion towards sustained exposure to powder pink, get Barbie watched, then chase it all away with a good dose of brooding grey, historically accurate cinema. Despite the promise of those furious reviews, I still expected to enter and exit the cinema despising Barbie and in awe of Oppenheimer.

During the five hours of media and popcorn consumption that followed, a chain reaction set in motion that left me changed. It made the vitriolic reviews of Barbie, calling Greta Gerwig’s masterpiece “anti-men”, even more comical. The irony was bright and clear to me: Oppenheimer is anti-women.

And the thing is that Oppenheimer is not different to most films. Because most films are anti-women.

We just don’t take to the internet to rage about it because we’re used to it; desensitised by the decades of cinematic women who exist only to paint their lips red, bare their breasts and give the important male protagonists something to play with.

Is Barbie anti-men? Oh, I hope so (it isn’t, it’s anti-patriarchy), but also, frankly, I don’t care. Because if it is – after decades of movies made by male directors like Oppenheimer’s Christopher Nolan, it has good reason to be.

And it does what it so brilliantly does within the sparkly, imaginary bubble of an entirely fictional world where the male characters it side-lines are literally plastic dolls, all called Ken (except Alan); fake toys who simply can’t even breathe. Anti-women films like Oppenheimer on the other hand, sideline or completely erase very real, flesh-and-blood women who lived whole lives and made significant contributions to our world.

So, if you’re a man who has watched Barbie and felt angry or irritated or just plain strange while watching the depiction and treatment of the Kens – then welcome to cinema. That is what it feels like to be a woman watching Hollywood movies most of the time.

But here’s the thing – that poor Ken doll you’re lamenting over, is not Leona Woods; who at 23 was one of the youngest female scientists the Manhattan project employed. Ken, unlike Leona, was not present at the first nuclear chain reaction and Ken did not have to do what Leona did – which was to conceal her pregnancy until two days before her baby was born. Ken is also not Elizabeth Graves; a scientist entirely essential to the project’s success who was completing an experiment when she went into labour and did not stop the experiment until it was finished, timing her contractions with a stopwatch. Let’s see Christopher Nolan make a three-hour-long film about that.

Neither Woods nor Graves feature in Oppenheimer, which, like so many anti-women films, manages to assume such an air of authority that it can leave us assuming that its astounding lack of female representation must be down to its admirable commitment to historical accuracy. I’ve heard the cries – “It is called Oppenheimer after all. How much do you expect it to worry about its women?” And perhaps it’s true – you can’t very well expect a film about the very intelligent physicists who tackled the science behind creating the atomic bomb to change facts just for representation can you?

No. But you can and should expect such a film to accurately and fairly represent the female scientists who were, in fact, right there – alongside Oppenheimer and his men, ensuring the Manhattan Project’s success. Perhaps it might have been appropriate if viewers left the three-hour epic clear in the knowledge that Kitty Oppenheimer didn’t only drink herself to distraction while taking care of screaming children and dropping a hip flask out of her handbag at every possible moment; she was also a trained botanist who was employed at Los Alamos to take blood and test the levels of radiation exposure of her colleagues.

More than 600 women worked on the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos alone, yet the only female scientist given any recognition in Nolan’s world is Lilli Hornig, who speaks only briefly, mostly in opposition to the bomb’s use. And what about Charlotte Serber? Who Nolan depicts as Oppenheimer’s secretary, completely erasing her vital work as scientific librarian for the project’s “secret library” and who, with no formal training, became the only female group leader, overseeing a staff of 12 people while also risking her safety in counter-espionage efforts.

Oppenheimer doesn’t only fail the Bechdel test, it fails to represent the real women who contributed so significantly to that morally fraught turning point in history. Those women were physicists, engineers, chemists, mathematicians. They existed. And, as is so often the case, many of their achievements have been forgotten and remain unrecognised, by both history and cinema.

As I continue to emerge from my Barbenheimer experience, researching the lost women of the Manhattan project and occasionally still basking in the disgust of all those angry men who need to hate the work of art that is Barbie, it becomes ever clearer: anti-women is the benchmark of mainstream filmmaking and some people are simply unable to deal with the plastic Manolo Blahnik being on the other foot.'

#Barbenheimer #Oppenheimer #Barbie #Margot Robbie #Greta Gerwig #Leona Woods #Elizabeth Graves #The Manhattan Project #Kitty Oppenheimer #Los Alamos #Lilli Hornig #Charlotte Serber

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acourtofthought · 9 months

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WHY is Azriel, canonically, the most problematic out of the four people involved in the shipwar yet he gets the least hate? Everyone keeps eating his ass and asking for seconds and I can’t understand it. He doesn’t need a personality upgrade, he needs a personality, period.

I refuse to accept any criticism of Gwyn and Elain. Both of them have been recently traumatized and they’re trying to get better without bothering anyone. All the hate I see for them is from the mouths of obnoxious shippers. Sentences that start with “Azriel deserves” are not acceptable unless they end with “a punch to the throat”.

"Sentences that start with “Azriel deserves” are not acceptable unless they end with “a punch to the throat”."

😂😂😂😂

It is strange, isn't it?

E/riels hate Lucien. They claim he's aggressive and pushy and makes Elain uncomfortable (first off, he's neither aggressive nor pushy and second, while Elain is uncomfortable we don't know exactly why that is. It's likely that it's not Lucien himself that makes her uncomfortable but the thoughts Lucien's presence causes her to have that make her uncomfortable).

But somehow it gets ignored that Azriel actually makes Mor uncomfortable which is confirmed in Mor's POV as well as when she explains to Feyre why she acts the way she does. Somehow it gets ignored that every time Azriel has an opening to communicate his feelings about something important we get "Azriel said nothing" or "Azriel left the rest unsaid." He's the one who disrespects Rhys and Feyre's orders half the time while still choosing to hide Feyre's pregnancy concern and the swords Nesta made even though he felt Nesta should be told (so basically he does what he wants when it's not the right thing but won't fight for something when it is). In SF, he's the one who is in love with one female, got fixated on another only because she represents what he wants most (mating bond), all while showing admiration for a third, deciding to give Gwyn a gift he originally got for Elain while being jealous of Helion asking after Mor. 🤦

To me he's no prize. He's fine, he'll be better after his book but I'm not quite sure where the appeal lies with Az and really both Elain and Gwyn deserve a better love story.

He's sometimes funny but no funnier than any of the others. He sometimes says something insightful, but no more insightful than we've seen from any of the others. He's brave but no less brave then the others who are a combination of brave and prudent while Az leans towards reckless.

Maybe because he's the "prettiest" of the brothers and is "kinky" in bed? Maybe because he's what in real life would be the "broody bad boy" that girls hope they can tame and be the one to bring out the soft and gentle side of him? Maybe because we don't actually know Az all that much and some are filling in the blanks with what they'd like to see?

A lot were up in arms over his POV saying it was out of character but....what if that IS Az's character? What if his default mode is rage and self loathing and fixation? SJM has said on a few occasions that Az scares her so I imagine when she writes his story, she'll be writing with that in her mind.

But it is weird how E/riels will trash talk both Gwyn and Lucien, some Gwynriels and even Elucien's will tear apart Elain yet Az is the most unscathed of all even though there is nothing "better" about him.

It's fine to like Az despite his flaws but shouldn't the courtesy of looking past ones flaws also be extended to the others? Lucien, Gwyn and Elain have never purposely set out to hurt anyone. They make mistakes but they're trying to learn from them. They're no more selfish than anyone else. So what exactly makes their "crimes" so unforgiveable while Az reigns supreme despite his? It's not that anyone has to love a character but it would at least be nice if it wasn't a pot calling the kettle black scenario.

#anti azriel #pro elain archeron #pro gwyneth berdara #pro lucien vanserra #elucien

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aegor-bamfsteel · 1 year

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The Dany Grievance to Rhaenyra Grievance pipeline is so real and so funny to witness lol. HOTD was a mistake, but seeing these stans basically double down on yet another Targ woman who's ending they will rage at is astounding lol.

In the Dàny fans’ defense, she’s an actual well-developed main character who isn’t a prop in her love interest’s story (contrast Rhaeneato with husband DemonStu) GRRM said she’s one of his favorite female characters (along with Arya; he admits he likes DemonStu better than Rhaeneato) along with some positive comparisons (to Nymeria of Ny Sar), she’s got an actual platform beyond self-interest (she did free slaves even if some eventually sold themselves back in), the motivation behind wanting the Iron Throne is more sympathetic (she’s never had a permanent home and her family is gone), she’s a teenager rather than a grown woman in her 30s….and also the books haven’t finished, so we don’t know her ending (though the foreshadowing of Dark!Dàny is there). Basically, I can understand why people would be fans of Dány and be upset at her ending in the show.

Rhányra, though, is incredibly flat, self-interested and entitled, cruel (torturing Tyland Lannister, feeding Vaemond’s corpse to her dragon after sending Daemon to decapitate him), doesn’t even pretend to care about the smallfolk (organizing feasts while they starved under new taxes), violent but not a warrior (Demon at least has the skills to back it up; she’s never in battle despite having a dragon), and explicitly has no platform other than status quo (she’s not changing the laws of inheritance for everyone, just so she gets the Throne). We know she ends up chased out of the city by the angry smallfolk, betrayed on Dragonstone, and fed to her brother’s dragon. The show got rid of some of her bloodthirst (still being for peace until Luke’s death when in the book she told Orwyle in response to Aegon’s offer that he either kneels to her or dies; barely being involved in Vaemond’s death and he’s made to look like more of a jerk) and gave her some excuses for her self interest (she had to have an affair with Harwin for heirs because she and Laenor tried but couldn’t! Never mind that Jace in the books was born the year of their marriage in 114, meaning she didn’t try too hard) but at the expense of making her even more bland and passive (she does like 5 things in the novella and the show already cut out like 2 of them. It takes a lot of not caring to make the thinly sketched characters of the Dance even less consistent and interesting, but HOTD writing is sinking to the occasion.) Basically, I don’t understand why there’s a big overlap in Rhaeneato (except in the “well the greens are even worse” sense) and Dàny fans, other than that she’s another Targ woman seeking the throne to which she has a disputed claim, because everything else about her is a lot different than Däny. I can understand why people are fans of a character who has a tragic end (I’m a fan of House Blackfyre partly because they end up dying due to their noble values) but the journey has to give the end pathos, and neither show nor book has given us a reason to care for Rhaeneato the way they did Dány.

#ask #opinion #fandom critical #anti rhaenyra #anti hotd

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xalygatorx · 4 months

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Worthy (2015) | Chapter 17, "Love & Other Follies"

Disappearing sporadically in public spaces quickly becomes Cora Dempsey's least concerning problem when suddenly she captures the attention of the forming Avengers Initiative, the World Security Council, and Asgard's fallen prince all in one week. And the universe is only just getting started with her.

Worthy is a slow-burn SFW Marvelverse (films) romance between Loki and a female OC. For additional details on what canon is used, see the Prologue post.

Summary: Cora steals away from the party to descend into the dungeon and speak to Loki. Frigga greets Cora with breakfast the next morning and they speak more about her youngest son and his sentence. Frigga’s illusion visits Loki in his cell.

Pairing: Loki x Fem!OC

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3.4k

The narrow stairway was making her antsy. It was dark and she had to be very careful where she placed her feet because she could barely see the individual steps. The blackened passageway was such an enormous contrast to the rest of the glittering golden palace, Cora was half-convinced she'd stepped into an entirely different world.

She yelped as she missed a step, slipping and reflexively grabbing onto the wall beside her. Her fingers hooked around an empty sconce, which managed to keep her from falling down the rest of the stairs. Cora righted her footing before letting go, feeling lucky that there had been something to grab onto apart from the smooth stones. Taking a deep breath, she was just glad no one had seen her take a spill and continued even more carefully on her way.

When she neared the bottom of the staircase, she was able to hear a low murmur of noise from the prisoners throughout the dungeon's expanse; it was quieter than usual, she imagined, given the time and the lack of excitement. Cora reached the last step and rounded the corner, nearly jumping out of her skin when she looked up at the nearest cell, where Loki stood behind a pane of what may or may not have been glass at the face of his prison. Letting out the gasp she'd taken, she shook her head at herself before returning her gaze to the demigod, who was watching her closely from isolation, and approaching the cell.

The first words out of his mouth threw her off entirely. He seemed wary of her as his eyes narrowed, like he was scanning her for something. "Are you real?" he asked reluctantly, still squinting.

Taken aback, Cora glanced down at herself and then back at him before muttering, "Um, yeah? Are you?"

Her sass convinced him rather well and he crouched down as she came forward, somewhat near her eye level by the time she'd stepped up onto the ledge in front of his cell. Cora just looked at him for a long moment, her lips pursed faintly as conflict raged within her. Once again, he broke the silence. "How did you survive?"

Cora arched a brow and gave him a sideways glance. "You… Survive what, exactly?" she inquired tersely, wondering what he knew about how she'd ended up in Jotunheim, a bloody mess in a bed of glass, instead of still being a human popsicle.

Loki's eyes narrowed again as he murmured, "You were on the ship. The Chitauri took the capsule while…"

"While you led a genocidal rampage, you mean," she said with deceptive softness. Loki stared her down, his lips twisting into a bitter grimace. Cora shook her head at his lack of remorse, murmuring, "How could you?"

"With ease," he enunciated quietly, the words nearly a purr. "How. Did you. Survive?"

"With ease," she growled back. In her peripheral, she saw his hand flex into a fist of frustration, but it did little more than that and she knew then that the Loki she'd known—no matter what Thor thought—was still in there somewhere. He remembered. When his grip loosened, she murmured, "I don't know. I woke up in Jotunheim."

His brow furrowed and he seemed to notice the bandages beneath the fabric and armored accents of her gown for the first time. "Jotunheim, but…" Loki glanced down, his eyes moving as he calculated how that was possible before the blazingly obvious answer dawned on him. "The vile creatures double-crossed me." He drew even more pleasure from the fact that they had all died in the explosion now, knowing that.

Cora didn't understand what he was getting at until she put together the only possible explanation. "You…tried to spring me?"

Loki's eyes flashed back to hers and his entire demeanor became guarded in an instant. He tilted his head back incrementally simply to look down his nose at her in that arrogant way he did at times. "You may have still been of some use. In fact, you might still be…," he realized with a faint sinister smile forming.

"No."

He faltered, the sneer fading. "You dare—"

"Oh, yes, I dare," Cora declared incredulously. "You killed people, Loki! From what I hear, hundreds!"

"Edging toward thousands," he said with relish, watching her react.

"And you're proud of that?! What was the point?" she demanded, jumping when her hand brushed the glass and it burned her fingertips. His stare flashed down to her hand in concern, but he'd brought his eyes back up to hers and replaced his cold expression before she looked at him again, leaving her none the wiser.

"The point was," he murmured, "that I will have my rule. My rightful rule. It is my birthright."

"And that was all?" Cora asked in disbelief, her eyes glossier than usual in her upset. "A proverbial throne? That made all of that, all of this, worth it?" Loki didn't answer her, his mouth a thin line at her words, not for their face value, but for how she was reacting to him. Of course it was not solely for that. This is all so much bigger than just your tiny, insignificant realm… "Personally?" she asked, jarring him from his thoughts. "Did you personally kill all those people?" The weight of her inquiry was evident to both of them, whether Loki showed he understood or not.

He was silent a moment. "My army's count is mine as well," Loki at last replied calmly, sounding like the cold, cruel king he so strived to be as he dodged her question with a separate truth.

"And are you proud of that?"

"Pride has nothing to do with this," he said darkly.

"Pride has everything to do with this, Loki, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth and you're the one who spent fifty dollars on a box of fucking bagels!"

Loki had been gearing up to slam her own point back in her face, but he was thrown off course at her words, arching a brow as her lips twitched, holding down a smirk despite the direness of the conversation at hand. When she gave up and the smirk came through, she shook her head and turned her back to him to retain some of her all-consuming seriousness.

His features softened subtly behind her, almost sadly, as he heard her murmur, "You're still in there, right?"

Loki sighed silently and retorted with the literal interpretation of the sentimental question, "Obviously."

She gave a gusty sigh of her own as she turned around and retaliated, "That's not what I meant and you—" However, she paused, looking away and cocking her head as she listened to something that he soon heard, too: clanking armor and drunken conversation.

When she looked back to him, he told her quietly to go, but she disappeared into thin air before he could get the entire word out, no matter how short a word it was. He blinked, but straightened to his full height as the guards came in to do a required round of the dungeon before going up and doing a few more rounds of drinks. He rolled his eyes as they passed him by—even caged and through a wine-fueled stupor, he was intimidating—before mocking the rest of the inmates, drunkenly stumbling through a quick patrol before going back upstairs, one of the guards sloshing his drink on the staircase.

Once they were gone, Loki's gaze moved back to where Cora had been standing and, just seconds later, she reappeared. She turned around slowly as he commented, "You seem to have gotten some control over your abilities."

She nodded and murmured, "Your mother has been helping me."

Loki nodded as well, the two standing in awkward silence until Cora sighed and started to step away. "I should get back," she murmured, though she didn't much want to go. While seeing him like this was two parts infuriating, one part sad and disappointing, she cared about him and didn't want him to be alone in this awful place. He said nothing and she was nearly to the stairs when she hesitated and added in a quiet voice, "You never answered my question."

His eyes hadn't left her until that moment, which was when they dipped toward the stone floor outside his cell. "I do not have an answer to give."

Cora's features crumpled very slightly and she was glad she had her back to him so he wouldn't see. After everything—after he'd left her behind, betrayed her, tried to take down the city she'd once called home, and take over the world she still felt every attachment to, despite how much she did not belong in it—she still felt the beginnings of something for him. For the self-proclaimed villain who had nabbed her from SHIELD and started to open up to her in a messy warehouse when neither of them felt like they had any place in the world from which they hailed.

She moved to walk back up the stairs when a soft voice from the cell murmured, "Careful."

Her gaze dropped to the wine-slicked steps and she gave a brief nod of thanks before moving around the spill and leaving the dungeons before someone noticed she was gone from the party and came looking for her. Loki watched her go, his vibrant green eyes lingering on the empty archway before he exhaled and turned away from the cell front, retreating into the shadows.

The next day, Cora woke after a restless night to a knock on her chamber door. "I'm awake," she mumbled a little incoherently, rubbing her eyes as she heard the door open and Frigga's laughter come through to fill the room.

"Fret not, I've brought breakfast for us," Frigga said with a sympathetic smile as she opened up the door and let in a servant pushing a cart, who left immediately after he'd done his duty to give them their privacy.

Cora smiled as she tried to smooth her tousled waves and get out of bed, at least long enough to get to the couch and sit down. "You already know me so well," she laughed softly, causing Frigga to smile, though there was a touch of stress to her expression which Cora was sure branched from what was going on with Loki. Thanking Frigga when she handed her a plate, Cora began to eat, soon asking gently, "Have you been to see him yet?"

Frigga looked a little startled at Cora's question, as it had hit right on the mark as far as her conflicting thoughts were concerned. She shook her head and admitted, "No, not yet. I was thinking I might give him the day to adjust." She sighed. "I am not sure I'm ready to face him after all this time, but I have done as much as I can for him. I kept him from execution, furnished his cell as much as allowed… And yet I feel as though I am not doing enough."

Cora looked at the Queen sympathetically before reasoning, "Frigga, he committed crimes. Heinous crimes. Murders. One after the other, from what I gather. I still don't know what exactly happened here before he ended up on Earth with me, but maybe he needs to rough it a little bit. Realize what he's lost, what or who he still might lose if he doesn't turn himself around."

"He has little reason to make changes in himself, I'm afraid. He has a life sentence, Cora, and nothing will change that so long as my husband holds control over this land. Confinement is what will keep him alive and others safe."

"That's the thing. About people, I mean," Cora said, frowning. "They don't change for other people, not really. They find something inside themselves that makes them want to change, what they feel for others or what they need in life. I… I believe that he'll figure himself out. He'll have to."

Frigga smiled and looked at her curiously. "You certainly think a lot of my son."

Cora shifted a little uncomfortably before murmuring, "I guess I do," and taking a bite of what seemed to be sausage on her plate. Whatever it was, it tasted way better than any sausage she'd ever had.

"It is refreshing…," she admitted wistfully. "For quite some time, it was only Thor and myself who saw the good in him, but I fear even Thor has lost hope in him after what happened in Midgard."

Cora nodded. "I got that impression when I talked to him last night. I can't really blame him, but I just can't feel the same way."

Frigga smiled faintly, but tried to tame the expression as she asked, "And why is that?"

Cora frowned and shook her head. "I wish I knew. Maybe because people don't just change so radically without good reason, maybe because I care, maybe because you and Thor clearly care so much? I don't know."

Frigga saw through Cora's evasiveness, but said nothing, simply smiling to herself as she sipped her tea. "He was so tiny when Odin brought him here," she mused. "He thought by this act of goodness, he could unite our realms and bring an end to the hatred between us and them. No matter how much he claimed it was solely for political purposes, I knew he hadn't been able to leave him. For more than just the matter of a merger."

Cora frowned. "Odin doesn't seem to hold that much affection for him anymore."

"He does, it's just buried very deep," Frigga explained. "Odin is good, but he is unforgiving. Much like the son who loathes him so. Loki claims to want nothing from his father, claims that Odin is not his father at all, but all his life, he's strived for his father's approval. An equal space beside Thor. He's overlooked that, despite Thor being Odin's heir, pride, joy, and—as much as it's not fair—favorite, he has always been Thor's favorite."

"I wish I could have known the two of them when they were still happy together," Cora confessed, sad that such a wonderful relationship had come so close to dying out.

"They were adorable as children," she laughed softly, nostalgia written all over her face from the fond memories. "Loki was perfectly happy until the issue of rule became apparent and then a fissure began to form between him and his father. His brother, too. To compensate, I shared some of my own abilities with him and spent as much time attending to him as I could, but it didn't make up for what he thought he lacked. When Thor was banished, the line of succession fell to Loki and, once he had even a temporary grasp on the throne, he was unwilling to let it go."

"What did he do?"

"He lied to Thor and told him that his banishment would never be lifted and that their father was dead. That I did not want him to return home." She looked as if her heart was breaking as she spoke. "And then he tried to destroy him and the Warriors Three when they went to Midgard to bring him back."

"That was the second half of the New Mexico incident…," Cora murmured to herself, remembering reading about that in every paper and magazine the shops had to sell for the next few weeks until SHIELD shoved the story out of the media. At least, she figured that's what had happened.

"When Thor returned, he confronted Loki and learned the truth. The BiFrost was shattered in Thor's endeavor to protect the other realms from Loki's wrath and Loki allowed himself to fall into a void, which was apparently a remnant of the BiFrost's connection to Midgard."

"And that's how he ended up there," Cora finished for her, now knowing the story from start to finish. Her brow furrowed as she asked, "Where did Loki come from?"

Frigga smiled and looked at her, setting her empty mug down on the table. "Does it matter to you?"

Cora shook her head. "No, but I'm curious. What matters is that he's being a real, er…brute at present," she commented, having refrained from saying "ass" instead because she wasn't sure if Frigga would understand what she meant.

"He is," Frigga agreed upon a sigh. "But I love him all the same."

"Did you sleep at all during the night?"

Loki frowned and turned to see his mother in the cell with him. Or, at least, an illusion of his mother cast by her from somewhere else in the palace. "A bit hard to sleep in this pit of disgrace," he commented sharply. "I barely sleep at all."

"Because of this place or something else?" she asked, her tone pointed but gentle.

He gave her a bored glance before snickering. "Oh, Mother, you fail to see what lies before your face. I feel nothing in reply to my endeavors to be Midgard's first king."

"Midgardians died, Loki. So many of them," she reminded him.

"They would have died anyway," he murmured flippantly. "In a mere blink of our lifespan."

"You took away their lives, everything they had."

"Humans are moths to the flame of their own mortality," he groaned frustratedly. "They worship it, wish it brighter, longer, cling to it, and the moment they get too close and too greedy with what they are capable of, they die. It is as simple as that."

"What is not so simple is that you have taken humans from their kin. Left families alive to suffer."

"Shall I be freed so I may put them from their misery?"

"Loki, this is not you," Frigga sighed. "You could ignore me or brush me aside and yet you fight me. That means some part of you still cares and, along with that, some part of you knows I am right."

Loki turned and approached her and, if he'd had hackles, they would be raised. "And would that please you, Mother? To be right? What precisely would that accomplish, hm? How many souls will you save this day by being right?"

"At least one," Frigga said firmly, looking him in the eyes. Loki realized she meant him and gave her a mockingly pitying look before turning his back to her in a dismissive gesture. "And what of Cora?" His eyes narrowed as she continued to press, "If you think of those people, of just one as her, how does your attitude change?"

"You offend me by supposing I care enough to change my mind," he said coolly, his back still turned. "Apart from that, she is not human. Not completely."

"And yet you do care enough. I can hear it in your voice though you will not show me your face." Loki said nothing and she gave a small smile that he didn't see. "Apart from that, she is human in spirit. No amount of magic will change that in her; she is a wonderful girl. Powerful and strong. She seems quite certain of herself, too," Frigga admitted upon a quiet laugh, thinking of how blunt Cora could be at times. Loki's lips curved faintly in a knowing smile.

"Well," she began when he said nothing else. "I will have some books sent to you if you would like. I love you, my son. And though it pains me to be reunited with you in these circumstances, my heart is filled with joy that you live."

Loki pursed his lips, hearing that, and he finally turned, only to find the illusion already dissipated. He closed his mouth, which had parted on words he was yet unsure of, and sighed silently through his nose, wincing subtly against the roaring noise of the dungeon population lining the walls.

"You're still in there, right?"

Loki heard her voice in his head clearly as the stars swirling in the Asgardian horizon and stood very still a moment before giving a mocking smile and a shake of his head at his own conscience. "Always you, isn't it. Swooping in to reel me back," he murmured to no one in particular, but a slew of familiarly bold remarks in Cora's voice came from his own mind in reply.

Next chapter: Chapter 18, "His Clarity"

#loki laufeyson #loki x fem!oc #loki x oc #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #thor odinson #thor movies #thor the dark world #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #angst with a happy ending #slow burn

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lovesongbracket · 1 year

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Reminder: Vote based on the song, not the artist or specific recording! The tracks referenced are the original artist, aside from a few rare cases where a cover is the most widely known.

Lyrics, videos, info, and notable covers under the cut. (Spotify playlist available in pinned post)

Just Like Heaven

Written By: Pearl Thompson, Boris Williams, Lol Tolhurst, Simon Gallup & Robert Smith

Artist: The Cure

Released: 1987

“Just Like Heaven” was the third single from Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me It was inspired by a trip Robert Smith took with his then-girlfriend (future wife) Mary Poole to Beachy Head at East Sussex. Smith told Blender in 2003: “The song is about hyperventilating – kissing and fainting to the floor. Mary dances with me in the video because she was the girl, so it had to be her. The idea is that one night like that is worth 1,000 hours of drudgery.” “Just Like Heaven” was The Cure’s first top 40 hit in the US. It also reached the top 40 in France, New Zealand and the UK. In the summer of 1992, Smith called it “the best pop song the Cure has ever done.” Per Robert Smith – about how the band’s girlfriends influenced the music – “I’ve never been a big fan of irony. The girls would sit on the sofa in the back of the control room and give the songs marks out of 10. So there was a really big female input.”

[Verse 1] "Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick The one that makes me scream", she said "The one that makes me laugh", she said And threw her arms around my neck "Show me how you do it, and I promise you I promise that I'll run away with you I'll run away with you" [Verse 2] Spinning on that dizzy edge Kissed her face and kissed her head Dreamed of all the different ways I had to make her glow "Why are you so far away?", she said "Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you? That I'm in love with you?" [Refrain] You, soft and only You, lost and lonely You, strange as angels Dancing in the deepest oceans Twisting in the water You're just like a dream You're just like a dream [Verse 3] Daylight licked me into shape I must have been asleep for days And moving lips to breathe her name I opened up my eyes And found myself alone, alone Alone above a raging sea That stole the only girl I loved And drowned her deep inside of me [Refrain] You, soft and only You, lost and lonely You, just like heaven

youtube

Like Real People Do

Written By: Hozier

Artist: Hozier

Released: 2014

Alternate version included: Live in America, 2015

This song is a metaphor. Hozier uses “bog bodies” in Ireland, bodies which are exhumed after centuries of natural mummification, to describe a new relationship.

[Verse 1] I had a thought, dear, however scary About that night, the bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me from the earth? [Chorus] I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask and neither should you Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do [Verse 2] I knew that look, dear: eyes always seeking Was there in someone that dug long ago So I will not ask you why you were creeping In some sad way, I already know [Chorus] So I will not ask you where you came from I would not ask and neither would you Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do [Chorus] I could not ask you where you came from I could not ask and neither could you Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips We could just kiss like real people do

youtube

#the cure #just like heaven #robert smith #hozier #like real people do #polls #poll tournament #poll bracket #tournament #bracket #lovesongbracket #round2 #Youtube

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froggos-are-superior · 2 months

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Iron Widow is both a masterpiece and my new hyperfixation. It's such a complex story of fear, hatred, betrayal, sacrifice, and revenge. The whole story is set in a futuristic China with political undertones, a not-so-subtle violent patriarchy, and the cruel discrimination of racism.

What I love so much about it is that the main character, Zetian, is violent and furious and unapologetic. She doesn't get a redemption arc. Which is beautiful.

Redemption story, they said?

There will be no redemption.

It is not me who is wrong. It's everyone else.

She refuses to confine to anyone's expectations, even those of her allies, and it makes her so much more complex than your typical heroine.

She can make allies, and even fall in love, but she is not swayed or controlled by anything, or anyone. She is always willing to put herself and her values first and that is so damn intriguing.

But I have no faith in love. Love cannot save me. I choose vengeance.

It addresses all the issues of being a woman, and even in a futuristic society, the parallels to the modern world are breathtaking. One thing I'd like to point out that I think was so well written was how it's shown that even though women are so heavily discriminated against, that doesn't stop women from siding with their persecutors.

I don't know if it's more sad or harrowing that [my mother]'s been crushed into dust by marriage, yet is ecstatic to see the same hammer swing toward me.

In hindsight, I was such a fool to have assumed Qieluo would stand by me just because she’s also female.

It was my grandmother who crushed my feet in half.

It was my mother who encouraged me and Big Sister to offer ourselves up as concubines so our brother could afford a future bride.

It was always the village aunties who’d sit around gossiping about which girl hadn’t been married off yet, despite complaining nonstop about their own husbands. And then they’d congratulate new mothers for being “blessed” to have a boy, despite being female themselves.

How do you take the fight out of half the population and render them willing slaves? You tell them they’re meant to do nothing but serve from the minute they’re born. You tell them they’re weak. You tell them they’re prey. You tell them over and over, until it’s the only truth they’re capable of living.

Is this the real reason she urged me to make up with my family? So they could be used to control me? I can't believe I've done the one thing I've raged at everyone else for doing: underestimating a woman.

The entitled assholes of the world are sustained by girls who forgive too easily.

Even with the heavy topics, it's also humorous at times.

You can't shoot me; I'm from Central Command!" Sima Yi shouts, ramming through the soldier standoff. "You can't shoot me; I'm rich!" Yizhi slips through the opening created.

In conclusion, go read this masterpiece and thank you @xiranjayzhao for blessing us.

#iron widow #iron widow analysis #xiran jay zhao

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curator-on-ao3 · 8 months

Note

For the first sentences asks (I know it's like, 3):

"I don't know what to say, but I'm going to want you till the stars evaporate - we're only here for just a moment in the light, one day it shines for us the next we're in the night. So say the word and I'll be running back to find you, a thousand armies won't stop me I'll break through. I'll soar the endless skies for only one sight of your starlight."

~ enterprise-come-in 🖖

The last note of the lyric seems to linger, then the viewscreen fades to black.

Chris recognizes the song. It’s an old one called “Starlight,” an apt choice for the person who lit his life for decades before he found out she could actually illuminate, a bright red glow of healing and hope that he had tried to forget on Starbase Eleven, those days and weeks and months when she wasn’t where she said she would be — impossible because Una never, ever, wasn’t where she said she would be — which meant something was terribly wrong.

But she purportedly sent him this message, singing, and the illusion of Vina by his side — not the real Vina, not the woman so disgusted by her own infirmities that she’s disgusted by his, too — tilts her head, blonde hair shining in the artificial light, voice echoing off the cave walls. “What do you think?”

Frustration balls the illusion of Chris’ fists. “I think it’s another trick. I think our keepers — Do you hear me? Do you hear how this isn’t going to work? — I think they want me to believe this is a real message from the real Una. But it’s not. Our keepers pulled the information from my mind that Una loves to sing, that I love to hear her sing, but that message wasn’t the real Una.”

The illusion of Vina smiles, a twisted imitation of a real smile’s curved lips and raised cheeks, repulsive in a way the real Vina isn’t, even if she believes herself to be, believes him to be also now that he’s injured. “You’re right.”

It’s as if the battery that keeps his heart beating turns to acid and he’s cold, so cold, bitter realization causing the illusion of his fists to ball up even tighter, so tight the illusion of his fingernails dig into the illusion of his palms. “What did you do to her?”

The illusion of Vina hums, some Gilbert and Sullivan song, and she twirls, one hand in the air as if conducting an orchestra, and the viewscreen is brought to life again, a video feed of Una within the planet’s cave network, a Talosian punishment not by fire — those must be for him, for his expectation of hell — but by a crowd of what look like humans and the humans are kicking her, punching her, shouting the cruel names she was called as a child. She defends herself, arms up to block the worst of the blows, probably saving her energy by not fighting back with her full abilities or by not forming the base emotions that, though exhausting, would dissolve the illusions.

Yet Chris’ anger that threatens to choke him — pure rage toward the abuse she’s enduring — confirms that this version of Una is absolutely real.

“What you’re seeing,” his base emotion causes the illusion of Vina to lose cohesion, a disembodied Talosian voice speaking instead to an immobilized Chris in his support chair, “is yet another attempt to break the female you call Number One. A uniquely willful creature. We’ve had her for almost half a year, yet she refuses to cooperate or even to speak to us except to insist that she must go to Starbase Eleven to see you. We don’t want to kill her, yet she has been most frustrating.”

The viewscreen goes dark.

And pieces of the mental puzzle snap into place. Why Una went radio silent. Why Spock came to the starbase instead of Una. Maybe even why Spock brought him here. Spock must have known the Talosians had captured Una and there was no other way to get to the planet — to get Chris to the planet — except to risk mutiny.

“We first showed you an illusion of her,” a Talosian steps in, mental communication, footsteps and the rustle of long robes the only sound, “to determine if your feelings for her remain the same.”

Chris forces his anger away enough to regain his own illusion, to stand tall, to speak: “Why?”

The Talosian’s smile is identical to the twisted one from the illusion of Vina.

And Chris knows.

“You never gave up, did you?” He’s learned the facility these last few weeks, identified Talosian weaknesses he can’t exploit by himself but could with Una’s help. “You wanted an Adam and Eve and were willing to kidnap both of us — manipulating Spock along the way — to get us.”

There’s a nod. “You will explain to her the futility of fighting us. You will tell her how your time here has been pleasant, how her time here could be pleasant as well. You both will assist us in identifying a suitable partner for Vina. These are our eminently reasonable demands.”

Chris can do that.

He can reassure Una that it’s not futile to fight the Talosians.

He can tell her how a veneer of pleasantness has allowed him to figure out a plan of escape that he’s sure they can accomplish together.

He can do what he should have done in the first place and take Vina with them, get Vina to a place where Vina can get help undoing the damage the Talosians have done to her mind, to her sense of self-worth.

“I agree.” Chris’ chest swells with truth, hope.

Veins on the Talosian’s head bulge and a cave wall slides open like a door.

And Una is there, a bloody gash across her forehead, her hair tangled and half-wild, what’s left of her Starfleet uniform caked with dried blood and cave dirt, and Chris lets hatred for the Talosians flood his mind, reassurance that what he’s seeing is absolutely real.

“Chris.” There’s a twitching by Una’s eyes, the effort of employing a base emotion to ensure reality.

And he has his support chair flash once for yes, even though she didn’t ask, even though she knows it’s him, but there’s no other way for him to communicate — yet, she said she was working on that algorithm the last time they spoke — and, if he could, he would dance, he would sing the way she does whether she’s an illusion or real, a triumphant song of yes, yes, yes, because she’s real and she’s safe and they’re going to get out of here, he’s sure of it.

[for the “send me a sentence and I’ll write the next five” ask game, for which the rules of the ask game are clearly being flouted by all concerned.]

✨this story now also on AO3✨

#five sentences ask game #i love asks #christopher pike #una chin riley #number one #star trek strange new worlds #star trek the original series #this is probably the easiest i have ever let spock off for the menagerie #can be read as romantic or platonic #pikeuna #pikeone #that got sort of heavy #blood #disability #perseverance #save vina #enterprise-come-in

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bradshawsbaby · 11 months

Text

Letters to My Love // Part VIII

We’ll Meet Again

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Oh my goodness, it’s been well over a month since I last updated this story and I sincerely apologize for that! I hope you all enjoy Bobby and Peach’s next set of letters!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter comes from the song of the same name by Vera Lynn, a song which also happens to factor into this part of the story!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, @luminousnotmatter. Clara, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support of this story!

Warnings: Alternating POV, brief allusions to war, and references to rationing. This chapter is mostly fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

March 6, 1943

Sweet Peach,

Looks like I have my own elephant in the room to address this time. You asked for a photograph, and I’ve inundated you with five. Trust me, you think Dottie is bad, but I would dare to wager that she’s not nearly as insufferable as the lugheads I’m bunking with over here. When they caught wind of the fact that I was planning to send you a photo—which, for the record, was not at all forward of you to ask for and which actually gave my ego quite a nice boost—you should have seen the holy hullabaloo they raised. You really would have thought I was planning to feature myself on the front cover of Life Magazine with the way they carried on.

My original intent was to send you my graduation photo from Annapolis. My mother ended up packing a copy of it with my things when I left home—I think she was hoping I’d find a nice girl to give it to. She’ll be thrilled indeed to find that I have. Speaking of which, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve mentioned you in my letters to my family. I feel like you’ve become such a special part of my life, if you don’t mind me saying so, and I wanted them to get to know you a little bit, the way I have.

But anyway, like I was saying, I was glad that my mama tucked that photo away with my things so that I could have something to send you, though it’s by no means as spectacular as the photograph you sent me. When Tommy Boy and Benny found out that was the picture I was planning to send you, however, they started talking a whole bunch of nonsense about how I needed to send more pictures that showed off “the real me.” According to Benny, I look way too stiff and formal in my graduation photo. I told him that I thought the ladies were supposed to love a man in uniform, but he told me that’s apparently not the case when said uniform looks like it’s choking the life out of you. Tommy Boy said I should send you pictures that remind you of the fact that I actually do know how to have a good time—his words, not mine.

Even Paul agreed with them. That traitor.

To make a long story short, Peach, that’s why you’re (hopefully) holding those five photographs in your hand right now. In addition to my Annapolis photo—which my mother still happens to think is nice, even if the fellas don’t—are a few photos of us on board our carrier. I’m glad that you remember what I look like so that you don’t confuse me for my much better looking buddies—I hope seeing us side by side doesn’t do me too much of a disservice. I labeled them on the back for you, but there’s a few shots of me and Paul, then me, Benny, and Tommy Boy, then all four of us, then me standing beside me and Paul’s plane.

You know, now that I really think about it, I have a feeling that Benny and Tommy Boy’s grand scheme all along was to make sure that you had photographic evidence of them to show to all your friends and fellow USO volunteers. I tried to explain to them that you had very kindly informed me that most of the girls you know are spoken for, but they both still seem to have it in their heads that you can find a couple nice girls for them. Like I told you, they’re completely insufferable. Good thing they’re also pretty great guys, otherwise I don’t think I’d be able to stand it.

Anyway, all that to say that now you have some photographs, Peach. More than you asked for, I know, and I hope they don’t disappoint. Perhaps it was you who’s been remembering things with rose-colored glasses all this time and not me? Either way, I’ll stop rambling about it now.

Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny send all their best. Paul especially appreciates all your kind words, and your thoughts for him and his family. He says he knew you were a great girl, right from the start when you nearly spilled that punch all over him.

Speaking of punch and the dance, congratulations to your friend, Emily! A little bit of good news in the midst of all this madness is always greatly appreciated. And I’m sure that when the time comes, you’re going to be the prettiest bridesmaid there ever was.

Can I be honest with you though, Peach? I’m sure Emily is a lovely girl, especially if she’s lucky enough to count you as a friend, but at the moment, I have to confess that I don’t hold her fiancé in quite as high esteem. Now to be fair, I don’t know much about this Eddie guy, but from what I do know, he has to be one of the most foolish men I’ve ever seen. Before I explain, I should mention that I saw Eddie at the dance that night, right before he pulled Emily out onto the dance floor. You might wonder how, and I’d tell you it was because I was standing a few feet away from the punch table like a total coward, trying to work up the nerve to go talk to you. So the truth, Peach, is that I saw what happened between you and Eddie—how he approached you and asked you if it would be alright if he asked Emily to dance.

On the one hand, I was selfishly relieved that he didn’t ask you. That meant that all hope wasn’t lost, and I might still get a shot to talk to you. But on the other hand, I couldn’t understand how one man could be so stupid, if you’ll pardon my saying so. Like I said, I’m sure Emily is a lovely girl, but I don’t understand how anyone could see you, Peach—especially that night, when you looked so beautiful in your pretty party dress—and think to dance with anyone else. I suppose you’re right though. It is funny how things work out. And as big a fool as I thought Eddie to be at the time, if I saw him right now, I might just shake his hand and thank him. Because if he hadn’t been a fool, I might not be talking to you right now. And let me tell you, Peach, that is as depressing a thought as any I can think of. So three cheers for Eddie and Emily! I wish them nothing but a lifetime of happiness, and I’ll join them in praying for an end to this war so that they can have their big wedding.

It sure is wild to think that in your last letter, you were telling me about your holidays, and now it’s already March. Time feels like it’s flying much too fast, but not quick enough at the same time. Do you know what I mean?

Paul still can’t believe how big Clara and Paul, Jr. are getting every time Natasha sends him updates. In her last few letters, she wrote that Paul, Jr. has finally started talking—she was very smug that his first word was “Mama,” but only because Clara’s first word was “Dada.” And now that he’s started, he just can’t stop. He’s starting to call everyone by their names—or at least his version of their names—and he even says “Dada” now when Natasha points to pictures of Paul. In her most recent letter, Natasha said he was even starting to walk and that she’s been having to chase him all over the house. “He’s going to be a runner, like his daddy,” she wrote. Did I ever tell you, Peach, that Paul and I ran track and field in high school? He could always run circles around me. Paul’s quite the proud papa, and he’s been bragging about his family to anyone on the carrier who will listen—it usually ends up being me, Tommy Boy, and Benny.

I’m sure little Frankie—or maybe not so little anymore—is starting to walk and talk now, too. Has he been giving you, Dottie, and Paddy a run for your money?

Peach, you once called me an honest man and so I don’t want to lie to you now—as much as I’d like to say that I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been attending any more dances, I’m just not as good a man as all that. The truth of the matter is that I’m quite chuffed (can you tell I’ve been spending time with a lot of Brits?) to hear that you’re saving a dance for me. It makes me want to finish this war and get home all the faster, knowing you’ll be there to welcome me back.

You know, we’ve actually gotten to enjoy a few USO performances over here recently. It does a lot to lift our spirits, and it always makes me think of you. One of the singers performed that Vera Lynn song, “We’ll Meet Again” the other night and I couldn’t help but imagine how nice it would be to be dancing with you again. I thought I might share some of the lyrics with you, the ones that really made me think of you:

We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Til the blue skies chase those dark clouds far away

I believe deep down in my heart that we’re going to meet again, Peach. Just like the song says, I might not know where and I might not know when, but I know it’s going to happen. And what a happy day that will be, when I get to see your smiling face again.

I haven’t even sent this letter yet, and I already can’t wait to receive your next one. I hope whatever you’re doing right now, Peach, it’s bringing a smile to your face and that you’re doing real well.

Until next time and until we meet again.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I’m very embarrassed to admit that for a farm boy from Iowa, I’ve got quite the brown thumb. My only advice to you and Dottie when it comes to your Victory Garden is don’t do anything I would do!

April 2, 1943

Dear Bobby,

What an absolute treat to receive not one, but five wonderful photographs with your last letter! You can tell Tommy Boy and Benny that they were dead wrong—I would have been MORE than happy with just your photo from Annapolis! I think you look remarkably handsome in it, and I’m very thankful to your mother for thinking to send it along with you. The other photos you included are just the icing on the cake.

I love getting a tiny glimpse of what life is like for you over there, and it’s so good to see all of you smiling, despite the circumstances. Tommy Boy, Benny, and Paul all look very handsome as well, but between the two of us, I don’t think any of them could hold a candle to you. Still, it does make me wonder if being handsome is a requirement for joining the Navy nowadays? If so, I’d say you all certainly fit the bill.

Dottie was quite eager to see your picture, and I’ll have you know that she declared you even more handsome than she had been imagining—and my big sister has quite a vivid imagination, let me tell you. Paddy teased her about it endlessly, saying that maybe she should find herself her own pen pal considering how much she seems to enjoy sticking her nose into my correspondences. Just to get back at him, Dottie traded our extra coffee rations with one of our neighbors for more sugar rations. Paddy grumbled about it the next few mornings, but Dottie made it up to him with a chocolate cake after dinner.

I’ve been keeping all your photographs on the desk in my room, Bobby, and I’m looking at them right now as I pen this letter. I promise you that I certainly wasn’t remembering you through rose-colored glasses and that, in fact, you’re even more handsome than my faulty memory could recall. I especially love the pictures of you with your friends—your smiles are all so bright that I can actually feel the joy of your friendship just by looking at them. You have such a lovely smile, Bobby, made all the lovelier by the fact that you have such a wonderful heart underneath.

While we’re on the topic of photographs, it seems that you and I are starting to play tag with them. Since you sent such sweet photographs of you and the boys, I thought I might send a photograph I really loved that we took while we were home in Georgia for Christmas. That’s me, Dottie, Frankie, and Paddy on Christmas morning, right before everyone started opening their presents. Since I talk about them all so much in my letters, I thought it might be nice for you to put some faces with their names. Besides Paddy, of course, since you already know his face.

By the way, I’m truly touched to know that you’ve mentioned me in your letters to your family. Of course I don’t mind it! My family knows all about you, so it seems only right that you should be able to tell your family about me. Maybe one day we’ll all get to be together to share some peach cobbler and pumpkin pie!

Tell Paul, Benny, and Tommy Boy that I say hello and that they looked great in those photos! Tell Tommy Boy and Benny in particular to keep their chins up, and that they’ll find two lucky girls to call their own very soon! And you can tell Paul that I’m still mortified about that punch spill.

Oh, Bobby, I’m so embarrassed to think you overheard my conversation with Eddie that night! Truth be told, in that moment, I felt so silly. I thought for sure he was going to ask me to dance, so I felt a bit ridiculous when it turned out he just wanted to know if it was okay to ask Emily. In all honesty, I really wanted to leave after that. But then you showed up and everything changed. My whole night turned around. Dottie always says that everything happens for a reason, and I really do believe that. I think Eddie and Emily were meant to meet each other that night, just like you and I were meant to meet each other, Bobby. Knowing you has brought so much goodness to my life, and I can’t imagine what it would be like if our paths hadn’t crossed that night. So now I can say thank goodness for Eddie wanting to dance with Emily!

I know exactly what you mean about time, Bobby. Dottie and I were just talking about how we want time to slow down because it feels like Frankie is growing up way too fast! Just like Paul, Jr., Frankie is walking now and we have to be vigilant at all times to make sure he isn’t getting into any mischief. Just the other day, he somehow managed to get his hands on Paddy’s keys and hide them under the couch. We spent hours looking for them! He also said his first word a couple months ago—Dada. Thankfully, Paddy was home to hear it, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so proud. Dottie pretended to be miffed—”Fifteen hours I spend in labor with that boy and he says ‘Dada’ first!”—but she really was excited, too. Now he also says Mama, hi, bye-bye, and milk. Sometimes he’ll say doggy, too, when we see dogs out on the street. The funniest thing is that he seems to have given me the nickname “Cookie.” Whenever Dottie asks him who I am, he laughs and says, “Cookie!” So to you, I’m Peach and to my nephew, I’m Cookie. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve all these food nicknames!

I’m so thrilled to hear that the USO has finally made its way over to you boys! I can’t imagine what you’re all going through over there, but I know that you do deserve an opportunity to relax and unwind.

That Vera Lynn song is so beautiful, and my heart is so full to hear that it made you think of me, Bobby. After I read your letter, I remembered that we actually have a record of that song in the house, so I immediately went and put it on. I admit, I played it a few times and imagined that you were here dancing with me. We will meet again, Bobby, I just know it. I feel it in my heart, too, the same as you. And the sun will be shining bright when we do, just like the song says.

I hope the sun is shining on you right now, Bobby, and that wherever you are, you’re safe and you know that I’m thinking of you and wishing you the speediest return home.

Until we meet again, know that I’m sending you all my very best.

Most Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Dottie and I have been cursed with brown thumbs ourselves, but we’re determined to make this Victory Garden work! I’ll keep you updated on our efforts!

P.P.S. I know it will probably be a while until we hear from each other again, so I want to wish you a very Happy Easter. Stay safe, Bobby!

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman #WWII AU #1940s AU

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bearbluebooks · 8 months

Text

Chapter 11 - Can't Pretend

This chapter builds the foundation for Azriel and Gwyn's love story. Vulnerability is an important aspect to their relationship, and healing happens through vulnerability. Love happens through vulnerability.

This chapter has a lot of angst and the culmination of some things that needed to come to light in order for their love story to really commence. For mutual trust to be established. For true love to exist.

Read on AO3 or under the cut :)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

Azriel POV

Safety was a promise many children believed because of the refuge of their parent’s arms. Arms that opened wide after birth. Where warmth and security were just as guaranteed as the first breath that determined life. A life where love was freely given, not a thing of constant assumption. A home was a family. For Azriel, home was separation and isolation. Complete darkness trapped in four walls.

Confines of security were something Azriel created himself. First through his shadows. Later by his physical power and intelligence. Observation and muscle under the cover of darkness was safety Azriel trusted. Control, self-sufficiency, and awareness became his three pillars of survival.

Survival turned into skill. Skill turned into usefulness. Usefulness turned into…

“I will kill whoever did this.” His low voice said in a too-calm tone.

Who could possibly have entered Gwyn’s room? There were protection spells in Helmerra. Only students or teachers could enter without being incinerated on the spot. The priestess quarters had extra layers of protection, the entrance was secret, and the wards prevented males, and females without business there from entering. Whoever it was, Azriel would make sure they got a harsh lesson in staying out of Gwyn’s confines of safety. They could have found her if they hadn’t been away tonight. They could have touched her. They could have…

Azriel swung open the thick wooden door with pure strength. Pushing Gwyn behind him. “Check what was taken from the room.” He harshly ordered his shadows who quickly spread wide into the room searching every corner.

“Azriel.” A faint voice broke through his raw anger.

“Azriel.”

“AZRIEL.”

“I can protect myself .” The determined voice said somewhere in front of him.

Two hands touched his scarred ones now. He flinched and tried to take his hands back. In his rage-filled mind, he forgot for a second it was Gwyn who was holding his wretched hands. Gwyn who loved his hands. Gwyn. Gwyn.

“I’m sorry.” He was an idiot. She worked so hard on strengthening herself and the first chance she got to prove it he pushed her behind him. It was instinct not doubt that pushed her behind him.

“I know you can protect yourself.” He hoped the sentence would convey just how much he believed it. He was amazed by the progress she made in the ring. And the dedication with which she showed up every night, he knew she would go much further. He hadn’t seen that amount of devotion in … ever.

Her dedication and loyalty to her progress seemed to equal her devotion to the Mother.

“I gave you a knife” he hoped the joke would lighten the heaviness of his emotions he was sure filled the room.

“I am scared too.” She only said as she moved her hand to cup his cheek. She was right. He was scared.

Scared that the person would come back when Gwyn was sleeping. That he would violate her privacy or violate her…

He couldn’t even think about that. Because he was also afraid Gwyn would finally see the real him. The one he tried so hard to hide: the Monster of Hewn City.

The monster that lurked beneath the surface, which was unleashed either through command or impulse. The latter was a guarantee whenever his family was hurt. He would never feel guilty for his actions. He made sure the males he killed were deserving of their end. But shame was an emotion he was more than familiar with.

Especially when someone as kindhearted as Gwyn would see the monster that lurked deep within him. Many people would have crumbled under the weight of their past. Would have looked darkness in the eyes, and allowed it to swallow them up. Gwyn didn’t, she embraced the darkness, and faced it head-on, as she looked into the light. Always seeing the best in people. The best in him. Cauldron, she was the light.

He knew he was on borrowed time.

She would run far away if she knew who he really was. And he would not blame her.

Nothing was taken, shadowsinger.

His blood turned cold. That meant…

He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t say it.

They were here for Gwyn.

“Gwyn.”

She looked up at him now. Already knowing what words would come out of his mouth.

“They didn’t take anything, did they?” she said.

“No.” the words were deadly a deadly promise on his lips. He would hunt down whoever made him say that one devasting word.

Whoever made him admit to Gwyn that even safety was a weak promise in the confines of magic and society.

“I thought this place was safe.” She whispered, “I felt safe.”

He hated that someone took away Gwyn’s sanctuary. The one she built through sheer determination and devotion. Through commitment and bravery. Through perseverance and patience. A journey he watched every step of- both from a distance and nearby.

“Nesta has an empty bed in her room. She has been asking me to move in for weeks.” She finally offered.

Gwyn laughed a little bit now “she said the fourth bed was cursed. That many females tried to complete their dorm but they all fled after a week. Nesta said some couldn’t handle the sister squabbles, but that she intimidated most of them.”

“I didn’t want to leave the priestesses, because I felt safe here…” And now that safety was ripped away from her. She was forced to leave, he thought as the anger rose up again. Consuming every fiber. He was already thinking of ways to track that person down, and make them pay.

“I think that’s a good idea.” He said with as much calm as he could muster.

“I’ll help you pack.”

“Thank you” her words came out strained. Azriel only now saw how pale her face was. Her freckles adorning her face more clearly than ever. He brushed his hands over the small dots, tracing them one by one as he said “we will catch whoever did this.”

“I swear it on my life, Gwyn.”

“I know we will.” She said with a faint smile. He wondered if the words were reassurance or determination.

Maybe both.

Once they finished gathering her belongings- which consisted mostly of Azriel’s gifts, the sparse things from Sangravah, and her books, Gwyn grabbed his scarred hand, and together they transported to the Archeron dorm.

--------

Gwyn POV

Nesta already cleared the bed, a wardrobe, and some space on the bookshelf. Elain and Feyre both canceled their plans to open their arms and home to their fourth roommate.

The bed was located next to Nesta’s, in the far right corner of the room. Everything was made of dark oak wood: her wardrobe, her king-size bed, and the bookshelf that seemed to be older than all the people in the room combined.

Plants took over every empty spot in the big space- hanging from the ceiling, standing on the desk, next to the door, and sprawled over the bookshelf. How was there any oxygen left in the room? Gwyn wondered silently.

She was a frequent visitor of the cozy dorm. Mostly to ‘borrow’ clothes from the fashionable sisters, but this time it felt different. She was no longer a visitor, but a housemate.

As if the new label- home, changed how she perceived the room as well. Suddenly it was even cozier, warmer, safer.

She never expected the priestess dorms to be the place where she would feel unsafe. After Sangravah, it became her little shelter of safety.

The space where she could breathe, where she didn’t have to look over her shoulder.

It was not just the culmination of objective safety because of the spells, but more so the intangible cloak of sanctuary that was slowly built through the mysterious gifts that reminded her that she was not alone.

It was Azriel’s presence in the doorway, that softly but assuredly was always there for her.

It was the Smut Sisters that would occasionally gather on the bed that was now turned over.

And it was the development of the new Gwyn, the one that trusted her mind and her body to protect herself.

When she heard those five words from Azriel’s mouth ‘someone was in your room’, the world stopped spinning. Memories from her room flashed in and out of her mind at the speed of light. Did she leave the door unlocked when she left? What did her room look like the last time she was in there? Which object would she miss the most? What did objects even matter?

What would they have done when she was still in the room? Would she be kidnapped- again- or worse -again.

Her throat closed together with her entire body as it took on that reality for just a second. Then her mind took over again: I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me. She took some steadying breaths, reminding herself she was here, with Azriel. And she was not the same person anymore.

Then her eyes took in the unfurling scene.

Anger rolled off Azriel in waves.

Not in thunderstorms like her mom’s would, when the house would be too small if she had one of her angry spells.

This was different. It was like the last part of a tsunami, when it became too late to find cover, and the destruction would hit you before you ever knew what was happening. It was just as delusive and destructive.

She hadn’t seen this side of him before. She didn’t know if it was best to leave him be or to interfere. She should have been afraid. For some reason, she knew deep in her soul that he would not hurt her.

She decided that saying his name would hold the same magic power it seemed to often have.

The anger first left his body, then his eyes.

“I’m sorry” he said. It was as if saying his name was a blanket that wrapped around his emotions, telling them they were okay. That he was okay. That he was safe, that he wasn’t alone.

As they made to leave the room, he finally confessed to his rogue shadow that had been hanging around her ever since she was abducted.

She was annoyed at first. Did he think she needed it? She hated the idea that he thought she needed a permanent bodyguard.

That she wouldn’t be able to handle herself. Not when she worked so hard on training herself. On pushing herself.

But then she saw the fear in his eyes. And she reminded herself it was more reassurance for him than distrust in her.

Reassurance he would need in the coming days, as he said “I need to leave for a couple of days, Gwyn.”

“Will you be okay?” he assessed her eyes as he said, “I can stay.”

Gwyn couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking for permission or banishment?

It was Nesta who spoke up now: “this is exactly why I built my reputation. Nobody will dare step foot in this room.”

“Besides they have seen Gwyn in the ring, with that new dagger they would be a fool to enter.” She crossed her arms and dared Azriel to say otherwise.

Azriel gave one last look at Gwyn, who gave a small smile in return, as he stepped into all but one shadow. Transporting to what Gwyn was sure was another ambiguous battlefield.

------

Today was the day she was looking forward to ever since she was made aware of its existence. “This is Eudomeda. She may be kindhearted, but she can still pack a mean punch.” Andras, the groundskeeper of Helmerra yelled in warning to the group of 20 students standing opposite of the majestic white-winged creature.

“Don’t offend her, or it will be the last thing you’ll do.”

“So… who will go first.”

The Pegasus made some melodic growls, as it moved its hove in the grass, taking dirt and grass with it.

The lesson of today was held in the forest just outside the school grounds. The leaves turned a beautiful auburn with the change of the season. Tall trees blocked out most of the light, but Andras found a big enough clearing for the big creature and the students to comfortably fit. There was a cliff there, Andras said was perfect for flying. Gwyn was sure it was also perfect for dying.

As Andras looked into the group expectantly, a couple of students raised their hands, amongst whom were Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn.

“Gwyn. You can go first.”

Mother help me, Gwyn thought silently. Although she had waited a long time for this, reality and fantasy were apparently two very different things- what if she would kick her, throw her off, or worse, what if she was bad at flying.

She heard faint noises coming from Andras’s direction. She tried really hard to focus on his words, which she was sure were important, but all she could focus on were those majestic eyes of Eudomeda. The golden pools of pure sunlight drowned out everything else.

She slowly walked towards the magical winged creature, when she noticed a black wind following her movements. Busy bodies, she thought warmly.

“BOW” the voice penetrated her thoughts. Gwyn quickly obeyed. Never losing sight of the golden eyes. The Pegasus now wildly flapped its wings. “Back away, back away, Gwyn, fast,” Andras yelled now.

She stumbled back, tripping on her own feet. She knew her clumsiness would be the death of her one day.

She quickly regained ground and looked at Eudomeda’s eyes again. She seemed to like what she saw, as she slowly stepped forward, and bowed her head in return.

Andras seemed surprised at the acceptance, and he rewarded the winged creature with a big piece of meat. Gwyn didn’t want to know which animal could possibly sustain such a huge creature.

“Go on. You can climb on now.” Andras pushed her now.

Gwyn slowly stepped in front of Eudomeda, as if she could change her mind at any second with one wrong movement. She reached her hand out to touch the nose that looked so soft.

Eudomeda now leaned into her touch. “Well done, Gwyn” Andras yelled, as he and the students clapped. He still seemed shocked.

He moved behind her, picked her up, and seated her just behind the wings of the Pegasus. “Watch out for her wings! She doesn’t like it when you touch them.”

“Off you go!” he said as he hit Eudomeda on her behind, forcing them to take flight.

She took off at the speed of light, aiming for the cliff of death.

They couldn’t possibly jump off the deep end- literally?

They would start slow. Wouldn’t they?

They would, she thought as they took flight off the cliff into the air.

She had seen the wide-open plain many times in Azriel’s arms, but this was different.

It was as if she was the bird now, she was the Kynthia.

Her breath stalled as her heart leaped out of her chest. Not out of fear, but out of happiness. As if the moment could not be contained in her body. As if her emotions transcended the physical plane.

It was exhilarating, intoxicating, and freeing.

She yelled into nothing, and into everything.

To the gods that listened, to the family she lost, to the future that was hers.

As Eudomeda flew over the castle that was Helmerra, she took them toward the wide river encircling most of her new home, where she saw her reflection on the water's surface. Her eyes reflected someone she thought was forever lost. The cheerfulness and happiness she thought remained in Sangravah for the rest of time, she now found in Helmerra.

A tear ran down her cheek. Not out of sadness, but because of realization- that her final moments in Sagravah were the end of a chapter, not the end of her story.

And all she could think of was how she desperately wanted to tell her favorite shadowsinger about it all.

She took a deep breath in, whilst she tried to imprint this memory to eternity. She stood up, onto the moving magic, as he screamed her lungs out, opening her arms wide, welcoming her new self home.

------

Azriel POV

Azriel spent the whole night torturing the sun sage Rhysand’s dad caught. After the village was attacked, he was left behind. Was it on purpose or a stupid mistake?

Right now, Azriel didn’t care, all he wanted to do was hit the asshole sitting in front of him. The twisted individual who believed children should be killed to cleanse the world. The one who almost got Gwyn killed.

That thought alone moved his hands out of pure blinded rage into his face.

Again. Again. And again.

Rhysand's dad, Zephyr, allocated a room in Hewn City specifically for his work. It was fitted with noise-canceling walls, enough privacy to never be bothered, and tools. So many tools.

The sun sage was named Tarragon- information that was he shared after only one hit. Apparently, his convictions were more ruthless than his mind.

That didn’t prevent Azriel from hitting the male. All he could see was a danger to the world, a danger to innocent villagers, and most of all a danger to Gwyn.

Every new hit brought the possibility of answers and the assurance of release.

Smack

Release of anger about what they did to all those innocent people they killed.

Smack

Release of the powerlessness he felt every time someone tried to hurt Gwyn.

Smack

Release from not knowing what would come next. How he could protect Gwyn. How he could help Gwyn protect herself.

He did know what would be next for this son of a bitch.

No matter what he did, or which tools he used, the male would not reveal anything other than his name. When he came close to an answer, the brown eyes of the male turned back into his head, foam came out of his mouth, and his neck twisted backward.

A puff of air in the shape of a sun came out of his mouth and he could swear he heard a maniacal laugh coming from somewhere in the room.

He turned around accessing who could possibly have entered the room. Everybody knew not to disturb him when he was in there. Truthteller out, he turned in circles. He dispatched his shadows to search everything his eyes couldn’t cover.

Nobody is in here shadowsinger.

That was fucking pointless. He opened the hatch underneath the floor and released the now useless body to the hungry creatures below. At least the world was rid of one more maniacal bastard.

“Let’s go.” He said to his shadows. Hopefully, Cassian and Rhys had more luck in the village.

-------

“There you are!” Rhys shouted from somewhere behind a wall.

Kincardine was completely ruined and burned to the ground. Azriel read the village was more densely populated because of its important position on a trade route from summer court to winter court.

As he was standing in the middle of the village, he could imagine the field where children would be running. The market where people would meet. The houses where families created homes.

14778 people lived there. 14778 souls robbed from the earth.

He could clearly see the center of the fire, a large sun burned into the ground.

“What did you find?” he asked Rhysand who now walked towards him through the rubble that was scattered throughout the big plain.

Better to hear some good news before he delivered his failure.

“There was another sun sage left behind. He was hidden in a cellar, tied onto a chair.” Cassian said from somewhere.

“Come check it out!” Cassian yelled to the world above.

“Did you find out anything from the other one?” Rhysand asked hopefully as they both walked down into the cellar.

“He was named Tarragon,” Azriel said. “He was killed when I came close to answers.”

“What happened?” Rhys asked.

Azriel tried to explain it as best he could, “his head snapped back and smoke shaped like a sun came out of his mouth.”

Should he tell him about the presence he felt in the room? His shadows didn’t see anything so it was nothing more than a feeling. It would only make matters worse he decided.

Rhysand and Azriel descended into the small and damp cellar. They built it in the rocky grounds, providing the perfect shelter for flames. It was one of the few remnants of Kincardine, and it couldn’t be a coincidence the male was put there.

“Look at this one,” Cassian said as he held the long black hair of the male in his hand. He must have been sitting on that chair for two days now- and he smelled like it.

He was wearing one of those red robes they all wore. He now saw a tattoo on the male's neck. If he hadn’t thrown that other male into the pit, he could have checked if his body was marked too.

“Don’t beat yourself up, brother.” Rhysand offered.

“It’s their power. My dad said he has never seen magic like this before.”

“He called it unpredictable and dangerous.”

“He’s right, you know,” Cassian added, as he hit him amicably on the back. “Who knows what they’re capable of.” I’m glad they didn’t hit you with that neck-breaking shit they pulled on that other male.”

“Let’s bring this bastard to Hewn City and regroup back at Helmerra,” Rhysand ordered. “Then we’ll decide what to do next.”

Rhysand explained the plan.

Azriel would question the second sun sage after Rhysand took a look inside his mind. Koschei seemed to be aware of the physical limitations of his subjects, perhaps the mental ones were more detached from his powers.

Hopefully, he could catch glimpses of memories that would shine light on whatever the hell Koschei was planning. Rhysand had the morning shift, and Azriel would start in the evening.

“Before I forget, Gwyn gave this letter to Feyre who winnowed it to me,” Rhysand said as he handed him a beige envelope.

The letter was addressed to ‘my favorite shadowsinger’.

His heart started beating a little bit faster at the memory of the copper-haired female with the most devastating eyes he had ever seen.

She figured out a way to connect with him, even at a distance. Even after everything he did and everything he failed to do. As he started reading a small smile formed on his lips.

Dear Azriel,

I don’t know where you are right now. Everybody’s really secretive. Maybe you’re on a beach somewhere drinking fairy whine. Or in snowy mountains having snowball fights. Maybe you’re flying in the open sky. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re safe. And know that I am safe.

I flew a Pegasus today! The first person I wanted to tell about it was you! I don’t know what that means, but it means something, doesn’t it?

I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. I thought a letter might be easier. You can pretend you haven’t read it if you’re not ready to talk about it. That’s fine too.

Anyway, I’m thinking about you and come find me when you’re back. Shadow wants me to tell you to bring back a dagger for me.

X Gwyn

He was so happy for Gwyn. She had been talking about Pegasi ever since they met. She was finally able to fly one. His smile became so bright he was sure it ruined his calm demeanor. He didn’t care.

After the initial joy, a heavy dread set in his body. This was the moment he had anticipated. The moment where things no longer floated in the air, but became more concrete, more real.

They were getting to know each other before, and their attraction and connection were clear but what they were and where they were headed was not.

He fooled himself into believing he could continue whatever it was without anybody getting hurt. But they passed that point now, and he couldn’t let it go any farther.

Before things became even more undeniable, he needed to come clean. Gwyn deserved that, she deserved so much more but was all he could give.

He stepped into his shadows, as he took a deep breath, and transported towards Gwyn’s new room.

When he knocked, the door already opened.

Those damned shadow busybodies, he thought.

“YOU’RE BACK” a lilting voice screamed as freckled arms swung over his neck.

She kissed his cheek and he was sure they turned bright red at the contact.

He already missed her.

“Gwyn, can we talk?”

“Oh oh,” she joked. “Sure! The Archerons left as soon as your shadow signaled you were coming.”

“You have quite the reputation too, it seems.

“Should I be scared?” She had that teasing smile he loved so much.

He smiled in return. He would miss that irreverent acolyte.

He entered the room and sat down on the wooden cabinet next to her bed, where she sat.

“What did you want to talk about?” she said with her beautiful teal eyes full of wonder.

Better to release them both of the impending pain as quickly as possible.

“Gwyn. I was there in Sangravah.” He said with downcast eyes.

“I know that you told me after my abduction, remember?” She smiled.

“No, you don’t understand. I was there.” Azriel quickly corrected.

“I was in the kitchen. I was the one who found you.” The words left his body quicker than any words he uttered in his life before. As if the blow could be lessened if the deliverance was quick.

But nothing could lessen the hurt.

The silence that followed was louder than anything he had heard before.

It seemed to stretch into infinity.

The pause caused hope and despair to alternate in his body.

“You…

“You were the one…”

… and you didn’t tell me?”

“You were there at my worst moment? And you kept it a secret?”

Azriel tried to continue, but he couldn’t find the words. He could never find the words.

“Were you ashamed?” She quietly asked.

“NO” Azriel never raised his voice, but this needed to be shouted.

How could he ever explain to her that he was not good enough for her? This was one of the many examples that proved that. That it was never her. It was always him and he let it go on for too long already.

“Why then?” Gwyn spit out.

“I told you to not lie to me Azriel.” Tears started falling down her cheeks. As if the anger now made room for the realization to exist in the realm of sadness.

Every tear made a small incision on his heart.

Wounding it more than any knife could ever do.

He deserved every bit of it.

“I trusted you.” She whispered.

“I know. And you still can.” He offered. And he meant it.

He never meant to lie. He just didn’t want to hurt her any further by connecting himself to her worst memory.

He just never accounted for the hurt that he caused now.

“Why didn’t you tell me Azriel.” Gwyn finally made eye contact again. He hoped his eyes conveyed everything he felt but could never properly convey. That he was grateful for every second they spent together. That he hoped those moments would continue to exist in happiness, and not turn into tainted memories.

It was time to tell her the whole truth: “I’m the reason she died, Gwyn.”

“I’m the reason those men were able to touch you.”

Speaking the words out loud made him want to vomit. Just so he could expel all the emotions and possibilities out of his body.

“What are you talking about?” Gwyn said with proper confusion in her voice.

Azriel stepped out of reach. He didn’t deserve to be so close in her presence. “If I arrived sooner. Those men would never have been able to get into that kitchen.

“They would never have been able to touch you. They would never have been able to kill Catrin.”

“It’s all my fault.”

It was all his fault. Why did he always bring darkness everywhere he went?

“You deserve someone so much better Gwyn.”

He meant this too.

“Someone better than me.” He would not hurt her any further.

He looked at her one last time, truly trying to imprint her into memory. Everything that was and everything that could have been. Then he stepped into his shadows and transported far away. Away from his past, away from his future, away from home.

Away from Gwyn.

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