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xtruss · 9 months

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Why Robert Oppenheimer's Atomic Bomb Still Haunts Us

— By Richard Rhodes | Published May 15, 2013

Oppenheimer spearheaded the creation of the atom bomb. René Burri/Magnum

Robert Oppenheimer oversaw the design and construction of the first atomic bombs. The American theoretical physicist wasn't the only one involved—more than 130,000 people contributed their skills to the World War II Manhattan Project, from construction workers to explosives experts to Soviet spies—but his name survives uniquely in popular memory as the names of the other participants fade. British philosopher Ray Monk's lengthy new biography of the man is only the most recent of several to appear, and Oppenheimer wins significant assessment in every history of the Manhattan Project, including my own. Why this one man should have come to stand for the whole huge business, then, is the essential question any biographer must answer.

It's not as if the bomb program were bereft of men of distinction. Gen. Leslie Groves built the Pentagon and thousands of other U.S. military installations before leading the entire Manhattan Project to success in record time. Hans Bethe discovered the sequence of thermonuclear reactions that fire the stars. Leo Szilard and Enrico Fermi invented the nuclear reactor. John von Neumann conceived the stored-program digital computer. Edward Teller and Stanislaw Ulam co-invented the hydrogen bomb. Luis Alvarez devised a whole new technology for detonating explosives to make the Fat Man bomb work, and later, with his son, Walter, proved that an Earth-impacting asteroid killed off the dinosaurs. The list goes on. What was so special about Oppenheimer?

He was brilliant, rich, handsome, charismatic. Women adored him. As a young professor at Berkeley and Caltech in the 1930s, he broke the European monopoly on theoretical physics, contributing significantly to making America a physics powerhouse that continues to win a freight of Nobel Prizes. Despite never having directed any organization before, he led the Los Alamos bomb laboratory with such skill that even his worst enemy, Edward Teller, told me once that Oppenheimer was the best lab director he'd ever known. After the war he led the group of scientists who guided American nuclear policy, the General Advisory Committee to the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission (AEC). He finished out his life as director of the prestigious Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey, where he welcomed young scientists and scholars into that traditionally aloof club.

August 9, 1945: Nagasaki is hit by an atom bomb. Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum/EPA

Those were exceptional achievements, but they don't by themselves explain his unique place in nuclear history. For that, add in the dark side. His brilliance came with a casual cruelty, born certainly of insecurity, which lashed out with invective against anyone who said anything he considered stupid; even the brilliant Bethe wasn't exempt. His relationships with the significant women in his life were destructive: his first deep love, Jean Tatlock, the daughter of a Berkeley professor, was a suicide; his wife, Kitty, a lifelong alcoholic. His daughter committed suicide; his son continues to live an isolated life.

His Choices or Mistakes, Combined with his Penchant for Humiliating Lesser Men, Eventually Destroyed Him.

Oppenheimer's achievements as a theoretical physicist never reached the level his brilliance seemed to promise; the reason, his student and later Nobel laureate Julian Schwinger judged, was that he "very much insisted on displaying that he was on top of everything"—a polite way of saying Oppenheimer was glib. The physicist Isidor Rabi, a Nobel laureate colleague whom Oppenheimer deeply respected, thought he attributed too much mystery to the workings of nature. Monk notes his curiously uncritical respect for the received wisdom of his field.

Monk's discussion of Oppenheimer's work in physics is one of his book's great contributions to the saga, an area of the man's life that previous biographies have neglected. In the late 1920s Oppenheimer first worked out the physics of what came to be called black holes, those collapsing giant stars that pull even light in behind them as they shrink to solar-system or even planetary size. Some have speculated Oppenheimer might have won a Nobel for that work had he lived to see the first black hole identified in 1971.

Oppenheimer with Albert Einstein, circa the 1940s. Corbis

Oppenheimer's patriotism should have been evident to even the most obtuse government critic. He gave up his beloved physics, after all, not to mention any vestige of personal privacy, to help make his country invulnerable with atomic bombs. Yet he risked his work and reputation by dabbling in left-wing and communist politics before the war and lying to security officers during the war about a solicitation to espionage he received. His choices or mistakes, combined with his penchant for humiliating lesser men, eventually destroyed him.

One of those lesser men, a vicious piece of work named Lewis Strauss, a former shoe salesman turned Wall Street financier and physicist manqué, was the vehicle of Oppenheimer's destruction. When President Eisenhower appointed Strauss to the chairmanship of the AEC in the summer of 1953, Strauss pieced together a case against Oppenheimer. He was still splenetic from an extended Oppenheimer drubbing delivered during a congressional hearing all the way back in 1948, and he believed the physicist was a Soviet spy.

Strauss proceeded to revoke Oppenheimer's security clearance, effectively shutting him out of government. Oppenheimer could have accepted his fate and returned to an academic life filled with honors; he was due to be dropped as an AEC consultant anyway. He chose instead to fight the charges. Strauss found a brutal prosecuting attorney to question the scientist, bugged his communications with his attorney, and stalled giving the attorney the clearances he needed to vet the charges. The transcript of the hearing In the Matter of J. Robert Oppenheimer is one of the great, dark documents of the early atomic age, almost Shakespearean in its craven parade of hostile witnesses through the government star chamber, with the victim himself, catatonic with shame, sunken on a couch incessantly smoking the cigarettes that would kill him with throat cancer at 63 in 1967.

Rabi was one of the few witnesses who stood up for his friend, finally challenging the hearing board in exasperation, "We have an A-bomb and a whole series of it [because of Oppenheimer's work], and what more do you want, mermaids?" What Strauss and others, particularly Edward Teller, wanted was Oppenheimer's head on a platter, and they got it. The public humiliation, which he called "my train wreck," destroyed him. Those who knew him best have told me sadly that he was never the same again.

For Monk as for Rabi, Oppenheimer's central problem was his hollow core, his false sense of self, which Rabi with characteristic wit framed as an inability to decide whether he wanted to be president of the Knights of Columbus or B'nai B'rith. The German Jews who were Oppenheimer's 19th-century forebears had worked hard at assimilation—that is, at denying their religious heritage. Oppenheimer's parents submerged that heritage further in New York's ethical-culture movement that salvaged the humanism of Judaism while scrapping the supernatural overburden. Oppenheimer, actor that he was, could fit himself to almost any role, but turned either abject or imperious when threatened. He was a great lab director at Los Alamos because of his intelligence—"He was much smarter than the rest of us," Bethe told me—because of his broad knowledge and culture; because of his psychological insight into the complicated personalities of the gifted men assembled there to work on the bomb; most of all because he decided to play that role, as a patriotic citizen, and played it superbly.

Monk is a levelheaded and congenial guide to Oppenheimer's life, his biography certainly the best that has yet come along. But he devotes far too many pages to Oppenheimer's Depression-era flirtation with communism, a dead letter long ago and one that speaks more of a rich esthete's awakening to the suffering in the world than to Oppenheimer's political convictions. He doesn't always get the science right. Most of the errors are trivial, but a few are important to the story.

Their Fundamental Objection Was to Giving up Production of Real Weapons so That Teller Could Pursue His Pipe Dream, a Dead-end Hydrogen Bomb Design.

A fundamental reason Oppenheimer opposed a crash program to develop the hydrogen bomb in response to the first Soviet atomic-bomb test in 1949 was the requirement of Edward Teller's "Super" design for large amounts of a rare isotope of hydrogen, tritium. Tritium is bred by irradiating lithium in a nuclear reactor, but the slugs of lithium take up space that would otherwise be devoted to breeding plutonium. To make tritium for a hydrogen bomb that the U.S. did not know how to build would have required sacrificing most of the U.S. production of plutonium for devastating atomic bombs the U.S. did know how to build. To Oppenheimer and the other scientists on the GAC, such an irresponsible substitution as an answer to the Soviet bomb made no strategic sense. It's true that the hydrogen bomb with its potentially unlimited scale of destruction made no military sense to them either—and was morally repugnant to some of them as well. But their fundamental objection, which Monk overlooks, was to giving up production of real weapons so that Teller could pursue his pipe dream, a dead-end hydrogen bomb design that never worked.

Julius Robert Oppenheimer (April 22, 1904 – February 18, 1967)

More egregious is Monk's notion that the Danish physicist Niels Bohr, Oppenheimer's mentor during the war on the international implications of the new technology, pushed for the bomb's use on Japan to make its terror manifest. He did not. He pushed, to the contrary, for the Allies, the Soviet Union included, to discuss the implications of the bomb prior to its use and to devise a framework for controlling it. Bohr foresaw that the bomb would stalemate major war, as it has, but correctly feared that U.S. secrecy about its development would lead to a U.S.-Soviet arms race. He conferred with both Roosevelt and Churchill about presenting the fact of the bomb to the Russians as a common danger to the world, like a new epidemic disease, that needed to be quarantined by common agreement. Churchill vehemently disagreed, and Roosevelt was old and ill. The moment passed. The arms race followed, as Bohr foresaw, and with diminished force, among pariah states like Iran and North Korea, continues to this day.

Monk's Oppenheimer is a less appealing figure than the Oppenheimer of previous biographies, perhaps because, as an Englishman, Monk is less susceptible to Oppenheimer's rhetorical gifts and more candid about calling out his evasions. He pulls together most of what several generations of Oppenheimer scholars have found and offers new revelations as well. Yet there's a faint whiff of condescension in his portrait, and the real Oppenheimer, the man whom so many loved and admired, still somehow escapes him. He misses the deep alignment of Robert Oppenheimer's life with Greek tragedy, the charismatic hubris that was his glory but also the flaw that brought him low. But maybe I'm expecting too much: maybe only a large work of fiction could assemble that critical mass.

#Robert Oppenheimer #Atomic Bomb #Richard Rhodes #World War II #Manhattan Project #Ray Monk #Gen. Leslie Groves #Pentagon #Hydrogen Bomb #Edward Teller | Stanislaw Ulam #Nobel Prize #Princeton University #Albert Einstein #President Eisenhower #Lewis Strauss #Hydrogen | Tritium | Plutonium #Roosevelt | Churchill #US — Soviet Union

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360nw · 1 year

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Union Pacific in Cottage Grove Oregon - March 2009

#union pacific #railroading #railroad #locomotive #truss bridge #lanecounty #lane county #oregon #cottage grove #photographers on tumblr #original photography

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vincent-sinclair-deserved-better · 1 year

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there's a city in Louisiana called Des Allemands. It's literally called Germans.

#cylas speaks #also.no offense but wth are american city names #most of these are names or random words #like #do you really say 'hey i'm from elisabeth' WITH A STRAIGHT FACE?#they have pine grove and pine #bruh do you really just. go and say. oh yeah i live in Progress or Independence.#there is Central #so can can live central Central #Union Welcome and Moonshine #the slashers should just move to Slaughter tbh

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newleasemusic · 8 months

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Listen To Laura Groves' Full-Length Album, 'Radio Red'

Much of ‘Radio Red’, the first full length album LAURA GROVES has released under her own name, was written, produced and recorded by Groves in her studio, watched over by two radio transmitting towers. “I became very drawn to them and they became like symbols to me; they were always awake, sending their messages, the red lights always came on at night and watched over whatever was going on in my…

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#alternative music #Bella Union #indie artist #indie music #Kate Bush #Laura Groves Radio Red #Music #new album 2023 #new releases 2023 #pop music #UK talent

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piasgermany · 11 months

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[Album + Video] Laura Groves kündigt Debütalbum "Radio Red" an!

Laura Groves' Debütalbum "Radio Red" erscheint am 11. August digital über Bella Union.

Ein Großteil von "Radio Red", das auf die Ende 2020 veröffentlichte "A Private Road" EP folgt, wurde von Groves isoliert in ihrem kleinen Studio geschrieben, produziert und aufgenommen, das von zwei Funktürmen bewacht wird. “I became very drawn to them and they became like symbols to me; they were always awake, sending their messages, the red lights always came on at night and watched over whatever was going on in my life."

Passenderweise – oder vielleicht auch genau deshalb - ist das übergeordnete Albumthema Kommunikation geworden: zufällige Begegnungen, verpasste und abgefangene Signale oder auch Kanäle, durch die wir versuchen, unsere wahren Gefühle auszudrücken. Die Klangwelt von der zehn Songs reicht dabei von synthetischen Ambient-Klängen, Klavierballaden oder zerhackten TV-Titelmelodien bis hin zu Electro-Pop und experimentellem Folk.

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Zeitgleich mit der Ankündigung hat Groves ein selbstgedrehtes Video zum Album-Opener "Sky at Night" veröffentlicht. “It’s about feeling your way; finding intuition and trust amidst confusion and conflict. Inspired by late night drives with the radio, Sky at Night is about belief in a love that might not always be tangible but will always makes itself known.”

Tracklist "Radio Red": 01. Sky at Night 02. Good Intention 03. Synchronicity 04. D 4 N 05. I’m Not Crying 06. Any Day Now 07. Time 08. Sarah 09. Make A Start 10. Silver Lining

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#laura groves #radio red #bella union #album #video

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professional-yapper · 3 months

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You

Lo'ak x Tayrangi! Reader

Warnings: mistaken identity kind of, teens having fun, arranged marriage, fighting/arguments, how they meet is very 101 Dalmatians and i love it, they're both oblivious asf

Neytiri sent Lo'ak to go collect fruits from the grove near the other end of the Omaticaya territory. Normally he'd complain about extra chores, but not today. It was one of the better tasks to be landed with, anyway, even if it would consume his whole day.

But then Jake said Lo'ak could take his ikran, and that would cut the journey in half at least. Maybe more, since Lo'ak, like every other teenager, was all too fond of letting his ikran set the pace. Which, more often than not, simply meant break-neck speed, especially since Lo'ak's ikran was as young as himself in ikran years, according to Neytiri, and just as headstrong.

Lo'ak's ikran, named Spitfire by Jake in one of his rare moments of fatherly affection, was raring to go, practically launching himself into the air the second Lo'ak settled on his back and made the bond.

Kiri had, at one point, taken to calling the ikran Spitty, resulting in Lo'ak pitching a fit and pulling her hair, which then meant days of not speaking to each other. Lo'ak still got sulky every time he remembered the undignified name.

Lo'ak whooped, punching his fist in the air, gripping tightly with his thighs and trusting Spitfire not to let him fall, or at least to catch him if he did. The wind whistled past him, snatching at his braids, whipping a brisk flush into his face.

It was a good day. The sun was already high in the sky, warm on his back despite the wind. The air was heady with the scent of flowers coaxed into bloom by the warm weather, even at this height.

Spitfire, after a little urging from Lo'ak, evened out, gliding smoothly through the sky, occasionally letting out a screech of contentment. Lo'ak settled back, keeping one hand on the handle and feeling for the pouch strapped across his hips Neytiri had given to him to store the fruits in, making sure it was strapped on securely.

It wouldn't take him long to gather enough fruits to satisfy Neytiri. Maybe a few hours.

Maybe more if he decided to take a nap. Lo'ak loved naps, especially deep in the forest amidst the undergrowth, where he could burrow himself into the sun-warm grass and no one would bother him for hours. He probably liked them so much because they restored all the energy he burned living up to Jake's expectations. Very high expectations.

Yeah, he could use a nap. It was just that kind of day.

And it would give him time to think, too. About what his parents had told him a few days ago. About how, since Neteyam had mated with the youngest child of the Olangi olo'eyktan, Lo'ak would do the same, but with the only child of the Tayrangi olo'eykte.

It would benefit the Omaticaya, Neytiri had soothed him, smoothing a hand over his braids. These kinds of unions would prevent any conflict and better the relationships with other tribes. Jake, on the other hand, had told him there was no wriggling out of it, and he'd be mating with this stranger before the end of the year whether he liked it or not.

Comforting, right?

Neteyam had tried to comfort him over it. It was easy for Neteyam. He and his mate were arranged too, but they were crazy about each other, and Neteyam had always wanted to settle down and have a mate of his own and a family anyway. It was why he'd bent so easily to their parents' decision.

And it was easy for Kiri too. She was their dad's favourite, his babygirl. She wouldn't get married off to Aonung or some other guy if she didn't want to. Lucky shit.

Tuk was... well, she didn't have to worry about marriage for a good while yet.

But Lo'ak did. He didn't care about maintaining good relationships with other tribes, or having a mate of his own and settling down. He didn't care about any of that shit. He just wanted his freedom, and the freedom to choose who he mated with. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently so.

Spitfire shrieked, and a ripple of confusion and panic hit Lo'ak through the bond, right as something large and colourful shot past them like a flash of lightning.

Lo'ak caught a glimpse of a face with an equally panicked expression, then swore as Spitfire reared and shrieked again. Though this time, instead of confusion in the bond, all Lo'ak felt was a sudden burst of childish joy, right before Spitfire dived after the other ikran.

Lo'ak yelled in exhilaration as both ikrans went into a nosedive, and crouched low over Spitfire's back, knuckles going white as he tightened his grip. It was dangerous, and if his parents found out, he'd never hear the end of it, but they weren't here now and Lo'ak found this was too much fun for him to care.

He whooped, and heard an answering cry from the rider of the other ikran below, you, which made something in his heart twist with further excitement.

Spitfire was uncontrollable with the excitement of having what was probably another young ikran to play with, and Lo'ak let him have his head, content to just go along for the ride.

The other ikran straightened out before it hit the canopy, and Spitfire followed, flying alongside, steadying himself with a few flaps.

"Sorry," you called, face flushed and apologetic, but then began laughing breathlessly. "Great Mother, I am so sorry! Kikorangi- my ikran- saw you down below and he just took off-"

"It's okay," Lo'ak shouted back, smiling uncontrollably at you. You were probably the most attractive person he'd ever seen, so one couldn't exactly blame him for being so quick to forgive you for the scare. "But I've never seen you before. You're not Omaticaya, are you?"

He didn't have to ask. He knew you weren't. You looked like a young warrior from another tribe, like him. Your skin was covered in a pearly white paint, in swirling patterns. It was mesmerising.

"What?" you called, then raised your eyes skyward, laughing again. "I can't hear you. Wait there."

Lo'ak blinked, confused, as you steered your ikran up and over his head, flying along above him. He tilted his head back, looking up, trying to see what you were doing, only to nearly smack heads with you. You were performing some risky manoeuvre, sliding around to the underbelly of your ikran, gripping on with only your thighs, swinging upside down and smiling at Lo'ak, eyes bright and beautiful, nose nearly brushing against his.

You chuckled at his stunned expression, then righted yourself and leapt down onto Spitfire, breaking the bond with your own ikran. Spitfire jerked at the foreign addition to his cargo, and tilted his head, shooting you a baleful look.

Lo'ak stiffened as you seated yourself behind him, one arm loosely around his stomach, making his abs tense beneath your warm skin, your thighs pressing against his own. "Sorry, what were you saying?" you asked airily, mouth next to his twitching ear, like this wasn't the most intimate position he'd ever been in.

Words failed him. He could only hold very still, in the hopes you wouldn't become uncomfortable and move away. He liked having you there, the weight of your body against his back comforting.

But you shifted back, away from him, laughing again, and the sound rang through his mind, etching itself into the walls of his skull. "Sorry," you apologised for a third time. "I didn't mean to freak you out."

"It's okay," Lo'ak replied almost robotically, words feeling clumsy and foreign on his tongue. Great Mother, get it together! he told himself firmly. There's a beautiful warrior cuddling up to you, wanting to talk and all you can say is it's okay?!

He forced himself to relax, turning his head and smiling crookedly at you over his shoulder.

Your face was like the sun. You seemed to be lit with a golden, gleaming warmth from the inside out, and it honestly made him a little dizzy.

"I was just asking what tribe you're from," he repeated.

"Tayrangi," you answered blithely. "You must be Omaticaya, I guess."

Lo'ak nodded, noting that you were from the same tribe as his future mate. He didn't want to bring that up, though, figuring if he was to have any chance with you he shouldn't bring up his imminent union.

Even though he wouldn't be able to pursue you because of said union... What the tribes didn't know couldn't hurt them, right?

"That's sick," Lo'ak said, smiling that same lopsided smile at you. "Never met any from the Tayrangi before."

"Never met an Omaticaya before either," you grinned back, leaning back on your hands.

"Am I living up to your expectations?" he teased, gathering all his courage to do so, ears drooping slightly in apprehension of your response.

"Who said I had any expectations?" you teased back, nudging the back of his thigh with your knee, sending hot flames of want up his spine.

Lo'ak rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his delight at finding someone who could match him blow for verbal blow. "Oh, come on!" he scoffed. "You came all the way here, you must've thought about what we'd be like at some point!"

"Maybe I did," you agreed, and the glint in your eyes told him you were being purposefully elusive.

"Go on, then," he encouraged. "Am I everything you hoped?"

You pretended to think, finger pressing into your chin, eyes fixed on the clouds above. Then you smiled again. "Nope."

Lo'ak scoffed again, preparing to fire back some surely witty retort, before you inched forward again, leaning on his back, arm tightening around his middle again, pressing your lips to his ear decisively.

"You're better."

@frogletscribe

Woohoo done! Proud of this one tbh everyone enjoy x

#avatar #avatar x reader #atwow #avatar 2 #avatar fanfiction #neteyam #loak #neytiri #jake #jake sully #loak x reader #lo'ak x reader #loak fanfiction

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queenshelby · 7 months

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Chemical Reactions (P. 20)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut, Torture

Words: 1,889

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the separation between Robert and you became agonizingly long. The weight of the situation bore down heavy on both your hearts, as you tirelessly navigated through the treacherous waters of uncertainty and danger.

Albeit the fact that you had been moved to more pleasant prison just two days after you had been arrested by Pash, you were still confined to a secure facility which, luckily for you, had medical care.

In this facility, the months dragged on, a never-ending cycle of uncertainty and despair.

While you were away from him, Robert felt as if he were living in a purgatory, caught between his duty and his love for you. The revelation that Kitty Oppenheimer, his own wife, had betrayed him like this was a bitter blow. It shattered any semblance of trust he had left, leaving him feeling betrayed and empty.

It was her who leaked secret information to an agent of the soviet union and the investigation into Kitty's actions revealed a web of secrets and lies that she had woven meticulously.

She had leaked information and tried to divert the blame onto you in order to get rid of you and this, itself, was a dangerous game that she was playing.

It was a twisted and cruel act, one that Robert never thought he would witness from someone he had once loved. The fallout from Kitty's betrayal only complicated matters further. The authorities were now wary of potential moles within the project, questioning everyone's loyalty and motives and despite her partial admission, the investigation into your past continued.

With Kitty’s actions, it seemed that no one was above suspicion, including Robert himself. Every step he took was scrutinised, his every move monitored while he led the project. Desperate to protect you and ensure your safety, Robert used his influence where he could. He pulled strings, called in favours, and pleaded with higher-ups to expedite the investigation so that you could reunite. But bureaucracy moves at its own pace, and justice seemed painfully slow.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Robert could only imagine what you were going through, locked away in a military facility, while the world passed you by.

His heart ached at the thought of you being subjected to the harsh realities of prison life, especially with a child on the way. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each passing day marked by a dull ache of longing and a gnawing fear of the unknown.

Robert grappled with his own guilt, feeling responsible for the situation that had befallen you. He questioned every decision he had made, wondering if there was something he could have done differently to protect you.

As the months went by, Robert found solace in his work. He threw himself into research and experimentation, channelling his frustrations and fears into the pursuit of scientific breakthroughs. He pushed the boundaries of his own knowledge, hoping that some great discovery would alleviate the pain of his separation from you.

***

Unable to see each other or communicate directly as visitors were strictly prohibited at the facility, the only solace came in the form of letters.

General Groves became the messenger, reading your heartfelt words and delivering them to each of you personally.

Every letter was a lifeline, a fragile thread connecting your hearts in the midst of an unpredictable and unforgiving world. Through ink-stained pages, you shared your hopes, fears, and struggles, desperate to hold onto the love that had been abruptly torn from your grasp.

The letters were filled with a mix of joy and sorrow, as you recounted each day's events, except those related directly to the development of the gadget.

You described the unbearable loneliness and longing for each other's embrace, the difficulty of trying to remain strong amidst the harsh conditions. But amidst the darkness, there were glimpses of hope as you spoke of the unwavering belief that one day, you would be reunited.

Robert, ever the optimist, wrote poetry to cheer you up and you poured your heart onto the pages, documenting the challenges you faced, both physically and emotionally while being confined.

The uncertainty of your fate weighed heavily on you, but you refused to succumb to despair. Instead, you clung to the memories of your time together, allowing them to fuel your determination to overcome the adversities you faced.

General Groves, touched by the depth of your love and resilience, took it upon himself to ensure the safe passage of each letter. He knew the importance of this lifeline, recognising that their words held the power to inspire and sustain you. With each delivery, General Groves witnessed the unwavering devotion that bound you together.

Your love, tested by distance, confinement, and uncertainty, remained steadfast, growing stronger with each passing day. These letters became a testament to the power of love in the face of adversity, a bond that refused to be broken. And so, the months crawled by, punctuated by the arrival of each letter. They became the rays of hope that pierced through the darkness, reminding you that love could endure even in the bleakest of times. Every word, every sentiment, forged a connection that transcended the physical divide, drawing you closer together even in your separation.

***

Then, one day, General Groves attended Los Alamos without a letter in his hand, informing Robert that he had something much more exciting to give to him.

Handing him a photograph, he said “Congratulations Robert! You have a healthy baby boy.”

With trembling hands, Robert took the photograph from General Groves. As his eyes settled on the image, his heart skipped a beat. There, captured in a moment frozen in time, was a tiny bundle of joy cradled in your arms. The weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders as he gazed at his son for the very first time. Tears welled up in Robert's eyes, a mixture of relief, longing, and overwhelming joy. It had been a year of unimaginable anguish and uncertainty, but seeing the radiant smile on your face as you held their child close, he knew that everything he had fought for had been worth it.

“He is perfect,” Robert declared tearfully, unable to take his eyes off the photo. In that instant, all the heartache faded into insignificance compared to the overpowering sense of pride and love surging through him. This new life embodied the essence of your undying commitment to each other, standing tall against the forces that sought to rip them apart.

Looking anxiously, Robert said, "This baby will change things and all our sacrifices won't go to waste."

"No, they won't Robert," the General said before he nodded resolutely, acknowledging the weight of responsibility resting on Robert's shoulders as well as his own.

"Please, can I see him. He is my son," Robert asked, his voice cracking, but General Groves told him that this was not an option due to security reasons.

Heartbroken yet understanding, Robert swallowed back tears and thanked the General for the photograph.

"I understand, General," he managed to say, his voice hoarse with grief and happiness mixed.

"When you see her next, can you give her my letter and tell her that she is doing amazing and that I am proud of her?" His voice breaking slightly, he added, "Tell her how brave she is. How beautiful she looks holding our little miracle. Tell her I miss her dearly. And let her know...let her know..."

His voice trailed off as Robert realized he couldn't quite put into words exactly what he wanted to express about his feelings toward you, about their relationship, about their shared experiences - especially after learning about your bravery in giving birth under such difficult circumstances.

"I suggest you write it down, Robert. I will be here until noon," said General Groves, sensing Robert's struggle to articulate his feelings. "Take your time," he told him with a pat on the shoulder.

Grateful for the supportive presence, Robert nodded and quickly retrieved paper and pen from his office. Sitting down, he began scribbling feverishly, trying to find the right words to convey his thoughts and emotions towards you.

In a few moments, he finished composing the most honest and vulnerable message he had ever written and it was this very honest and raw letter of his that brought tears to your face.

*** The Letter ***

My Dearest [Your Name],

Words cannot express the overwhelming emotions coursing through my veins as I hold this photograph of our beautiful baby boy. Seeing his innocent face has cast a brilliant light upon the darkest corners of my weary soul. In this single image, I find solace, hope, and an abundance of joy that courses through my every fiber.

I stand here, with tears streaming down my face, in awe of the miracle you have brought into this world. Our son, our precious creation, is a testament to the strength and resilience of our love. He is a beacon of hope, a symbol of our undying commitment to one another and to a brighter future.

I cannot help but think of the sacrifices you have made, the hardships you have endured, and the relentless determination that has guided you through this tumultuous journey.

Our love has endured the trials, the uncertainty, and the immense pressure placed upon us. And now, in this moment, the weight of the world seems insignificant compared to the boundless love radiating from this tiny bundle of life.

As I gaze upon this photograph, I am filled with an indescribable pride for what we have created together. Our love, our bond, has transcended distance, sacrifices, and the devastating impact of this war.

Please tell our son, when the time comes, that his father loves him more than words can convey. Tell him about the countless lives that will reap the benefits of our sacrifices. Whisper to him our story, a tale of resilience, bravery, and the unwavering love that binds us all together.

And to you, my love, I want to express something that words alone could never encapsulate. Your indomitable spirit, your unwavering courage, and your unyielding love have sustained me through the darkest of days. In you, I have found my anchor, my refuge, and my reason.

Please know that you are an extraordinary woman, my love. Your bravery, your strength, and your unwavering spirit during the pregnancy and birth have left me in awe. The thought of you going through such a monumental moment without anyone by your side breaks my heart, but it also fills me with immense pride. You are my rock, my source of inspiration, and the embodiment of everything that is beautiful in this world. Our son is fortunate to have you as his mother, and your love and guidance will shape him into an incredible human being.

When the time comes for us to be reunited, know that I will hold you tightly, for I have missed your touch more than words can express. Until then, my heart stays with you, my love.

Yours, forever and always,

Robert

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #j robert oppenheimer #robert oppenheimer #oppenheimer movie #oppenheimer 2023 #oppenheimer #kitty oppenheimer #j robert oppenheimer x you #j robert oppenheimer x reader #robert oppenheimer smut

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20th-century-railroading · 1 year

Video

flickr

The North Western Way by Don Kalkman Via Flickr: Running on the "wrong track" as was the CNW way of doing things, an eastbound intermodal was hammering through Union Grove in the winter of '96.

A pair of matched former CNW GE C44-9Ws were approaching the US 30 overpass, a very tight and dangerous spot to hang out.

It's a great shot but I wouldn't recommend doing it today. Especially for Union Pacific GEVOs.

December 7, 1996

#up #union pacific #cnw #chicago & north western #1996 #trains #freight train #history #union grove #illinois

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ash-rigby · 1 month

Text

Verdant Transmigration (Spring/Fertility God) [M/M]

Featured Characters: Male human and a male nature god.

Description: Marion, a cleric of one of his town's four resident nature deities, undergoes a ritual to become the next Vessel for Ta'lir who, among many things, is a god of fertility. A merging with Ta'lir requires a more physical element than a purely spiritual one.

Contains: Masked Nonhuman, Size Difference, Aphrodisiacs, Sex Magic, Fellatio, Hand Jobs, Self Lubrication, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Excessive Cum, Mild Cardiophilia.

Completion Date: March 23rd, 2024

Word Count: 3485

This isn't the next requested piece but it was the one I was getting ready to submit to this year's Spring issue of M❤️NSTER. I wound up not making the deadline but I like it too much to wait a year to share it, so I finished it up and here it is!

Marion walked into the ritual chamber under the gazes of many, his nude body catching the flickering firelight. He knelt on the floor of the temple as one of the other priests began to lay out a circle in sacred earth around him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, drawing in the spicy yet floral smell of the incense. Drums beat softly on all sides and the sound of low flutes seemed to tickle the nape of his neck.

He wasn’t nervous, as those around him expected him to be; he had spent the last three days since the previous Vessel’s death in deep meditation to prepare for being the next. Adola was a magnificent woman, a constant through all of Marion’s twenty-five years. A solemn presence with a gentle, motherly hand. Her grace had inspired him to devote his life to the god she carried within her—whom he would carry in her stead.

His city enjoyed the watchful eye of four nature gods, corresponding to the seasons and each with their unique divine favors to bestow. Some blessings and miracles, others that brought simple comforts through the unavoidable trials and pains of life. Whatever their will, it was channeled through a human host; a Vessel that embodied all they were and served the people. But a mortal body is a mortal body, releasing both spirits in death.

With Adola’s passing, Ta’lir—a god of Spring—had returned to the Ethereal Grove where he fell into dormancy, awaiting rebirth into the mortal realm. The Transmigration ritual for each god involved a performance to inspire a merging of their spirit and that of the willing Vessel. There was the exuberant dance for Summer, a melancholy yet ultimately hopeful song for Autumn, and a grueling test of endurance through cold for Winter.

Ta’lir, among other things, represented fertility. Pleasures of the flesh were a common mode of worshipping him. As a priest of Ta’lir’s temple, Marion had partaken many times; alone, with one or two other clerics, and in the grand orgies. He was more than prepared for what was required of him in the ritual ahead. A spiritual and physical union with Ta’lir.

Marion felt a presence step in front of him. There was a rustle of fabric and the sound of bare feet padding against stone. He opened his eyes to see the High Priestess smiling warmly down at him, her face framed by long, brown hair. She held an ornate cup carved from wood in her hand which she leaned down to hand to him.

“Euphoric passage to the Grove,” she said in blessing as Marion took the cup.

He brought it to his lips, familiar with its contents. The cooled, maroon-coloured tea was brewed from a dried mix containing amiculus clover petals; a powerful aphrodisiac despite its mild, unremarkable flavour. Its influence on the body was enough to carry over even in the spirit through astral projection. Euphoric indeed.

Marion gave the empty cup back to the High Priestess. Another cleric, short in stature, took it from her and replaced it with a shallow bowl of dark paint. She knelt and began to mark him with the shapes and lines that would be branded into his skin once he merged with Ta’lir, denoting him as his Vessel.

The tea quickly took effect. Heat swirled in Marion’s stomach before migrating lower as a pleasantly tingling pulse. His cock throbbed, gradually filling without a single touch until it stood erect. Need washed over him but he would not be stroking himself or seeking partners in the crowd around him. For once, that wasn’t a part of things; his body and ecstasy were promised solely to Ta’lir that day.

Marion breathed, his cock full and heavy. The High Priestess’ touch was warm and soft, her captivating bluish-grey eyes frequently holding his as she worked. He shivered at the memories of times he had the honor of worshipping with her. A hitched gasp left him, hips jolting slightly, as she finished the final line—a single, agonizingly slow stroke up the underside of his shaft.

She left him panting in the center of the circle, stepping back to join the other clerics who began to chant. The sacred earth gradually gained a bright green glow. Fractal patterns drew themselves into existence and spread inwards from it. As they reached Marion, the lines painted on him erupted with the same light. He was struck by the extraordinary pleasure of it.

His entire body felt alight and sensitive. Nobody was touching him, but the very air seemed to caress and tease. The chanting grew louder, the glow around him flaring as the ripples of invisible sensation intensified. It was like a fire; wild, blazing, hungry. Nipping, licking and leaving trails of desperation across every inch of him.

He fell back and only just managed to catch and hold himself up on his shaking arms, legs spreading open of their own accord. The flutes faded out but the drums beat harder, the sound of them pounding through him. Somehow in perfect time with every throb of his leaking cock.

Marion tilted his head back, face angled at the ceiling bathed in that green light. Splayed out like this—wantonly moaning and achingly erect—he couldn’t help but feel like a beast crying out for another of its kind to mate. With that thought, the words came to him, spilling from his lips as if someone else had seized his voice.

“Take me, Ta’lir,” he implored to his dormant god. “Oh, Lord of my flesh. My erotic master. Take me!”

His vision became an all-consuming white. Images flooded his mind but did not linger on a single one for long. Wet, dripping holes swallowing his shaft. Slick cocks rubbing against his own. Tangles of hot, sweaty bodies thrusting and grinding. Groping hands. Eager mouths. On top of the drums and chanting came a rising, desperate cacophony of disembodied moans.

Just as Marion felt it all coming to a head, like he might just cum, a hand was placed on the center of his chest. It gave a hefty push and everything stopped.

The surging, full-body pleasure was whisked away in a second. Though his cock still strained and he could feel the effects of the tea coursing through him. Silence settled around him like a fog, broken only by his heaving breaths.

Marion was outside; he could feel a cool breeze on his naked form. There was birdsong and the whisper of leaves. The smell of earth, flowers, and petrichor filled his senses. He only realized then that the white light was gone, leaving darkness. His eyes were closed. Feeling slightly foolish, he opened them and awe took his breath.

The Grove was laid out in all its glory before him.

He was kneeling on a stone circle, carved with the same patterns that had sprung up in light back in the temple. Four tall, mossy pillars rose around him, made into the shape of rabbits standing on their hind legs, noses pointed skyward. Beyond that was a rich, verdant sprawl; long grasses, full bushes, and a dense wood that ringed the clearing he was in.

Directly ahead was a short staircase which led to a colossal tree. Marion gazed at its thick trunk and spotted a carved-out portion in the middle which contained a floating, glowing green mass. Lower still, sitting on a throne that melded into the tree, was the unmoving form of Ta’lir.

Marion stood, not expecting the strength in his legs given what he had just gone through, and walked towards him. He had seen all of the sculptures, scrolls, and murals depicting Ta’lir’s likeness, but nothing could have prepared him for the radiance of the genuine article.

Even sitting, the god was tall. Whatever visage he had, if any, was completely obscured by a wooden mask of a hare’s head that bore three eyes. There was a thick, lush mantle of vegetation growing from his shoulders that flared behind his head, speckled through with flowering clover. The torso and arms of the body looked carved from wood, though sleek. Marion could see the intricacies of it. There were joints that would allow Ta’lir to move with the ease of flesh and bone.

The chest was a hollow like the one he had seen in the tree, though the hole was grated over with thin, uneven, wooden lines that intersected and split here and there. The result was a myriad of varying-sized, ovular holes. There were no innards to speak of; sunlight peaked through them to show the solid plane of the other side.

The wood of the upper half faded into the more flesh-like appearance of the lower, though green and mossy. Marion swallowed when his eyes travelled there and he laid eyes on it. Though dormant, Ta’lir was sporting a large, impressive erection. His thick shaft, with its enticing slight upward curve, stood proudly. Waiting. Propelled by piety and arousal that had far from relented, Marion wasted no time in kneeling between his god’s legs.

His hands lighted on Ta’lir’s thighs. The cock before him was almost intimidating, but reverence won out. He mouthed at the hanging, virile balls before working his way upwards. The taste was an ambrosia on his watering, roaming tongue. He licked the sensitive underside of the head, bringing his hand up to the shaft as he did. The sheer girth of it showed itself as his fingers couldn’t close around it.

Marion closed his lips over the round tip, stroking all he could. As he did, he felt a sudden throb against his palm. It came with a sound; a deep, heavy heartbeat sounding above him. He looked up to see the mass in the tree beginning to pulse just as a bright green glow came to the eyes of Ta’lir’s mask.

The large body drew in a breath—into what lungs, Marion didn’t know—and released it with a low, appreciative groan. Ta’lir shifted, his head rolling on his shoulders before tilting down. Marion’s heart pounded as their eyes met, but he didn’t dare stop; he couldn’t bear the thought of taking his mouth or hands off Ta’lir.

A chuckle, cavernous and gratified, resounded in his mind rather than outward.

“Hello, dear one,” Ta’lir said, his voice thrumming through Marion’s entire being. It was reminiscent of the feeling he experienced during the ritual, though far less sourceless. “And have my thanks for—mmhn—for restoring me.”

Marion responded by taking Ta’lir further into his mouth, bobbing his head and pumping his hand over hot, turgid flesh. The god moaned and it went straight to Marion’s dick, spurring such an intense throb that his eyes briefly rolled. He could cum like this. Just from sucking Ta’lir’s cock. Just from the divine presence of his voice. He upped his pace, yearning to please and dizzy from the pleasure of every noise his efforts worked out.

“I know you,” Ta’lir said. “This eagerness…this lust. Oh, sweet Marion.”

With a wet sound, Marion pulled off of Ta’lir, his hand never stilling as his chest warmed in admiration.

“My reputation precedes me, Lord?” he asked breathlessly, eyelids flickering from the simple action of Ta’lir brushing a tender finger behind his ear—what it was going to feel like getting fucked by this being in this state was beyond his comprehension.

“Come here,” Ta’lir said, tapping his thigh. “Let me see you.”

Marion obeyed, climbing up into his god’s lap and straddling him. His cock raged, weeping onto Ta’lir; a simple but effective tribute. He was panting, well aware of his hole’s proximity to what every part of his insides ached for. Three glowing eyes gazed upon him. Though no emotion could be discerned from them, he could sense the radiating fondness.

“Such a handsome figure,” Ta’lir marveled, fingertips lightly trailing over his Vessel’s sides. The smile in his tone was felt. “And this…”

His hand went to Marion’s dick, taking it between his massive forefinger and thumb. He began to stroke. Slow pass up. Pause. Slow pass down. The pattern repeated as he remained fixated on Marion’s face, drinking in his moans.

“My previous Vessel was a woman without this,” Ta’lir said. “I did love the change of pace, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss burying myself.”

Marion gasped; unable to speak, shaking from his god’s touch and the waves of his voice.

“You must get a lot of attention,” Ta’lir continued, stroking a little faster. “Such a big, gorgeous cock. This heat…and you throb so strongly. I can’t wait for it to be mine. Oh…we’ll do great things together.”

Marion felt his other hand reach to caress the small of his back, gliding down over the mounds of his ass. A long, dexterous finger breached him with surprising ease; was it his imagination or was he wet? His spirit’s burning desire to take Ta’lir into him in more ways than one must have manifested such things. That one, brief coherent thought melted away as he was deeply penetrated, a second finger swiftly joining the first.

They pumped rapidly, striking true against that near-blindingly sensitive spot inside him. His body jolted, back locking into a rigid, trembling arch as his breath halted. He was lightheaded by the time he was able to suck in air again through in quick, whimpering heaves. With a loud wail, he partially collapsed against Ta’lir, his fingers curling onto the inconsistent lattice that was his chest.

“T-Ta-Ta’lir! I can’t, I can’t—ahh!” Marion cried. “I’ll c-cum. I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum! I’m—!”

“Not until I do,” Ta’lir corrected, almost sing-song. “By what other power did you think we become one? I’ve been asleep for days…allow me some amusement.”

Marion’s head swum, time becoming an unknown blur. He wasn’t sure how long he experienced Ta’lir fucking him on his fingers, but every second was exquisite. If one was keen to equate the word to denial, that is; and he was.

“You’re amazing, Marion,” Ta’lir praised. “Sucking me in so well. If this is how you take my fingers, then—.”

“Please, Lord,” Marion begged, forgetting himself at a mere insinuation. “I…I need it—.”

“Not yet, my dear,” Ta’lir said, probing faster into the wet, yielding passage. “Not yet.”

True to Ta’lir’s promise, release didn’t come. Marion remained tottering on its edge. He bounced unconsciously, meeting the thrusts of those thick, relentless fingers. His cock felt engorged, hugged by his balls as his body was trapped in those euphoric seconds before orgasm. The roiling pressure, the fever overtaking his shaft, feeling the rivers he was leaking. He had never known such ecstasy; the Grove’s influence was a marvel.

Marion felt no exhaustion when Ta’lir finally removed his fingers. There was only exhilaration and hunger. He shifted his hips, moving until his ass found Ta’lir’s dick. Meeting the glowing eyes once more, he nudged it insistently. His hole was dripping. Twitching. Wanting.

There was that chuckle again. “How rude of me. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Lord…thank you.”

Marion lined himself up and lowered down. His body shouldn’t have been able to take it entirely. Couldn’t have been able to. But it did, opening up as if driven by pure devotion. Every broad inch claimed him slowly until Ta’lir bottomed out.

“Oh…oh, you’re perfect,” Ta’lir praised.

The joy of such a connection with his god was overwhelming and Marion nearly cried. He sat there in hopelessly aroused disbelief, stuffed full and feeling every pulse that throbbed alongside that constant heartbeat. It grew faster as he began to grind.

He kept it slow; now that Ta’lir was inside him, he found himself wanting to savour it. Shallow thrusts were achieved as he lifted up slightly and slid back down. Even that pace felt like being stirred up, the sheer size of Ta’lir’s cock stretching him past his usual limits. His sweltering walls caressed and squeezed—mostly of his own doing, but involuntary clenches were inevitable.

“Yes,” Ta’lir breathed, a visible shiver running through his large frame. “Dance for me.”

His hands came up to cup Marion’s undulating torso, settling over his ribs as the thumbs found his nipples. The wide pads rolled and teased. Marion arched into the touch, expelling a breath that was equal parts a moan and a laugh; it tickled for a moment before settling on pleasure.

It wasn’t long before Ta’lir took control again. Effortlessly, he began to lift Marion up and down his cock. He would get him halfway up the shaft before dropping him to the hilt, that mysterious slick leaking out around him. His head tilted back against the throne as he groaned long and deep.

“Take me…take me.”

Marion’s breath hitched at hearing his own words echoed at him. “I’m yours.”

Ta’lir growled, a sound juxtaposed with the serene herbivore his mask depicted. It was more arousing than it had any right to be. He gripped Marion’s hips and began to pound up into him, grunting with each thrust. His cock seemed impossibly harder; thicker, swelling in its confines.

Marion’s mouth was open, stunned silence occasionally broken by moans cracking his voice to a higher register. He swallowed up that monstrous shaft as if he had been made as its sheath. Like he would be hollow without it. But Ta’lir would fill his empty spaces. Until death parted their spirits.

“I’m yours, I’m yours—ahhh, I’m yours!” he chanted.

He felt himself moving. Ta’lir was standing, hands supporting Marion’s ass as his cock stilled firmly inside. He turned them so he could kneel backwards on his throne and press Marion into its back. His thrusting resumed, faster than his previous position had allowed. A quick clap of meeting flesh filled the Grove.

Marion clutched at Ta’lir. The scent of earth and something more akin to a mammalian musk flooded his nose. The latter grew stronger the more Ta’lir thrust, close to overwhelming the rest and laced with intoxicating pheromones. Marion could practically taste it and drool began to gather in his mouth. He moaned, his hole becoming a desperate vice against the burning beast of a shaft plunging into him.

Gone were Ta’lir’s words, replaced by growls and other feral noises of pleasure as he slammed. Those once-gentle hands gripped, digging deeply into the meat of Marion’s ass. His precum was abundant and incessant in its flow, adding to the lewd squelch of every thrust. It had to be running down his balls, making a mess and dripping onto his throne.

The ever-present heartbeat above their writhing forms raced. Marion was vaguely aware of the glow of that pulsing mass reaching for them in vein-like streaks down the tree’s trunk. Their markings ignited and he felt the first tell-tale throbs making their way through his cock, matching the pace of that pulse. He was close. They were close.

“Cum with me,” Ta’lir said, his voice rough. “Cum…with…!”

He suddenly stilled deep inside and warmth surged into Marion a split second before his own orgasm gripped him. He wailed, explosive ecstasy rushing into every extremity as he excessively came. It seemed endless, spurting from him as his hole milked a similar, copious stream from Ta’lir.

There was a flood; dripping down his sides, flowing into him. Pump after pump. Two voices, loudly moaning, were beginning to be drowned out by the furious thumping of the tree’s pulse.

Marion’s vision whited and—.

He was back in the temple, kneeling in that circle. His abdomen and thighs were covered in splatters of his own cum. It didn’t cease upon his return, pleasure working through him and making his hips buck as his cock continued to burst. His hole twitched uncontrollably; he could still feel the heat of Ta’lir’s seed and the stretch of his girth. The room was silent save for his own unrestrained moans as his divine orgasm was given proper reverence.

A faintness washed over Marion as the magic tied to the ritual abated. He collapsed and was descended upon by some of the other clerics. They welcomed him back—a greeting for him and their god. He was vaguely aware of being wrapped in multi-coloured, flower-embroidered cloth and carried to the baths. Gentle hands cleaned him with steaming, pleasant-smelling water as he continued to shiver.

Through heavy eyes, he inspected what he could see of himself. The painted marks had permanently bonded to his skin in swirling lines of brilliant emerald green. But otherwise, he felt no different and a distant pang of concern came to him.

Did it work? Had he been enough?

The High Priestess was carding her fingers through his hair when a familiar voice came to him, clear in his mind; murmurs of praise and contagious excitement for a promising future.

End

Masterlist

#text #spicy #ash originals #terato #exophilia #monster lover #monster boyfriend #nature spirit #nature god #oc:ta'lir #oc:marion #i'll be getting to work on that next request now

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hypnos333 · 4 months

Text

Changing Fate

Eros x Goddess reader

Synopsis: Fate had it easy for you as you were a goddess of fate until you got in the away with another’s fate

You were the daughter of Hera and Zeus, you were the third born after Ares and Hephaestus. Of course your parents adores you especially your mother. Being the goddess of Fate was easy then one, two, and three.

You were as beautiful as Aphrodite but you were no goddess of beauty.

“U-Uhm ___?” Eros called out holding your golden paged journal.

“Oh my Zeus! Thank you so much Eros” You said excitedly holding the book with delicacy. His wings flutter in shyness.

“Of course my cupid” He said back making you blush before hold the journal close to you.

“I should be calling you that Cupid” You flirted back making him blush again. He always haded feelings for you and since you lost your fate book you didn’t see that his fate now changed.

“So what should I call you? Oh! How about my love?” he asked excitedly making me agree instantly

“Whatever you like my cupid but right now I have to do my job” you said your goodbye. “Bye my love” Eros said back dreamily making you giggle as you turn back to your mansion.

You reread the journal to make sure everything was in shape in normal but it wasn’t….

See with the journal you can see everyone’s fate even gods or goddesses with Eros it holds a sparkling pink thread around his fate. It’s fading…. And not for the right reasons it should.

Eros fate is about love…

A king and queen has three daughters, all three of the girls are attractive but one of them is absolutely gorgeous- Phyche was her name. People would come all over to check out how beautiful she was. neglecting the proper worship of Aphrodite, instead prayed and made offerings to her. It was rumored that she was the second coming of Venus, or the daughter of Venus from an unseemly union between the goddess and a mortal. Venus is offended, and commissions Cupid to work her revenge. Cupid is sent to shoot Psyche with an arrow so that she may fall in love with something hideous. He instead scratches himself with his own dart, which makes any living thing fall in love with the first thing it sees. Consequently, he falls deeply in love with Psyche and disobeys his mother's order. Although her two humanly beautiful sisters have married, the idolized Psyche has yet to find love. Her father suspects that they have incurred the wrath of the gods, and consults the oracle of Apollo. The response is unsettling: the king is to expect not a human son-in-law, but rather a dragon-like creature The transported girl awakes to find herself at the edge of a cultivated grove. Exploring, she finds a marvelous house with golden columns, a carved ceiling of citrus wood and ivory, silver walls embossed with wild and domesticated animals, and jeweled mosaic floors. A disembodied voice tells her to make herself comfortable, and she is entertained at a feast that serves itself and by singing to an invisible lyre. Although fearful and without the proper experience, she allows herself to be guided to a bedroom where, in the darkness, a being she cannot see has sex with her. She gradually learns to look forward to his visits, though he always departs before sunrise and forbids her to look upon him. Soon, she becomes pregnant.

One night after Cupid falls asleep, Psyche carries out the plan her sisters devised: she brings out a dagger and a lamp she had hidden in the room, in order to see and kill the monster. But when the light instead reveals the most beautiful creature she has ever seen, she is so startled that she wounds herself on one of the arrows in Cupid's cast-aside quiver. Struck with a feverish passion, she spills hot oil from the lamp and wakes him. He flees, and though she tries to pursue, he flies away and leaves her on the bank of a river.

The rest of his fate was faded

You stood there shocked, this never happened before… this should’ve never happened. Why is it fading?

The ink was supposed to stay as it should so why is his fate changing?

You couldn’t say that you were glad his fate was changing, you were falling for the cupid after all but that did not mean he couldn’t be happy.

All she could do was watch the ink disappear like his fate was never there, and hope a new fate can appear for him. You slammed the book shut and rush to make sure Eros was safe.

When you saw him getting an apple from a tree you immediately rushed to him with a hug. Eros almost fell from the rush of someone.

“Woah My love, are you alright?” he asked gently not wanting to trigger you.

You put your hands on his cheek to make sure he has no injuries. “Of course, Are you okay?” you asked worriedly.

“Yeah? ___ we saw each other ten minutes ago, what’s wrong?” he asked making you hesitate on the question it’s self. It’s not like you can hide his dying fate from him but know something could be wrong is killing you.

“Y-Your fate changed and I couldn’t do anything about it and I thought something was wrong” You admitted making him nod.

“My fate with a human girl?” he asked making you instantly nod.

“Yeah a-and wait how did you know?” You asked making him chuckle awkwardly before clearing his throat to explain.

“W-Well I look in the journal and saw how my fate went and honestly I don’t want that to happen because ___ goddess of fate i’m in love with you” He confessed making you blush in shyness.

“W-What?” You whispered.

“I got approval from you family especially Ares and Zeus even though they’re scary as hell but I was willing to do it for you and I have been falling for you for decades but you were to busy in your work” He explained

“Well Eros of love and sex I will happily be yours” You said making him spin you around in joy.

“I’ll definitely make you the most happiest goddess in this earth my love” he stated making you hum as you leaned in as you both kissed passionately.

#greek mythology #greek myth x reader #Eros x reader #greek mythology x reader

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paintdlady · 6 months

Text

Brb, thinking intensely about an AU where Wyll and Tav were in an arranged marriage, but then he just disappeared from Baldur’s Gate one day and Tav was just sternly told to never mention - much less think - about the Ravengard son ever again. And that was supposed to be that. A disappointing end to a rather anticipated union.

But Tav can’t let Wyll go, he plagues their thoughts late in the hour of their most sleepless nights - even seven years later. They think often about his dashing smile and the nights he spun them around a ballroom floor, of the times they giggled into their goblets of wine and may have even stolen a kiss or two when Tav’s chaperone wasn’t looking.

"One day, I will be your husband and no one will be able to tell me I cannot kiss you whensoever you ask me," Wyll had once whispered to them in the dark of a hidden alcove they had stolen away to.

No, nobody could ever hope to compare to Tav's first love, and yet none could offer anything worthy of fulfilling their noble duties to marry well and advance their house's reputation. Worse, the race to become Tav's spouse turns into something of a competition, a game, as so many lordlings and ladies come to their doorstep with hopes of claiming the Gate's best guarded jewel. They stroll in with honeyed words, glittering proposals, decadent gifts.

It's dehumanizing and terribly droll business, and Tav only manages to keep buying themself more time with promise to their parents that they will engage, truly - but only to someone who can prove they are an asset to the city, embodying everything a worthy spouse and leader should be. If their love life is to be turned into a game, they will be the master who determines the rules and what hoops any would-be suitor must jump through.

I think of the parallels between Wyll/Tav and Odysseus/Penelope, the triumphant hero and the determined lover, neither frozen in time and yet neither forgetting one another as they carry on with their responsibilities. But more importantly, I think of Tav as they are freshly tadpoled and come upon a grove full of goblins, muck on their boots and blood on their robes... and there, their once-lover leaping down upon a boulder with all the elegance and daring bravado they remember.

#i don't need to write a multi chapter fic i don't need to write a multi chapter fic i don't need to write a multi chapter fic #wyll ravengard #bg3 #k plays bg3

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iboatedhere · 8 months

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I saw the word "farmhouse" in the Henry POV chapter and promptly lost it. Thanks @rmd-writes @pragmatic-optimist and @welcometololaland for all the hand-holding you've done and will continue to do.

Tagging @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @lemonlyman-dotcom @beautifulhigh @basilsunrise @ramblingdisaster73

It takes two trips to unload everything he bought. The stairs are one challenge and David is another, twirling around his feet, happy to see him even though he was only gone for a short time.

He changes into his designated work jeans, already broken in and comfortable with a tear at the left knee and a stubborn leather polish stain on the thigh, and one of Alex’s old t-shirts, so old and threadbare he’s surprised it surprised the journey from Brooklyn.

He takes off his wedding ring and leaves it in the gold keepsakes box on the top of their dresser, not willing to take any chances after losing it in the barn. They had found both their rings almost side by side the morning after with the metal detector. Alex had started waxing lyrical about how it must have been fate and Henry, who was so thankful to have the ring back tucked both rings safely into the front pocket of his shirt then hauled Alex into the tack room then dropped to his knees to thank him.

In his office he pushes all the boxes out of the way then lays the drop cloths over everything. He tapes off the baseboard and around the ceiling and all the electrical outlets and switches.

He sits back on the floor and surveys the work he’s already done, knowing he hasn’t even done the hard part yet.

Primer, Matt had said, was an important first step.

Henry puts the first coat on too thick and it drips off the roller onto the cloth, immediately proving their worth.

He learns from his mistakes and gets the proper coating of primer on the wall, stopping halfway to throw the windows open and fetch a fan from downstairs to cut down on drying time and help ventilate the fumes.

He’d never hear the end of it from Alex if he’s almost passed out again.

While the primer dries he takes a break for lunch and takes David on a walk. Back upstairs he cracks open the bucket of Oak Grove, a moss green that reminds him of early spring at Balmoral.

He’s halfway through the second coat when Alex arrives, stepping through the front door with a loud “honey, I’m home,” greeting.

“Upstairs,” Henry calls.

“Still?” Alex hollers, followed by the sound of him climbing the stairs taking them two at a time. “Did you pass out from the fumes?”

“Not once,” Henry promises as Alex slides into the doorway and huffs.

“Holy fuck.”

“Do you like it?” Henry asks, stepping back and admiring his work. “I can’t believe how many colors there are to choose from. Do you know that there are one hundred seventy seven different shades of white?”

“Does it remind you of looking at your family tree?”

“Need I remind you you’re now a part of that tree? A little dash connects me to you forever.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that everyone else is beige to extra beige and that’s not what I was talking about.”

“But do you like the color? I thought maybe it was too dark but there’s plenty of light from the windows—.”

“I wasn’t talking about the color I was talking about you. Jesus tits, look at you.”

Henry looks down at his paint splattered outfit. “What about it?”

“What about—what about it? It’s everything. It’s unlocking a very specific fantasy that I never knew I needed. It’s like you’re the hot handyman and I’m the overworked, under-sexed—.”

“You have never once been under-sexed your entire adult life.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Handyman Henry, or I'll...dock your pay? No, that’s a douchebag move, I would never do that and depending on the contract you signed–illegal. Are you in a union? What am I talking about, this is my sexual fantasy, of course you’re in a union.”

“My god. You’re worried about my contract but not the legality of propositioning your employee?

“Who said I was going to be the one propositioning you? Nah, you’re gonna come onto me.”

“Am I now?”

Alex hums and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m gonna be in the kitchen making my dinner for one and you’re gonna come downstairs with a wound that needs to be tended to.”

“How do I wound myself?”

“I don’t know…opening a paint can? Don’t you have to shove a little thing under the rim and pop it out?”

“These cans actually have a very convenient pour spout. Matt, the clerk at the hardware store said it was a new feature. He's a nice kid. I thought he had a bit of a crush on me.”

“Of course he did, look at you.”

“Turns out he’s a fan of both of us.”

“Of course he is, look at me.”

“I am looking at you. I’m looking at you leaning against wet paint.”

“Oh shit,” Alex says as he pulls himself away from the wall.

#rwrb #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #wip wednesday

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moonmaiden1996 · 1 year

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Dear Wife

Phineas Black x Reader A story requested by dear @snail-noodle Warning breeding kink.

Please leave a comment

Requests Welcome!!!! The smutty the better!

You quickened your pace to fall in step with your husband. Phineas Black had always been highly strung, more so lately. He was far more prone to headaches and sleepless nights these days than in the first blissful days of your union. Phineas had given up a lot for you, been burnt from his family tree and taken up the Headmaster position at Hogwarts to allow you to marry finally and be safe away from his pureblood fanatic family.

Despite his more abrupt nature, you couldn't help but cast a worried look as his jaw clenched tightly as he pulled you down the dirt track. You noticed it at the Honeydukes when you bumped into your former schoolmate and her impressive brood of children and when you passed by the adorable baby wizard section in the tailors. Come to mention it, he had been like this when you sent him to visit Professor Weasely while her rather loud and noisy family invaded the castle during the Christmas break.

"My love, what is wrong." You panted as you struggled to keep pace in the ridiculously layered dress he had brought you.

"Nothing, my dear." He sighed, loosening his grip.

You fell into silence again as you passed the toyshop, filled with colour wood, as a bright rocking horse catching your attention.

"Ohh look, I had toys like that; I think I must have it somewhere; I think I would like to do it up like this… lots of ribbons…maybe if we have children one day, they could play with it." You cooed.

‘‘Do you mean it?’’ a quiet whimper asked from behind

"Mean what, my love?" you hummed.

"That you would like children one day."

"Oh yes", you mumbled absentmindedly, eyeing the ribbons you could use on your old rocking horse. "A whole gaggle of them, we could outdo the Weasley," you laughed as you straightened, hand poised to go in when it was snatched back.

Gasping, you stubbled as your husband pulled you towards the floo, swearing as he stared at the long line, dragging you passed it and up the footpath.

"Phineas! What on earth!...slow down…" You called as your husband slipped his arm around your waist to hurry you.

Your questions fell on deaf ears as you were dragged along.

"Are you upset that I want children…I know we have never spoken about it, but if you don't want to we…" your spluttering was caught off by a strong, sound kiss.

"Oh, my perfect wife," He purred as he directly past the tree line, drapping you over a large smooth boulder. "you deserve far more than this, but I cannot wait. I need to be inside you." He growled, tugging at his jacket.

Wide-eyed, you stared at him as his silk jacket was thrown to the floor, waist coat strawn not far away from it, followed by his braces before his hands ripped at your bodice. Your body jerked at the force, but you said nothing as he tore away at your dress till it was left in tatters beneath you.

'Phineus.." you whimpered, cowering under his feral gaze.

"Oh, my dear wife, already glistening for me…I will fill you till you swell…' he groaned as he loosed his breeches, just enough for his straining member to escape as he climbed over you, wrapping your naked thighs around him as he plunged into you.

Arching near fully off the rough stone, you squealed at your husband's raw movements as he pounded into you.

You should be embarrassed at the lewd squelch as your wetness coated his cock, but you could barely care as a wave of pleasure washed over you, settling in the pit of your stomach as it built.

"Phineus…I…arghhh…please' you whimper as he pulled your hips up forward and rutted deeper into you, deeper than he had ever been.

"Oh, that in my darling, I can feel you fluttering around me, greedily girl, begging to make me a daddy. Don't worry, sweet wife; you will." He cooed into your ear as he moved over you.

The little grove was filled with growls and shrieks that poured out of both of you, the sound of slapping skin vibrating against the stones and trees.

"You are going to look so good carrying our child. I will have you ride me every day so that I can see your beautiful body swell." He grunted as his pace picked up, sending you hurtling to the edge.

"Oh, that's it, come for me, my love…I want that pussy ready to take my seed." He purred.

With one more drag of his cock against your walls, you came screaming, core tightening around him.

Limply you watched your husband's face contort in a wave of primal passion as your walls milked him for every ounce of his cum. You didn’t even have another strength to fight as his skilled fingers began to manipulate your clit, pulling another orgasm from you

‘’That it cum again, got to make sure you take all my seed.’’ He praised as you came with a violent whimper.

‘’It's okay, my love; let me take care of you.’’ He cooed before adding darkly. ‘’don’t worry; I'll keep you full till you start to swell.’’

#phineas black #headmaster black #phineas black x reader #headmaster black x reader #hogwarts legacy

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