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#just sharing a little bit of levity
asheanon · 2 months
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Literally, everyone I've seen is going through something (including myself) and we're still only in January of this new year. Haha. Ah... 🫠
🐌🧀 Man, I'm bringing it back. Going full cringo cheese ball.
🍪🫂💕
Bringing back the cookies, hugs and kind words combo. It's all virtual, sure, whatever - but my gang are handing out freshly baked cookies, hugs and/or kind words to all takers!
They also offer an optional ❤️ Big Hug. ❤️
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❤️ Big Hug ❤️ is like this group hug, except you're in the middle and Sal is also ❤️ Big Hugging ❤️ it up. 🫂 (Sal and Branson aren't really huggers, but they can hug. They are capable, especially if there is Sadness. They hug today. Everyone hugs, if hugs are wanted.)
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yiangchen · 6 months
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it's so tragic funny that while i was watching t100, jroth was so adamant that there was nothing romantic there with bellarke, that it literally made me doubt what was very clearly being written as romantic (and it actually was. like, we know this now. it has been confirmed).
looking back, bellarke could have kissed at so many different points in the show, without changing anything else but having them kiss, and it would have made perfect sense. it would have flowed. it would have aligned with their relationship development.
just think about it. 1x09. unity day. is this a bit early? yes. but do they have the chemistry? yes. and have they had sufficient build up for two characters to have their first kiss? yes. honestly more than a lot of ships that happen in the first season of their show. especially since day trip just happened! plus, the flirting during unity day was...not subtle.
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listen...she wanted to kiss him here so bad. seriously though. clarke could have and that would have been a very natural progression of this scene. it would have especially fit the early drop ship days vibe.
(or you could add in a scene where clarke finds him later, now sufficiently buzzed, they flirt some more, then she kisses him, and bellamy's like, "woah, woah, princess, what are you doing?" but he's smiling and she just shrugs with a smile and goes in to kiss him again, saying "having fun", and bellamy says, "you're drunk" and clarke is exasperated saying, "well you told me to!" and bellamy laughs, very amused, and from the look in his eyes, you can tell that he is also very very VERY smitten.)
if you still think that's too soon, yeah, i tend to agree. i love the idea of s1 bellarke in fanfic, but for the show, i prefer a bit more of slowburn. so let's push it to season 2. no, that's not a true slowburn, but still, you had to wait a little for it, and a lot of shows do this successfully. so anyway. 2x05. post iconic reunion hug, shot in a very romantic way i might add.
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bellamy is watching clarke sleep by the fire, she wakes, we have some platonic gazing with firelight flickering across their faces...
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we all know how the scene goes. he reassures her. he confides in her. she reassures him back.
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i'm sorry, but the way they are looking at each other here? dude, if they had been sitting any closer, they could have kissed. i tend to think it would be more in character for clarke to initiate a first kiss with bellamy in s1-4, but in this scene, i 100% could see bellamy going in to kiss her after this.
(and yes, i'm aware that octavia was pretending to be asleep this whole time, but honestly, her reaction to them would have added some much needed levity to the situation. octavia is a bellarke shipper, after all. also, some people might say that this would make clarke's "i love you" to finn less believable, but i disagree. you can have feelings for two people at the same time. i mean, she literally kisses lxa very quickly after finn's death sooo yeah...plus, it would have made the bellarke angst of s2b/3 even better.)
maybe you still want more of a slowburn though, and that is perfectly fair, which brings me to s3, which in my opinion would have been one of the best seasons for canon bellarke. alright. 3x05. hakeldama yup! it was prime time for a first kiss. i mean, all the build up of s1/2 obviously, but also...this had just happened:
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but anyway...back to hakeldama. this is the peak of their angst. nothing tops it.
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but then, after the heat of the moment, the softness comes in. as it always does with these two. they wind up sharing the softest, most romantic scene in this entire show (fight me).
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that last gif, man...at this point, i think they would both go in for the kiss. mutually initiated. god, it would have fit the scene so well!
(some people might say that this would invalidate clarke's love for lxa, considering everything that happens two eps later, but again, i disagree. like i said before, you can have feelings for two people at the same time. people might also say that this would undermine bellamy's relationship with gina, but you know what? the whole fucking narrative undermined that relationship, so i really don't care. i loved gina, but if clarke can kiss lxa right after finn's death, then bellamy can kiss clarke right after gina's death. this show is messy, okay? and bellarke are messy as fuckkkk.)
still think it would be too early? okay. season 4 then. very recently, i realized how easy making bellarke canon in s4 would have been, holyyyy. starting off in 4x03. bellamy is sleeping on the couch and clarke watches him sleep with the softest smile on her face (i'm still crying about this btw). i can't find the right gif, but you all know the smile! then clarke is struggling so bellamy wakes up and is there to support her, making a declaration that has romantic undertones, it just does!
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and then clarke lowkey makes a move on him lmao. for real though?? what was this???
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i would only change one thing here. he takes a seat beside her first and then puts his hand on her shoulder. so that way they are eye level (aka kissing level).
when she lifts her head off their hands, their faces would be so close. maybe bellamy would tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, not realizing how intimate that kind of thing is until he does it. i could see them kissing here. clarke would initiate. although, i think it would be so much better if it was just an almost kiss. bellamy tells her she should get some sleep right before it happens.
and then in 4x06...
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it's actually so funny how she says that and then she's like 'oh no. that sounded like it implied something. i did not mean to imply.'
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and bellamy's over here like 'omg she's implying.'
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which leads to him literally about to confess. i'm sorry, but there is no other way to interpret....
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and of course clarke interrupts, but this is the moment, you guys! this could have been the moment.
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right after this, before roan's interruption, there's a pause, and then clarke kisses him. it's a quick one. the kind of kiss where she has both of her hands on his face and he's so stunned by it that his eyebrows raise in surprise and before he can even process that it's happened, she's pulled back and they're looking at each other, a bit in awe, both surprised that she just did that.
then in 4x09, we actually get to see the reunion!! and it's the running kind. just like 2x05. only this time, after they run to each other and hug, bellamy pulls back and takes her face in his hands to examine her for injuries, and once he realizes she's okay, probably after she reassures him and puts a hand on his face, then he kisses her, but they both go in for it (and i cry).
in 4x13, i would change the location of the head and heart scene. somewhere more private...a bedroom (!). so, after this moment:
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and bellamy turns away, upset, clarke pulls him back to face her and takes his face in her hands. his eyes are watery. so are hers. she kisses him. one thing leads to another and we get the sex scene we deserved!! then they're lying in bed, cuddling. bellamy's head is on her chest and clarke's playing with his hair. that's when she decides to ruin the moment lmao and continues the head and heart convo with "we've been through a lot together, you and i." i can just see it so well. they would shift so that they're laying on their sides, facing one another. maybe clarke's fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck now. when she says he has a big heart, her palm rests on his bare chest. when she says he has to use his head too, her fingers of her other hand shift from his neck to his temple. when bellamy says, "i've got you for that," clarke kisses him. their foreheads stay touching for a few breathes, then she pulls back to look at him and says that raven's premonition came true. like...am i crazy or would this have worked so well?? literally the same dialogue but...they're together.
(plus, this could have led to clarke raising bellamy's kid--august--along with madi over those six years they are separated, i'm just saying!)
maybe you still think that season 5 was the ultimate time for bellarke to go canon, and you know what? i honestly might just agree. the set up was there with clarke calling bellamy every day for 2,199 days. the potential was there. madi was the biggest bellarke shipper i swear. she wanted them to be together even more than all of us combined i think. for a bellarke kiss though, you would almost have to drastically change the course of events...unless you go with 5x13 and blecho have broken up earlier in the season. after clarke wakes bellamy from cryo (still crying about this moment, yeah!), i could see them having a moment.
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before jordan walks in, maybe clarke helps bellamy out of the pod, and once they're both standing, bellamy would finally make his move. instead of bellamy asking why they're the only ones there, clarke does. bellamy tells her, "we'll figure it out, clarke, but first, i have something i wanna say." maybe he does something soft, like take her hand or brush her hair behind her ear. clarke is staring at him, not quite believing what is happening right now, but deep down, she knows. he tells her, "those six years without you were the worst of my life and i don't wanna waste any more time." clarke is wearing a watery smile, still not quite sure she believes what she's hearing. she tells him, "i radioed you every day you were gone." bellamy's whole face lights up and he tells her, "i know." their foreheads touch. both of his hands are cradling her cheeks, her hands are cradling his wrists. she whispers his name. it's the kind of kiss where the time before the kiss is excruciatingly long, but once they kiss, it becomes much more urgent as they finally give in to all of the feelings. god. would have been ICONIC.
plus, they both looked absolutely gorgeous in this scene. hello???
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would have been one hell of an aesthetically pleasing first kiss holyyyy. then jordan interrupts and makes some comment about how his mom and dad were right all along :)
if not season 5 though...moving onto season 6. 6x10 to be exact. i know i've said that other times were the ultimate time for canon bellarke, but this episode is too! or right after it in 6x11. there are two scenarios that i see playing out here. (in both, blecho have broken up previously.)
in the first scenario, it's 6x10. as soon as bellamy saves clarke and she wakes up, instead of going in to hug him, i swear when i was watching it that i really thought she was going in for the kiss. that was the one and only time where i legitimately thought they were about to kiss while watching. it had never made more sense than in that moment. even with all of jroth's attempted brainwashing, my mind was stronger in that moment. it saw it coming. or at least i thought i did lmao. i know they didn't actually kiss.
but listen.
they really should have.
clarke is literally looking at him like this:
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come on, man.
i usually say that bellamy should be the one initiating post s4, but in this moment, it would have been clarke.
and if not then, the other scenario is that they hug as usual. clarke gets some rest as usual. but when she wakes up in 6x11 and bellamy is at her side, they are in a separate private tent. they have that same conversation that they do. they argue about clarke risking her life again. but then...
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he tells her, "hey, i just got you back." he says it firm but soft. i see bellamy initiating the kiss here, especially since he's almost lost her twice now, but once clarke realizes that this is really happening, that after all this time he wants her just as much as she wants him, she would for sure be the one initiating everything else. she would be sitting in his lap making out with him so fast jfsldkjfaslk and you know what? good for her!! they either just kiss a lot here, laying down on the bed, all tangled up together, and then they're interrupted, or maybe, just for once, they're allowed to be happy, uninterrupted, and they sleep together. either way. natural progression.
that's really the point of this longwinded post. so many times it could have happened. all of them a nature progression of the story that was being told.
then comes season 7...
there are no words.
6x13 left them off in a perfect place...
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the set up was literally right there! they should have kissed in 7x01!! they should have lived happily ever after with madi in a seaside cabin situated in a field of gold!!
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maple-seed · 5 months
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Thrown Blurb #4: Fanfiction
Word Count: 618
Author's Notes: Just needed a little levity after that finale, haha. Everyone can thank @gigglingtiggerv2 for encouraging this scene into existence in response to chapter 39.
Series Master List Loki Fic Masterlist
*****************
You were trying to get a rise out of him.
Loki refused to give you the satisfaction.
"Okay, so it's called 'The Numbers Don't Lie' and as you know, in this timeline Loki is human." You waved a sheaf of paper in his direction. You had printed it after he refused to read it on your computer. "And I'm on the timeline also, but in this one I'm very wealthy and Loki is one of several accountants I employ..."
Loki's eye twitched but he didn't respond otherwise. He watched the papers in your hand as you explained the plot of your little story.
"... and of course he's desperate to get her attention but he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings so he..."
Loki steepled his fingers. His eyes were drawn again to the pages in your hand. Were they... bound? You took the time to bind them into a booklet?
"... and then that's where his stamp collection comes into play..."
Loki bit his cheek. You were making a strong play here, he had to admit. He could tell you knew, by the gleam in your eyes. He wouldn't let you win this one. He tried to focus on his upcoming rebuttal.
"Finally, the issue is resolved thanks to Loki's expertise in tax law. They overcome their misunderstandings and confess their feelings and get together at the end." You triumphantly placed the story in front of him. "Ready to read it?"
Loki waited a moment to allow you to bask in your short-lived glory, then broke into a grin. "First, I have my own creative endeavor to share with you." Confusion cross your face. "What?" Loki stood. "As you may know, Skarde now has his studio in working condition. When Thor mentioned that you were putting your little fiction to paper," he heard you curse Thor under your breath, "I commissioned this." With a wave of his hand an easel appeared with quite a large canvas on it, which was currently concealed by a green cloth. "A portrait of your Asgardian counterpart." You came to stand in front of the canvas with your arms crossed. "You paid money to get back at me?" "It was entirely worth it, darling. Skarde's craftsmanship is unmatched." With a flourish he pulled the cloth away, revealing the painting.
The figure in the portrait was undoubtedly you, but a version that was wholly pathetic. She was dressed in peasant clothes, and poor ones at that. She was scrubbing a floor in some dismal dungeon, and her person was absolutely covered in grime. Her expression was mournful, and maybe a little wistful, as she gazed into the middle distance. Truly a wretched creature.
Your expression was incredulous. "I can't believe you did this." Loki smirked, reveling in his victory. "Surely you expected a response." "Yeah, but not this! I didn't think you'd drag anyone else into it. I just wrote a story! How many people have seen..." you gestured at the canvas, "miserable servant me?" Loki thought for a moment as he admired the work. "Quite a few, I imagine. But perhaps not enough. Should we put it on display for the public, you think?"
You stood for a moment with your mouth agape, then snapped it shut and whipped out your phone, typing furiously. Loki frowned. "What- what are you doing?" "Texting Thor." You kept your eyes on your screen. "Asking him about that Asgardian theatre troupe." He scowled. "Whatever for?" "It just occurred to me," you hit send and smiled up at him sweetly, "that my story is really meant for the stage." Loki's eyes widened and he held up a finger. "Now... now just hold on a moment...."
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hugmekenobi · 10 months
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Goes Both Ways
A Bad Batch Series interlude oneshot
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Gif by @transkestis​
(no, the S2 fits aren’t here yet, this gif just worked the best)
Hunter x femaleJedi!reader
Summary: You and Hunter both realise there are trickier feelings that need navigating in a relationship but the two of you manage to work with them.
Warnings: Swearing, possessiveness/jealousy, reader doesn’t really stick the Jedi teachings (but we knew this anyway lol), pet name (sweetheart), Gregor being what I need in the form of a flirtatious plot device, Force communication working how I say it does, brief mention of death, no y/n, PDA in the form of making out, affectionate biting/marking, spicy and suggestive language and touches, awkwardness, getting caught/interrupted
Masterlist for S1 chapters
Word Count: 3.4K
Rating: 18+
Author’s notes: I can’t justify the main trope here, my brain just went into this headspace and took it and ran lol. Things get a bit spicier, but I appreciate this sorta thing isn’t for everyone but to those who do read, hope you enjoy :)
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The three of them watched from the bar at the scene unfolding in front of them. They weren’t sure how exactly you would react once you came back from putting Omega in Cid’s room, but one thing was certain, you weren’t going to be very happy.
“Hey guys, what are we looking-” You stopped as you saw what it what they were staring at, or rather who they were staring at. “Who the fuck’s that?” You asked, attempting levity but it wasn’t very convincing.
“We don’t know. She appeared once you left.” Tech answered.
“Did she now?” You replied, your voice tense. The feelings bubbling within you were unfamiliar and you were still getting used to the whole relationship thing, but you could already tell you weren’t a fan of what was happening in front of you.
You continued to stare at the young woman currently standing by Hunter at the other end of the bar counter. She was being a little too touchy-feely for your liking, her hands kept wandering to Hunter’s chest and hands. Hunter, to his credit, kept inching away every time she did that, but she was not for dissuading.
“Are you alright?” Echo asked.
“Uh huh.” You replied stiffly.
“You sure?” Wrecker asked as he saw the way your jaw clenched.
You sucked air through your teeth. “Yup.”
“You know he’s not going to do anything.” Tech added.
“It’s not him I’m worried about.”
“Are you sure you-”
“Relax Echo, I’m not going to cause a scene.” You said calmy as you watched them.
You understood to a degree, hell if you were in her position you’d probably try too, but he was taken now.
Now he was yours.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, where the fuck did that line of thought come from? You thought to yourself, shocked that you’d even gone down that road so quickly. That jealousy and possessiveness was something you’d been taught for years was a very bad thing, yet you jumped to it immediately. You took a deep breath. “It’s fine, I’m fine. He’ll come back over once he's done talking.”
The three of them regarded you suspiciously.
“Chill with the fourth degree. I’m okay.” You reiterated as you felt their eyes on you.
“You’ve still not looked away.” Tech pointed out.
“And that bar stool leg wasn’t bent like that before.” Echo said, indicating to the chair you were closest to.
You glanced down and sure enough, the leg has curved slightly. Clearly you weren’t as fine as you were trying to make yourself out to be. “Wrecker, stand in front of me.”
Wrecker did as you asked. “That better?”
You took another deep breath. “Yeah. Just gotta wait until they’re done.” You stole a swig from Echo’s drink and willed the streak of possessiveness that was residing with in you to go away.
--
“Okay, how long has it been? Seriously, what could she be saying that’s so interesting?” You asked irritably. “Also, Hunter isn’t exactly a conversationalist, what could she be so captivated by?
The others shared a smirk. It had been five minutes and you’d only lasted two before you’d moved past Wrecker to watch them again.
“I don’t think it’s his conversation skills she’s interested in.” Tech said simply as if he was answering a question about the weather.
You shot him a glare as Wrecker and Echo both shook their heads at him. “Sometimes Tech, I forget you’re the smartest one here. I know what she’s interested in but how many times does he need to back away for her to get the hint? Or better yet, why doesn’t he leave?”
“Maybe he’s just being polite?” Wrecker offered.
“Or they’re genuinely having a conversation?” Echo suggested.
You hid your head in your hands, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes I really can’t talk to you boys.”
“Although I doubt a genuine conversation would involve that.” Tech said indicating over to them.
You lifted your head and that possessiveness you had been attempting to quash came to a head as you saw the way she looped an arm around the back of his neck and drew her closer to him. “Oh, for fucks sake.” You muttered. The Jedi were dead, and they weren’t perfect anyway, so you didn’t have to be. You downed the rest of your drink and began to walk over to him.
“I have 5 credits on her bumping into her and making her spill her drink.” Wrecker said as he watched you go.
“Nah, she’ll use her Jedi abilities for that.” Echo countered. “Tech?”
“I think she’ll rise above and merely ask her to leave.”
Echo and Wrecker just stared at him; eyebrows raised.
Tech sighed, “Fine. She’s using the Force.”
--
Hunter had been itching to leave for the past ten minutes but this woman was not getting the message. He had just taken her hands off him for what felt like the one hundredth time when he felt you next to him as you wrapped an arm around his waist.
He glanced at you and saw a hint of darkness in your eyes as well as something he couldn’t quite place. “Hey, how are-” Your lips on his abruptly cut him off and it was a kiss that was definitely not meant for a public space. It was deep and intense, and he was sure it had something to do with whatever it was that was lurking behind your eyes. After what was probably too long for a casual expression of affection, you pulled away and he found that all words had left his brain.
“You were stolen away from me. I had to come check on you.” You said sweetly as you gazed at him, pleased with the slightly dazed look on his face. Keeping your hand wrapped around him, you faced the woman, and you felt a hint of smugness as you saw the flash of irritation on her face. “I see you’ve met my Hunter.”
Your Hunter? He regarded you curiously, but your eyes were focused on the woman in front of you.
“Yeah, we just got chatting.” She said innocently.
“Oh, chatting, was it? Looked to me like you were hitting on him.” You said with fake politeness.
Oh, that’s what this was, Hunter realised. You were jealous. He worried for the woman across from him since he’d never seen you like this, so he didn’t know what to expect. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t-”
“Oh, don’t worry, I trust you.” You said, leaning up to plant a kiss on his neck and you smirked to yourself as you saw her frown out of the corner of your eye.
You faced her again. “Honey, you should really look for men that are interested in you. You’re not going to get what you’re looking for here, I can tell you that.”
“Oh, I’d never-” She began, placing her hand over her heart as if she was shocked by such an insinuation.
“No?” You asked as if you were willing to believe her.
“It’s just he never mentioned you, so I assumed-”
You could tell she was lying and that was confirmed by the way Hunter stiffened next to you. “See, I think he did, and you just don’t know when to quit.”
“Well, I didn’t think sewer rats were his type.” She sneered.
You were glad you could be done with the fake niceties. You placed a hand on Hunter’s chest as you sensed him getting ready to speak. “I think you better be going now.” You said coolly and with a subtle flick of your finger, her drink spilt on her lap.
She shouted in annoyance at the red puddle that was now forming on her lap.
“Oh, now that’s unfortunate. You better get outta here and sort that cause white and red? That’s a bitch to clean and I wouldn’t want your lovely dress to get ruined.” You said with a cat-like grin.
She glowered at you and walked out of the bar.
“That wasn’t very nice.” Hunter kidded into your hair as he kissed your temple.
You looked back at him and looped your arms around his neck.
Hunter’s hands found your waist and as he stared into your eyes, he saw that that hint of possessiveness hadn’t left yet, and he realised it wasn’t necessarily just the woman he had to worry about.
“She was trying to take something that wasn’t hers.” You said as your hands threaded themselves in his hair. You pulled on it and brought his lips down, so they were mere inches from yours.
Hunter had to bite back the groan that threatened to leave his mouth and instead he tightened his hold on your waist. “We can’t… not here.” He managed to rasp out.
“See, I think it should be here. How else are people going to know that you’re mine?” You purred as you moved your lips to his ear before you bit down on his neck, using your tongue to sooth the sting of it.
“Fuck.” Hunter hissed out and he had to grab the counter so as to stay upright.
“Did you like talking to her?” You continued to whisper as you kissed along his jaw.
“No.” He replied hoarsely. His brain was having to work overtime to form even the simplest of words.
“You didn’t leave.” You murmured as you traced your lips over his. You took them away as you saw him go to make something more of it. “Why didn’t you leave?” You asked again, your hand trailing up and down his chest- thankful that they’d all decided they could take a break tonight since his armour would’ve made this difficult- whilst you sucked a mark on his pulse point.
Hunter’s head fell back, and it took all the willpower he possessed not to let out a moan. “Didn’t- Maker- didn’t want to be- Fucking hell- rude.” He ground out as your lips and tongue continued to do things to his neck that left him unable to think straight.
“If there’s a next time, Sergeant…” You crooned, bringing his head back up. “Be rude.” You whispered before kissing him once more, gently biting his lip and relishing in the way he couldn’t keep it together anymore as you heard him groan and hold you tightly to him.
“Oi, you two! This is a public space. Do that in your own place!”
Hunter snapped back to the current moment. He broke away and he saw Cid standing behind you.
You didn’t seem bothered at all. “We will.” You said simply as you took Hunter’s hand and led him out the bar.
All Hunter could do was follow you, too hooked on whatever it was you were acting like to argue or even really think.
--
The others had turned away from the moment that was unfolding between the two of you now, but Wrecker handed the credits over to Echo and Tech.
Echo heard Cid shout and risked a glance over his shoulder and as he saw you lead Hunter out, he guessed they’d be banned from the Marauder for a while. He sighed.
Tech and Wrecker stopped their conversation and followed Echo’s gaze.
“Ah.” Tech said plainly.
“Guess we’re going to be here a while.” Wrecker grumbled.
--
Hunter watched as you laughed at whatever it was Gregor had said. He wasn’t that funny. His jaw went tight as he saw the way Gregor placed a quick hand on your back. He felt that cold stab of jealousy, something he thought he’d risen above since he knew that it was really nothing more than friendly banter between the two of you, you’d told him as much and he trusted you. Plus, Gregor was a brother, and he was doing what brothers do which was very successfully winding him up and Hunter knew he should’ve been better at ignoring it. But seeing the flirtatious repartee come so easily to Gregor and watching him lean in closer to you was doing enough so that the primal feeling of possessiveness was able to take over his brain.
He got up as he saw you pass the table and followed you as you headed into Cid’s office.
--
Echo, Tech, and Wrecker watched from another table as you picked up your communicator and gently nudged Gregor out of your path, making your way out of the bar. Their eyes then fell to Hunter, who stood upon seeing you leave and followed you out of the room. The scene was all too familiar, and they all shared a knowing look as the deja vu settled over them.
“Who knew he could get jealous too.” Wrecker said. “I figured he’d be better than that.”
“Not with her, he’s always had an issue with Gregor. He flirts with her. It’s innocent enough but it gets to him.” Echo said.
“Yeah. Remember when Gregor brought her those flowers? Hunter didn’t leave her side the entire day.” Tech reminded Wrecker.
Wrecker nodded his head in agreement as he remembered.
“Hey fellas.” Gregor said as he sat down next to Wrecker. “Where’s the Sergeant?”
“No idea.” They all said together, and they were thankful that Omega was out running errands with Cid.
--
You finished finding those datapads Cid had asked you to bring to her but just as you were turning to leave, you felt Hunter’s presence but before you could say anything, he’d whirled you around and brought his lips to yours. It was the kind of kiss that took your breath away and left your head spinning as he pulled away. Gathering yourself, you put the datapads down and stared at him as he kept a firm grip of your waist. “What was that for?”
Hunter didn’t answer. He just kissed you again and tangled his fingers in your hair.
You felt it then. You felt the possessiveness that was flowing through him, and this kiss definitely had that in it. It was rough but it felt really fucking good. You just didn’t know what had set this off. What’s going on? You managed to send as you kissed him back just as eagerly.
“I never like it when he flirts with you.” Hunter muttered as he followed your jawline with his lips.
Letting out a happy sigh, you tilted your head back and let him explore your neck. “Who? Gregor?” You watched as his gaze met yours and you nearly let out a groan at the sight. His eyes were dark, and he was breathing heavily. “He’s harmless.” You managed to say, though it was a struggle.
“He wants you and I don’t like what that does to me.” Hunter growled as he kissed you again and pressed himself tighter to you.
“What if I like what it does to you?” You whispered breathlessly as you broke away, a coy smile on your lips as you leaned forward.
No. He wasn’t going to let you turn this one around. It was his turn now. “I don’t like people coming for what’s mine.”
The guttural way he said that had tingles running down your spine and your toes curled as he made his own mark on you. You’re lucky I love you, had that come from anyone else, I’d have kicked their ass.
“I must not be doing a very good job if you’re still able to find a way to speak.” With that, he kissed you again and he tugged on your lip, delighting in the way your breathing hitched as he did that. He grabbed the backs of your thighs and picked you up and carried you over to the edge of Cid’s desk.
You were grateful that the mission you’d been on had been tamer and involved blending in because if he was wearing his armour right now, you wouldn’t have been able to grab fistfuls of his shirt to hold him close to you.
Hunter brought his lips back to your neck. “Do you like it when he flirts with you?” He rumbled against your skin whilst his hand began to steadily trail a path along the inside of your thigh.
You couldn’t help the moan that left your mouth, but you stopped his hand from going any higher. “Someone could-” You broke off with another groan as he bit the sensitive spot just behind your ear before he cooled the sting of it with his tongue. “Walk in.” You said, your voice hoarse with effort.
“Maybe that’s what I want.” Hunter crooned. “Maybe Gregor should see who you’re with so he could get the message that you’re mine.” He kissed you again before he repeated his question, “Do you like it when he flirts with you?” He needed you as speechless as he was when you were this way, so he made another mark on the junction where your neck and shoulder met.
“Fuck!” You couldn’t help but shout and you removed your grip on his wrist since you needed both hands to keep yourself upright.
“Answer me.” Hunter ordered as he slowly continued to move his hand upwards.
Right. Words. Come on. “I-um- shit-” His teasing touches were killing you. “No. I’m just being nice.” You managed gasp out as your head fell back.
“Hmm.” Hunter stopped just before he reached where he knew you were wanting him. He grabbed the back of your neck so that you were forced to look at him.
You could barely keep your breathing under control. You’d never seen him like this, and you were scared by how much you were loving it. You found the edges of his shirt and found that all worries of being discovered were rapidly leaving you.
“If I went higher, what I would find there, would that be because of me or because of Gregor?” He hummed against your lips as he moved his fingers in small circles at the juncture of your thigh.
You could only moan in reply and your head fell into the crook of his neck.
Hunter paused what he was doing, pleased that you were as wrecked as you’d made him.
“You.” You croaked out as you felt him stop. “Please, Hunter.” He’d reduced you to a begging mess, but you were too far gone to care. “It’s only you. I’m just being nice. I’m yours. Please just-”
Your words sent him over the edge, and he kissed you hungrily.
You were about to lift his shirt over his head when the office door opened.
“Kriffing hell! Not my office!”
You pushed Hunter away and jumped down from Cid’s desk and you wanted to curl up on the floor and die but Hunter… he looked cool as can be.
“You two, out!” Cid yelled, shooing you out the door.
“The datapads are there.” You said sheepishly as you pointed to the small pile on the end of her desk.
“Well, now I know why you never brought them to me.” Cid snapped. “What if it was the kid instead of me?”
“It wasn’t.” Hunter replied breezily as he re-entered the bar.
You glanced at him, confused as to how he could answer so casually, but then you saw the look on his face, and you could feel that he wasn’t done with you yet and the thought sent a thrill through your veins.
Hunter snaked an arm around your waist and began to hurry you out the parlour.
“Ready to hear the rest?”
You stopped and turned to face Gregor. Hunter’s arm had wrapped itself around your front and he was pressed into your back. “Not right now but yeah, Gregor, you can finish that story later tonight.” You let out a small yelp as you felt Hunter nip the back of your neck. “Tomorrow. Can talk tomorrow.” You corrected quickly and you let Hunter push you out the parlour.
Neither of you had noticed Omega squashed between Wrecker and Gregor.
“Um…” Wrecker said.
“I know, I know. ‘We’ll tell you when you’re older.’” Omega said grumpily as she crossed her arms and slouched.
“Just don’t go to the ship tonight. I think we gotta crash here.” Echo said.
“Those two…” Cid came in shaking her head.
“Hey, we gotta live with them.” Wrecker pointed out.
“So long as we don’t get our timings mixed up, we should be fine.” Tech said.
“We can only hope.” Echo muttered.
Masterlist
Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy​, @tpwkcalli​, @fuckoffthanos​, @arctrooper69​ @graciexmarvel​, @flyingkangaroo​, @nightmonkeysstuff​, @a-streakofazure​, @ladytano420​, @dragonrider9905​, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf​, @yyourmotherr​, @xxeiraxx​
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tj-dragonblade · 1 year
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FLUFFBRUARY 2023: Feb 4
Prompts: daydream snow rest
On AO3
"What's wrong, love?"
Dream glanced again at the table across the pub, off to Hob's right, and his expression soured a little further. "That student is. Daydreaming, of me."
Oh? Curious, Hob snuck a surreptitious look; there was a young person at the table in question with books and papers spread around them, doing schoolwork to all appearances, but apparently their focus was not so single-minded as it might appear.
He looked back to Dream. "No harm in that, is there? Unless." He frowned. "Are they imagining violence?"
"No. They perceive my form as pleasing, and they would imagine themselves my lover."
Ah. "Don't tell me you're offended that a lowly mortal dares dream of one such as you?" He was joking, mostly, poking at wounds far enough in the past that he could lend them a little levity, but also he couldn't be entirely sure that wasn't why Dream looked so broody.
But Dream shook his head, a spare movement to one side and back. "It is not...offense. These thoughts are private so far as they know, and it would be a poor thing indeed, to. Police, the fantasies of others."
"Then what is it, dove?"
"...I would not enjoy it, the way they dream of touching me. The things they wish to do with me. And it is...discomfiting, to be subjected to it."
That made sense, actually, though Hob couldn't say he'd ever thought of it before. "So is it, ah...discomfiting, when you catch wind of my daydreams?"
The corner of Dream's mouth tilted up. "No, Hob. Yours are welcome; yours are pleasing. I wish to share intimacy with you, and you are well acquainted with the many ways that I enjoy it."
"So mostly it's because they're a stranger, but having, ah. Extremely familiar thoughts about you?"
"...Yes."
"Can't you just, I don't know, cut it off? Take it away? Make them stop?"
Dream frowned. "It would be an egregious abuse of my duty, to banish a daydream simply because I mislike it." Unspoken was the implication that once upon a time he would not have hesitated, but he was trying to be better these days.
Hob nodded in sympathy. "Want to get out of here, then?"
Dream, surprisingly, again shook his head. "This is our tradition, Hob. I would not give it up simply because I am uncomfortable."
No matter how often they were seeing one another these days, June 7th they always met here at their table in the New Inn (every year, now!), a standing date in honor of their history. Hob was absurdly touched that Dream counted that the most important factor at the moment. He smiled, slow and warm, all the love he held for this marvelous creature before him curling soft in his chest. "Well." He reached to touch Dream's hand across the table between them, light and affectionate, curling their fingers together. He rested his chin in his other hand, elbow propped on the table, and gazed at Dream with half-lidded eyes. "I guess I'll just have to distract you, then."
Dream arched an eyebrow, his expression shifting into something that Hob would've labeled 'resignedly curious'. Probably thought Hob meant to out-sexy the stranger across the pub. Well, hah. Hob knew how to read a room, thank you very much, and he could tell that would not be the most effective approach right now.
He settled into his own mind, collecting himself to craft a proper daydream. Idle thoughts and fleeting images weren't enough; it had to be spun with focus for Dream to see it easily. So he focused—on the slender hand clasped in his, the crystal blue eyes watching him—and he imagined.
The day was warm out, a bit muggy, and the fans were struggling to make a difference, so...maybe something completely opposite, then. A nice cozy little cabin, tucked away in the mountains, snowed in and secluded. A cheery fire, burning bright in the hearth. A plush sofa, big enough and soft enough that he could snuggle back into the corner of it with his legs up along the length and Dream nestled in between them, back to chest. An anthology book in his hand, semi-forgotten, as Dream told him about how the stories within had been conceived and written and brought into being. A quiet evening resting in each other's company, Hob listening spellbound to Dream waxing rhapsodic about these aspects of his duty that he loved best.
Hob blinked, keeping the daydream active in the back of his mind as he focused on Dream before him again.
Dream was staring at him, eyes shining and red-rimmed, mouth curving up in a brilliant-if-slightly-watery smile. "Hob." He squeezed Hob's hand gently.
Hob squeezed in return. "Better?"
Miraculously, Dream's pending tears stayed put through a fluttering blink. "Yes. Thank you."
Hob smiled softly, brushed his thumb over the back of Dream's knuckles. "'Course, dove. Anytime."
And in the daydream, he threaded his fingers through Dream's hair to keep him close against his chest, bowed to press a tender kiss to the crown of Dream's head, basking in the warmth of the moment shared.
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balanceingrace · 1 year
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Marked Up
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A little celebratory one-shot was needed after the Jets game. As always, let me know what you think!
“Fucking finally,” you said out loud, turning to high-five Joe’s parents. After an absolutely soul-crushing 0-2 start to the season, the tide had turned and the Bengals had notched their first win against the Jets. Despite being high up in the stands of MetLife, you could see the grin on Joe’s face; his eyes crinkling with what could only be described as pure joy.
“Come on, let’s go congratulate our guy.” Robin led the three of you down to field level where you waited patiently for Joe to wrap up with one of the sideline reporters. “He looks so happy,” you sighed, leaning on Robin’s shoulder. “Yeah. He does. I’m sure he’s so relieved-as are you,” she mused.
“Boy am I. Wasn’t worried about them eventually getting it together but I knew it was weighing heavily on him,” you frowned. The truth was, part of you had been slightly concerned they weren’t going to get on a roll, but most of your fears were centered around Joe and his still-recovering body. 
“There he is!” Jimmy pulled Joe into his arms and the pair shared a quiet father/son moment before Joe broke away to hug Robin. You stood back against the tunnel wall until it was your turn to greet Joe, unable to contain the little squeal of excitement that fell from your lips. 
“I’m so proud of you baby. You looked great out there!” Rocking back and forth in Joe’s arms, you pecked him a few times on the lips while he beamed. “Thanks. It felt really good today. It was different,” he shrugged, about to open his mouth to say something else when his dad interrupted.  “We’re gonna head out so we can get to the hotel before the crowds descend. See you guys in a little bit?” 
You two said quick goodbyes to Joe’s parents and made your way over to the entrance of the visitors locker room. “I’ve gotta go hose off really fast before my presser. Can you just wait in the back for me and then we can leave together?” Joe’s voice was soft as he held your hand, nodding behind you towards the cramped room where he’d make his remarks. 
“Sure. Give me one more kiss before you go,” you smiled, snaking your arms around his neck. Capturing Joe’s lips with yours, you broke away only to tell him once more how proud you were before leaving a small love bite on his neck. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” you winked, turning on your heels to go wait for him.
You quietly slipped into the back of the makeshift press room, while Zac wrapped up his final question. There was a flurry of motion on the right and you knew that Joe would be making his way to the podium shortly. With a few final follow-ups, Zac was done, pulling you into a half-hug on his way out of the room while Joe made his way up.
His hair was still wet from his shower and the sleeves of his jacket made an awful rustle in the microphone that he jokingly apologized for. There was a levity in the atmosphere that had been missing the past few weeks; the “fun” part of football that Joe had been looking for had returned and his mood was light as he started answering questions.
At first you thought the humid New Jersey air was what had you sweating. It had rained lightly and when combined with the 90 degree temperature, you were left a sticky mess.
But soon there was a weird tingle in your stomach that developed while watching Joe banter back and forth with the reporter from The Enquirer, each sly smile and subtle grip of the podium getting you more and more giddy. Calm down, you told yourself, he’s not even looking at you weirdo.
Just as that thought crossed your mind, he turned in your general direction; his eyes twinkling the second he spotted you in the now slightly damp and clingy sundress you’d opted for. Though he was answering a question that came from the back of the room, he never broke eye contact with you, and you felt your face flush when he shot you a wink before turning back around.
Within a few minutes, he was done, his long legs practically springing off the daïs and motioning to you to meet him in the dark hallway off the room. The lights were all almost turned off so at first you didn’t see where he had disappeared to until you heard your name being called.
“Come here,” he whispered, dragging you down what looked to be a loading dock. “Joe, we probably shouldn’t be back here,” you giggled, confused as to where he was leading you to. He tried one door at the end of the hall and it was open; yanking you into it before anyone could see you two.
“Why are we in a supply closet?” You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips as a set of old pads fell down off a shelf, narrowly missing Joe. “Have I mentioned how much I love this dress?” He asked, his hands instantly sliding up your thighs. “Only every time I wear it,” you responded, moaning at the feeling of Joe’s lips on your clavicle.
“The guys gave me a bunch of shit for this hickey you left me with when I went back into the locker room.” Joe feigned an angry face and kissed a path up your neck, just stopping below your ear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Burrow. That’s a bruise from some hit you took. That had nothing to do with me,” you shrugged, failing miserably to ignore the throb developing between your legs. “You and I both know that’s a lie. I think you kinda owe me for how much I got teased earlier,” Joe smirked. 
“Hmm. Depends on what the payback is,” you retorted, palming his growing bulge gently. “I think you’ll be very open to this negotiation…” Joe’s voice trailed off as he slipped his hand between your legs, his grin widening at the pool of wetness he discovered.
“Will I get credit for time served?” You asked, slyly unbuttoning Joe’s jeans. “What’s time serve—“ Joe didn't finish his sentence as you had dropped to your knees and taken him in your mouth, the tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hands instinctively tangled in your hair while you ran your tongue along the veiny underside of his cock, each small graze of your teeth causing him to jump.
Gagging slightly, you bobbed up and down on his dick, massaging his balls with your free hand. After a few minutes of Joe’s pelvis involuntarily bucking into your face, you pulled off of him with a pop; wiping the mess of saliva off of your mouth and grinning. “Was that sufficient penance for that hickey?”
Shaking his head sternly, Joe helped you up off of the floor and turned you around; bending you over a blocking bag. “We are nowhere near even baby,” he whispered, hiking your dress up over your ass and rubbing the tip of his dick over your soaking folds. You couldn’t stop your back from arching at the feeling, almost embarrassed by your needy response. 
Firmly gripping your behind, Joe slid all the way in, cursing under his breath from the fluttering of your walls around him. Leaning forward to suck on the delicate skin right under your ear, the only sounds in the equipment room were of his thrusts; each one harder than the last. 
You tried your best to match each of his movements but couldn’t due the hours of drinking in the heat. Joe’s broad hand came down and smacked your ass periodically, snapping you out of the temporary trance you found yourself in every time. “You’re being such a good girl for me,” he hissed, dropping his fingers to your dripping core and drawing small circles around your clit. 
“Joe, I’m really close,” you croaked. That was the only cue Joe needed to speed up the combination of his hands and cock; his thrusts unrelenting until he felt you clamp down hard on his member. Joe’s hand instantly covered your mouth to muffle the scream your orgasm brought and it took no time at all for his own climax to come, his head spinning as he released into you. 
The two of you carefully separated and you dug around your purse for something to clean yourself up with. Joe sat back cockily and watched you adjust your dress before holding out his hand. “Now we are even,” he chortled, peaking out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear. 
“I’m afraid to see what monstrosity you've left me with,” you muttered, placing a quick kiss on Joe’s cheek as you two walked back to the hotel. “It’s really not that bad,” Joe replied, studying the slight bruise on your neck. Riffling around for your compact, your eyes widened with horror when you saw the bright purple hickey Joe had gifted you. 
“Burrow, I’m going to throttle you! This is 10 times worse than that little pink thing you have! How am I going to face your parents?” Cocking his head to the side, Joe wrapped his arm around your shoulders and laughed. “Honestly, they’ve seen worse on you.”
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bradshawsbaby · 1 year
Text
Letters to My Love // Part III
Blue Moon
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Series Masterlist
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: 2.8k
Author’s Note: I’m making a serious effort to be as historically accurate as possible in each of these letters, but I also realize that I may reference things that some people are unfamiliar with or confused about. I’d be happy to answer any questions about the time period if you have them!
Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!
Song(s) referenced in this chapter: Chattanooga Choo Choo // Blue Moon
Dedication: As always, dedicated to my sweet friend, @luminousnotmatter​, as well as everyone who has offered such lovely support for this series!
Warnings: Alternating POV, references to war and its impact, allusions to rationing, plenty of fluff.
July 6, 1942
Dear Peach,
Is it alright if I call you Peach? I suppose being in and around the Navy for as long as I have, I’ve become sort of used to the notion of nicknames. We’ve got one for everyone around here, and Peach just seems to suit you. I admit, it’s how I’ve come to think of you. But if you don’t like it—or if it seems too familiar for me to be calling you a silly nickname—you let me know right away and I’ll be sure not to do it again.
Gosh, I can’t tell you how happy it made me to receive your letter. Mail Call is always a good day—you should see the smiles around here when the fellas get letters from their sweethearts and families. But it felt a hundred times better the day I got your letter. Benny was about ready to tear it out of my hands and open it himself, and Tommy Boy wasn’t too far behind. Paul practically had to knock their heads together so that I could have a little peace. I kept it in my pocket and saved it to read until after dinner that night. Let me tell you, it was certainly sweeter than any dessert they could cook up in the mess (although, admittedly, their dessert could use some work, even on a good day).
I’m sorry that it took me so long to write back. You wouldn’t believe this, Peach, but they’ve really got us working hard over here. It’s almost like there’s a war on or something.
I’m sorry, was that a terrible thing to say? I don’t mean to make light of it. None of us do. But I think we’ve found that if we look for a little bit of levity every now and then, it makes this whole thing a bit easier to bear. We haven’t been here long, but we’ve already seen and heard things we’d rather not remember. So we look for the good where we can find it—like Mail Call, when we get special letters from lovely girls back home, just like you.
To answer your question, I’m doing just fine. I suppose I won’t try to get one past the Office of Censorship this time around, but we’re still in the same region of Europe and expect to be so for the foreseeable future. I wish that I could paint you a beautiful picture of what life is like here, but it’s rather bleak at the moment. You can still see the pockets of beauty though—I’m sure it was a wonderful place before this war. I hope that one day, it will be again.
But I’m sure you don’t want to hear me ramble on about the sad state of the world right now. Should we talk about something happier? How was your Fourth of July? I hope it was swell. I admit, my mouth was watering a bit the other day when I thought about all the things my mother always makes to celebrate. I’ll never know how she manages to get it all done, but she prepares a feast for us every year. My favorite part has to be her apple cobbler—drop a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, and I swear, it’s heaven. All of us were missing home a little extra this Independence Day, so we ended up swapping stories of home and all the ways our families celebrate. I have to say, it did help to dull some of the homesickness. Tommy Boy had us all dreaming about parades marching through town, and Benny couldn’t stop talking about his mother’s berry icebox cake. We made him promise that when this is all over, he’ll have us as dinner guests so that we can sample it for ourselves. Do you have any special Fourth of July traditions?
Speaking of families and traditions, I’m so glad to hear that Paddy, Dottie, and little Frankie are doing well. Although I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your sister, from everything you’ve told me, it does sound like Paddy has found his perfect match. She sounds like a woman who can certainly keep him on his toes. By the way, please let Paddy know that we all played a rousing game of Rummy in his honor. We look forward to getting to play with him again when we get home.
Gosh, there’s just so much I want to say. But it’s kind of hard, isn’t it? Knowing the right things to say, I mean. I’ve always been kind of amazed at how eloquent people’s letters can be. Mine sort of just end up coming out like a jumbled mess. It’s like I want to tell you everything that crosses my mind—as if we were sitting on that bench together on King Street—but I can’t think of a proper way to do it. So I apologize now if this letter is horribly scatter-brained and messy. I’ll try my very best to be more organized in the future.
What I do have to tell you—and I should have said it earlier—is how much I appreciated your lovely description of your day back in Charleston. Unfortunately, it was rainy and gray here the day I received your letter, but reading your words made it feel as though the warm southern sunshine had been delivered right to us. I hope you don’t mind, but I read that part of your letter to some of the other fellas. They really appreciated it. They’re also very grateful to know that you’re thinking of us and wishing us all the best. So am I. It gives us the boost we need when the days get hard.
Nothing would make me happier than the thought of you saving a dance for me. Maybe next time, I’ll even get to hear that pretty singing voice of yours. I know you said I couldn’t be certain that you were a good singer because you were just humming, but trust me—I know. We listen to music over here sometimes when we’re able, but I do admit it’d be much more fun to be listening to it at another USO dance. Sometimes I’ll hear a song that played that night, and it makes me smile.
Anyway, they’re calling us now, and I should probably stop running my mouth so much. It’s funny—I’ve never been much of a talker (just ask Paul), but with you, I feel like I could write pages and pages, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
I hope this letter hasn’t bored you to tears, and I do hope to hear from you again soon. Thanks for sending along the sunshine.
Sincerely Yours,
Bobby
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July 22, 1942
Dear Bobby,
Peach is just fine! It’s lovely, in fact. I’ve never had a nickname just for me before, so that one makes me feel quite special. On top of that, it’s also officially Dottie-approved. She insists she only happened to glance over and “accidentally” catch sight of the beginning of your letter, but I think she may have just been snooping. See? I told you she’d get on wonderfully with Benny and Tommy Boy.
Mail Call sounds like a wonderful day for all of you. The USO has been reminding us how important letter writing can be. They’ve been saying how much it boosts morale for our boys overseas, and clearly they were right. I’m touched that my letter seemed to mean so much. If it really does brighten your day, then I’d be happy to write hundreds of letters. I’m not so sure my words are really sweeter than ice cream or pie, but I will try my hardest.
You don’t have to apologize! I can only begin to imagine what it must be like for you over there. As happy as I am to receive your letters and to know that you’re doing alright, I understand that it may take a while for you to be able to write me. And you most certainly don’t need to apologize for trying to do what you can to preserve your peace of mind. My heart breaks to think what you and your friends, and all the other men over there fighting, have already seen and experienced. They say war is hell, and I absolutely believe it. I could never dream of being even half as brave as you are, Bobby. I mean that. If your heart ever feels heavy with all the burdens you have to carry, please know that you can lay it down with me. I’m more than happy to listen. I know that I won’t have all the answers—who does?—but I’ll always try my hardest to help you carry the load as best I can.
I’ve never been to Europe before, but my parents went to Paris for their honeymoon back in 1916, and my mother still talks about how beautiful and magical it was. It makes me so sad to think that countries that were once so full of life and art and beauty and culture have been reduced to war-torn husks. Like you, I have hope that one day very soon, this horrible war will be behind us and all those wonderful places will be filled with magic once more. And maybe one day in the future, I’ll get to travel there. I’d like that very much.
My Fourth of July was very nice! I have to admit, reading about your mother’s apple cobbler and Benny’s mother’s icebox cake had MY mouth watering. There must just be something about mothers because my mama also LOVES baking up a storm to celebrate Independence Day. One of her favorite desserts to make is—can you believe it?—peach tarts! Maybe we can convince our mothers to swap recipes.
This is the first Fourth of July that I haven’t celebrated with my parents back home in Georgia, but Paddy, Dottie, Frankie, and I had a wonderful day. It was Frankie’s first, so we took him to the parade in town, though I think he would have been more than happy to stay home. Poor baby is teething, and he’s been downright miserable some days. I’m sure Paul knows what that’s like, and I’m sure Natasha is dealing with the same with Paul, Jr. right now. It’s hard to watch him suffer—I know it just about kills Dottie.
Speaking of Dottie, she was rather upset that her baking plans got a bit derailed by our ration cards. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but sugar is being rationed now. We pooled together as many ration cards as we could save, but there’s been such a demand for it that there was hardly any to be found. We settled on a simple pound cake with strawberries, which Dottie wasn’t happy about, but Paddy made sure to cheer her up by making a big show about how it was the best pound cake he’d ever tasted. Personally, I do think it could have used more sugar, but please don’t tell Dottie that I said that.
Thankfully, Frankie took a good nap that day, so he was in much better spirits by the time the fireworks went off. We went down by the water to watch them, and he was mesmerized. I enjoyed them, too, but it felt sort of strange to be having such a nice day when I thought of you and all the other men who have gone off to fight for us. It felt wrong somehow to be celebrating as though there wasn’t a terrible war waging halfway across the world, a war that’s been taking more and more of our men every day. But Paddy helped to put it into perspective for me slightly. He said that the men who are over there fighting—men like you, Bobby—are doing so precisely so that the rest of us can enjoy these freedoms. He said that, if it were him, he’d be happy to know that we were safe and still getting the chance to celebrate our independence. Was he right, Bobby? I hope it doesn’t feel like rubbing salt in a wound, me telling you about our Fourth of July.
Can I tell you something? I think Paddy’s been having a hard time wrestling with the fact that his job allows him to remain stateside during the war. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I heard him and Dottie sitting up in the kitchen one night, talking. I think he feels a bit guilty, being a part of the Navy, but not having to go fight the same way you all are. Dottie has been trying so hard to reassure him, but I noticed that he’s been working even longer hours now—he wants to do whatever he can for the war effort, and to help bring you boys home as quickly as he can. That’s what we’re all hoping for.
I have to admit, I giggled a little bit when I read the part of your letter about feeling like what you write is a jumbled mess. I feel the same. It’s a little tricky to have a conversation on paper, isn’t it? It’s much easier when you’re sitting face to face. Tell you what? I’ll forgive your messiness, if you forgive mine. Does that sound like a deal?
Oh, I’m so glad to hear that the talk of sunshine made you happy, even on a gray and rainy day. And I’m happy that your friends enjoyed it, too. Would you say hello to Paul for me? I’m not sure if he even remembers me, but I’m still so grateful for his kindness at the dance. Maybe say hi to Tommy Boy and Benny for me, too? Even though I haven’t met them officially, I feel like I know them so well through your stories about them.
I’m not sure about where you are, but it’s brutally hot here in Charleston now. Still sunny though, so I’m picturing scooping some of it up and sending it your way. Unless we have errands to run, Dottie and I have been staying mainly inside with the baby. I know we’re supposed to be conserving as much power as possible, but Dottie doesn’t care a fig if there’s a war on when it’s this hot—she’s got all the fans running on full blast. I hope wherever you are, you’re able to keep cool.
I have to say, Ensign Floyd, you really are going to give me a big head one of these days. I assure you that I am not as talented a singer as you seem to think I am, but perhaps I’d be willing to sing along to one song at the next dance we attend. But you have to promise not to laugh when you discover I’m terrible at it. Humming, I promise you, is very different from singing.
Now that I’m on the topic of music, however, I wanted to mention that every time Dottie puts on one of her Glenn Miller records, I think of you and your mother. I know you said she was a big Glenn Miller fan, and I like to think that maybe somewhere in Iowa, she’s listening to “Chattanooga Choo Choo,” same as us.
Just last night, while we were cleaning the kitchen, Dottie and I were listening to the radio and “Blue Moon” came on. Do you know that one? The Al Bowlly song? I think he has such a lovely voice. Anyway, I was listening to the song while I was washing the dishes and it got me thinking about the moon. Gosh, that sounds so silly now that I actually write it out. But it’s true. I was thinking about the moon, and it struck me that the moon that was shining down on me was the same moon that was shining down on you. Even though I don’t even know exactly where in the world you are, when I look up at the moon at night, I can be sure that it’s the very same moon that you’re looking at. I don’t know, maybe it’s silly, but it kind of brought me some comfort. Does that sound horribly hokey? I’m sorry if it does. Maybe if it doesn’t strike you as too terribly sentimental, you can share it with Paul the next time he’s feeling down about missing Natasha and the kids. This war might be keeping us all apart, but at night, when we look up at the moon, we can remember that we’re not so far apart as it seems.
Your letter certainly didn’t bore me to tears, Bobby. On the contrary, it made my day. Now I just hope that MY letter doesn’t bore YOU to tears. Maybe when all this is over, you and I will feel more confident in our letter-writing abilities. I certainly do hope that’s the case.
Stay safe, Bobby. Sending you all my very best.
Sincerely,
Peach
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ramrage · 3 months
Text
ghost’s ghost
chapter 5: the funeral
work rating: T
chapter rating: T
relationship: John “Soap” MacTavish x Simon “Ghost” Riley”
characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley”, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo
tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Main Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Ghost John “Soap” MacTavish, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Dark Crack, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Changing Tenses, Not (always) chronological
ao3 link
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
They were awake at daybreak the following morning, mainly because the uneasy silence blanketing the mattress, blanketing the whole room, made it difficult to sleep. The little psychological progress they’d made the night prior was just that: little. 
 
“We need to get ready,” Simon said after checking the clock again, and not for the last time. 
 
Johnny stayed put, thinking. After a moment, he heaved himself up. “I suppose you’re right.”
 
“‘Course. I tend to be.”
 
Johnny watched as Simon straightened out the finishing bits and bobs of his dress uniform. He’d wash up if he could, show up to his own funeral looking sharp, but the best he could manage with the limitations was stripping off his bulkier bits of kit and, with his spit and shirt as a washrag, scrape away some of the blood caked to the side of his head. 
 
He glanced over his shoulder as he gave a particularly nasty bit of persuasion, and snorted a laugh. “Lookin’ like a knob, Lt.”
 
Simon rolled his eyes. “What can I say? You inspired me, Johnny.”
 
“Haud yer—“ Johnny began, and then laughed the hardest he had since everything went to shit the night before. “Hey.”
 
Simon stilled his hands and met the meaningful look in Johnny’s eyes. Not that he had much a choice to do otherwise since the wiseass decided to stand between him and the mirror. 
 
“Thank you,” Johnny said, nodding solidly to put feeling to the statement that words and intonation alone couldn’t. Even that fell short.
 
“For indirectly calling you a knob?” Simon asked, seeing as clearly as he ever had. 
 
The clarity crept free from the mire, like sun from behind the dying overcast.
 
“Yeah.”
 
The exchange felt related, somehow, to the loaded glances they used to share, and to the unambiguously-worded conversations they never did and never would bother with. Struck through the very center by a common thread. Understanding in code.
 
Several minutes into the funeral mass, Simon was wondering if something got lost in translation somehow.
 
They’d proceeded into the church nice and easy, measured. No more cocky jokes, or rather, not quite as many. After all, Johnny had an apparent allergy to shutting the fuck up. The levity would be welcomed if it didn’t have Simon fighting laughter throughout his lover’s (?) funeral mass.
 
Everyone would be fighting laughter, too, if only they could hear Johnny’s ongoing commentary on his own funeral. But they couldn’t, for better or for worse. 
 
“Ah, pack it in, Aunt Midge,” Johnny groaned, and then adding in a whispered aside, as if any unwelcome ears could be listening in, “Insufferable old cunt. I’m sure she’s upset and all, but more than anything, the rocket’s glad to have the attention.” 
 
He then cups his hands around his mouth to shout “too bad no one fucken cares!”
 
Simon couldn’t help but burst out laughing. How fucking absurd and awful everything was. What a fucking joke. He caught it quickly, but it was still too late. The whole parish had its eyes on him. The man next to him looked particularly perturbed—and pissed—and maybe out of real concern or plain desire to show everyone they weren’t associated, he hissed to Simon “now, the hell is wrong with you, lad?”
 
Simon ignored Johnny as he phantasmically pointed and laughed. He deadpanned, “I’ve gone mad with grief”
 
The man sobered pretty quickly at that. “Uh, awright then. Sorry, lad”
 
Simon spent the rest of the mass muttering into his hands as if in prayer, telling Johnny to shut the hell up in the only way they could manage. It was funny, but then the organist started up on a rousing rendition of Ave Maria.
 
“It fucking gets me every time, damn,” Johnny laughed, but also cried. Simon wanted to hold him, make it better, but there wasn’t much point in trying. The best they had by way of physical comfort was Johnny taking Simon’s outstretched and empty hand as the parish joined to recite The Lord’s Prayer. 
 
Their hands passed through the others’ just as their bodies had on that first day, but the thought was comfort enough. But comfort enough could grow to become excruciating, given time.
 
But that time hadn’t happened yet, and when it did, they’d handle it then. They’d decided it, though they hadn’t said the words.
 
“Give us this day our daily bread”
One day at a time, darling.
”And forgive us our trespasses”
And when we fuck it up—
“as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
and we will, we can fix it together.

“And lead us not into temptation;”
So quit your fucking worrying—

“but deliver us from evil.”
Worrying won’t get us anywhere.

“For thine is the kingdom,”
You’re too pretty to be worrying like that, anyhow.

“the power and the glory,”
Shut the fuck up.

“for ever and ever.”
Aw, c’mon, you love it.
“Amen.”
No, I love you.
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sashaisready · 1 month
Text
The Blood Pact: Chapter 4 - The Mistake
Bucky Barnes Vampire AU x Female Reader
Reeling from a bad break-up, you're desperately trying to find a new place to live but the Brooklyn rental market is a complete nightmare. You take a chance on an intriguing newspaper ad and enquire about a room in a shared house, where you'd be living with two mysterious men. The catch is that they want something other than your money for you to pay the rent...the one thing they don't have.
Series Masterlist
Chapter 5
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The next day passed uneventfully. You had a strange moment in the middle of the night where you were sure someone was out in the hall standing outside your bedroom door, but you assumed you were half asleep and dreaming, so you settled back under your sheets.
Otherwise it was another day. You worked, listened to some music, cleaned up a little. You met your friend Nat for a long lunch (oops) and by the time you got home it was starting to get dark. You were dreading seeing Bucky later, but part of you wanted to clear the air. You checked that all of the shades were closed and went up to your room to answer some work emails before starting your dinner.
You were lost in your inbox when a knock on your door startled you. You checked behind the blind quickly, yep – sundown. You assumed it was Steve, sometimes after he woke up he liked to come and say hey on his way downstairs.
“Come on in, Steve” you called, not looking up from your screen.
The door opened but there was a pause, Steve didn’t greet you like he usually did.
“Hi” finally came a low voice. 
You jumped, your heart jumped too. Spinning in your chair to face him, you felt a tingling in your tummy when you saw him. Slightly dishevelled in grey sweats, but just as handsome as always. 
“Oh…hey” you replied. “Don’t normally see you in here unless you’re feeding…”
Bucky smiled thinly, his hand ran absentmindedly through his hair.
“I uh…came to apologise. For yesterday. I’m sorry, that was a mean prank. I won’t do anything like that again”. He sounded sincere, genuinely remorseful. 
Maybe…too remorseful.
“Is this a prank too?” you asked suspiciously, your eyes narrowing.
“What?” he barked, his brow furrowed.
“Is this another bit?” you accused.
“Fuck. No. I’m trying to be nice, actually” he said angrily.
“Clearly” you deadpanned.
Bucky sighed. “Look, can we just put it behind us? I’m genuinely sorry, okay? I nearly woke you up last night just to apologise. I could barely sleep this morning feeling so guilty about it. Especially on an empty stomach”.
You gasped. “Oh my god…”
“What??” he said incredulously.
“You’re so full of shit! You’re only being nice because you’re hungry and you’re trying to butter me up for a feed. Fuck! You almost had me…” you folded your arms in outrage, scoffing.
Bucky scoffed right back. “No I’m not! I was being genuine, actually. I was trying to explain how bad I felt…I wasn’t angling for dinner”.
You raised a brow and studied him. The tension between you was so thick you felt almost suffocated by it.
“Right…” you said cautiously.
“Right…” he responded with anger, refusing to break eye contact.
You stared at each other for a moment.
“So you’re not hungry then?”
“Obviously I’m hungry” he spat. You could see he was more on edge than usual. 
“Exactly” you smirked triumphantly. 
“That’s not why I’m here, though”.
“It’s not?”
“No”.
“So you don’t want a feed?”
He paused. “This feels like a trap…”
You laughed at that, rolling your eyes but grateful for the levity. 
“Fine. Get over here, asshole” you sighed as you moved onto the bed, tugging your shorts up and revealing your bare thigh.
His eyes flicked between your face and your leg as he remained perfectly still, clearly unsure if you were tricking him somehow.
“You coming? Or is refrigerated blood bag on the menu tonight?” you teased, further extending your leg across the bedspread tauntingly.
Bucky uttered a small noise of derision as he finally crossed the room and knelt down next to you on the bed.
“Most people don’t need to have a sparring match with their food” he mocked as he searched for a vein.
“Most people don’t have such charming food” you countered, shooting him a wink.
He rolled his eyes, but you thought you saw a spark of amusement in them.
You propped yourself against some pillows as Bucky lined his mouth up. Suddenly his icy fingers dug into your skin, making you jump.
“Hey…I really am sorry. Seriously” he told you sincerely, looking up at you as he held your leg.
You nodded. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I hit you. I…lost it a bit” you admitted awkwardly.
Bucky laughed. “I deserved it”.
You exchanged smiles and your anger towards him begin to dissipate. He was such a little shit. But man, you never got sick of seeing that smile. Partly because he mainly smirked or scowled at you. His smile, his real smile, was warm and comforting. Toothy and full. His nose got all scrunched up. It was maybe a little goofy, even. You’d do almost anything to have him smile at you like that.
Before you knew it he had sunk in, greedily lapping at you with none of the usual teasing. Your body jerked, surprised by the suddenness, but he was unfazed by your wriggling, holding you still in his firm grip. You allowed the haze to sweep over you. Even through the inebriated fuzz you realised he must be extra hungry, making up for lost time as he fed desperately from you. You felt the usual soar of pleasure through your body, moaning softly as you closed your eyes and let the cloud absorb you.
You’re not sure what came over you and you were barely aware you’d done it, but somehow your arm had moved. You lifted your hand and before you knew it you had slowly slid it higher, linking your fingers through Bucky’s bed hair and forming a gentle fist. 
He stopped suddenly, slowly turning his head to look up at you. His face was contorted in shock as your blood dripped down his chin. His eyes wide, pupils blown. He didn’t even look like himself. He looked…animal.
You were wrenched from your high as you realised what you’d done, quickly pulling your hand away from his hair as if you’d touched fire. You fell back down to earth with a huge crash.
“Oh God…I’m sorry” you whispered. “I don’t know why I-”
“Put it back” he demanded, his voice low and gruff. 
You nodded, dazedly obeying. You moved your shaking fingers back behind his head, gently hooking each one into his long hair.
He stared at you for a moment before nodding, smiling at you with his fangs bared. He returned to the wound, continuing to feast like nothing had happened. Your bliss returned and you sank back into the mattress. Now you ran your fingers through his hair as he fed, allowing the strands to wrap around your hand. You gingerly tried an experimental tug which made him moan softly, so you did it again. And again. 
You couldn’t believe how aroused you were. You knew it was wrong, you shouldn’t be getting off on being bitten by a vampire. But you couldn’t help yourself. The way it made you feel was all so intoxicating, so addictive.
Bucky finished up, pulling himself away from your thigh as you both turned to look at one another. He used his thumb to wipe away a rogue drop of blood from his mouth. You kept your hand resting in his hair, knowing you should stop but somehow unable to pull it away just yet. You just stared at each other, both breathing heavily. You felt a strong need to touch him, to hold him, unable to resist the pull towards him.
Bucky’s eyes searched your face. You wanted to speak but didn’t know what to say. You wanted to reach out and feel your skin against his, but didn’t know where you stood. 
Suddenly he lurched forward, his hand snaking around your chin. He pulled you towards him, his lips crashing against yours as he caught you in a bruising kiss. You kissed back, your tongue finding his as your hand tightened in his hair. You could taste the metallic shadow of your own blood on his lips, your heart fluttering with how sordid it all felt. 
His hands moved to your back, flipping you so that you lay beneath him as his kisses became more frantic. You pressed into him so tightly that no light could escape between you, your hips flush against his as you quietly mewled into his mouth. He moaned in return, a cold hand finding its way under your top as he glided up your torso. You could feel his hardness between your legs, and you urgently gyrated against him for any friction
A knock at your door was like a bomb going off.
“Hey, you okay in there?” Steve called from the other side.
Bucky leapt off of you so quickly that you gasped. Flustered and ruffled, you managed to sit up and switch your brain back on with enough power to respond. 
“Hi…yeah” your raspy voice betraying your lack of composure as you cleared your throat. “We’re uh…just finishing a feed. Be right down”.
Hopefully Steve just chalked your agitation up to the after effects of feeding.
“Okay, see you there” Steve replied. You heard his footsteps retreat down the stairs.
Bucky was on his feet, brushing himself down and running a hand through his hair to smooth where you’d mussed it. He turned to look at you and you stared back at him open mouthed, unsure of what to say. 
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then grabbed a fresh bandage and antiseptic wipe from his kit, handing them to you. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something, but after a few seconds he turned to the door and left without a word. 
You shot up off the bed, still a bit woozy from the feed and…well, the extra stuff. You ran a brush through your hair and checked yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks felt a little flushed, but that was pretty standard after a feed. 
Bucky fleeing didn’t exactly fill you with confidence, but you understood why he was freaked out. Wasn’t a particularly great idea, making out and grinding against your human food source. And it’s not like you could both talk it out with an oblivious Steve wandering around, always reminding Bucky about the importance of being ‘professional’ and respecting ‘boundaries’. But still, you couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by the rejection, even if you understood it. 
You sighed, cleaning your wound and quickly applying the bandage before pulling your shorts back in place and heading downstairs.
🩸
“What’s going on? I thought you two made up” Steve questioned, his attention alternating between the matching sullen faces of you and Bucky.
You took a bite of your dinner and kept your gaze on your plate. 
“We’re fine” Bucky said bluntly. “Aren’t we?” He turned to you.
You nodded, forcing a smile at both of them.
“Really?” Steve probed, clearly not buying it. 
“Yup. We talked it out. I had a feed. Nothing more to report. Water under the bridge” Bucky said, his tone detached.
“So why have you barely looked at one another all evening?” Asked Steve. 
You and Bucky made eye contact for the first time since he left your room. Both of you seemed to be telepathically willing the other to come up with some sort of decent excuse.
“Sorry, it’s probably my fault. I’m pretty tired. Not feeling super chatty. I might go to bed after this” you managed to smile, keeping your tone breezy. 
Steve nodded. “Maybe the earlier feed threw you off. We can stick to later ones if that helps”.
You nodded back. “Maybe, although I’ve definitely feeling less tired after them lately. Probably just an off day, no biggie”.
Steve seemed satisfied with your answer, but still looked a little suspicious. 
“Okay. But let’s keep an eye on it. Your health comes first”.
You just nodded and continued to eat, feeling Bucky’s penetrating stare bearing into you.
🩸
You laid in bed staring up at the dark ceiling. You couldn’t sleep, you just kept replaying the moment with Bucky over and over again. You thought about the way he’d looked at you when you grabbed his hair, the moans he made as you pulled on it, the way he had seized you so desperately and pulled you into your kiss. 
The truth was you didn’t know how you really felt about it, or how you felt about Bucky. You weren’t sure if it was just a strange vampire trance you were put in while he fed, to keep victims calm, maybe. But you didn’t feel anything like that with Steve. A bit dream-like perhaps, but nothing near the feelings of peace and euphoria you felt with Bucky. Nothing like the irresistible pull he had over you. 
Being intimate with him was a bad idea. You had a business arrangement, as Steve had rightly pointed out. It was weird enough that you fed him, adding sex into the mix would just make things even weirder. And sleeping with him would create a weird power dynamic that you didn’t like the sound of. You were staying under his roof, living rent free (practically). Sex would add a whole new dimension to that.
And it wasn’t like you could avoid him. Or he could avoid you. Unless he wanted to starve himself to death, of course. 
You knew all of this logically, but it didn’t mean you wanted him any less. You had never met anyone who had ignited a fire in you like he had. He was both infuriating and intoxicating all at once.
You continued to toss and turn as you thought it all over. You finally fell asleep in the early hours but were woken a short time later when your bedroom door creaked open.
You shot up in bed, disorientated and half asleep. “Who’s there?” you called out croakily. 
“Shh. It’s me” said a whisper in the dark.
“Bucky?” You replied, your volume now matching his. “What are you…”
“Keep it down. Steve doesn’t know I’m here” he replied.
You couldn’t see him in the darkness but felt the bed sink slightly as he sat down on the end of it. You leaned forward, reaching out to touch him to get a sense of where he was as your eyes tried to adjust.
“I’m here” he whispered, a cold hand reaching out and finding yours. You took it and squeezed instinctively. 
He squeezed back briefly, but pulled it away again just as quickly as if he’d had an electric shock.
“Look…I came to apologise for earlier. I got a little…carried away. It was inappropriate and shouldn’t have happened. It won’t happen again, I promise”. 
You nodded, appreciating that he was addressing it whilst also feeling a small pang of disappointment.
“It wasn’t just you, though” you explained. “I wanted it too”.
You heard him sigh wearily. “Doesn’t matter. When you’re being fed on you’re weaker, more vulnerable. Humans often get this kinda cloud of good feeling when a vampire feeds from them. It makes you docile, agreeable. Zaps the fight out of you so you can’t try to hurt us or get away. The effect varies from human to human, and vampire to vampire really. But the basis and principle is always the same”.
“Yeah, I’m familiar with the cloud…” you cut in.
“So you get why it was wrong of me to…make a move on you while you were in that condition”.
You paused. “I do. And I appreciate you talking to me about it. But…what if I wanted it to happen?” You asked cautiously.
“Like I said, it might feel like you want it but it’s like being drunk or high so you can’t exactly-”
“No. Bucky” you told him solemnly. “I don’t just want it to happen during feeds. I mean, I do then too. But…it’s not just the cloud. I-I, feel something for you…”
Bucky sat in silence for a moment as he considered your words. He finally sighed and spoke again.
“Doll…nothing can happen between us. It was a onetime mistake, we need to put it behind us and pretend like it never happened. We’re just roommates. I’m your landlord. I’m a vampire and you’re the human that feeds me. That’s all this is”. He was stern, there was no room for argument.
You felt your heart drop at that. It made sense of course, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. You were glad he couldn’t see your face in the dark. But you still had an important question.
“So why did you kiss me, Bucky?” You asked softly. 
You felt him shift on the bed uncomfortably, but he remained silent. 
“Bucky?”
“It was nothing” he finally shot back, his voice quiet but his tone severe. “Don’t worry about it. Let's move on”.
“Why, Bucky?” You pressed. 
You heard him groan with annoyance in the dark.
“Because I got carried away, like I said. I hadn’t fed for a few days. It happens sometimes when you’re feeding, you get caught up - your hunger can spill out in different ways. I should know better by now and control myself, but I slipped up I guess. Don’t flatter yourself Doll. It could’ve been anyone, you’re nothing special” he hissed. 
You physically recoiled at his harshness. 
“Jesus. Alright. Message received” you shot back sardonically. 
“It can’t happen again” he harshly reiterated.
“Don’t worry, it definitely won’t” you seethed. 
Bucky sighed heavily once more and got up to leave. You felt the mattress spring back once he was upright, sensing him heading away from the bed. 
“I’m sorry again” he muttered, before heading out of the door.
You managed to wait until you heard him go down the stairs before your tears started.
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aria-ashryver · 5 months
Text
my introverted ass gets a lil shy about participating in fandom events sometimes lol, but I wanted to give some folks some love for ✨Choices Fandom Shoutout Day!✨
Firstly, to all my moots, but especially @pudb1e @alleykatart @icanmakewords @honeyinadream @scrumptioustimemachinetragedy @aces-and-angels @zhoras-bitch @lilyoffandoms and anyone else i've missed! (chemo brain is a bitch)
ngl, every time you guys like something to do with the Starlight blorbos it makes me giddy. You make this such a warm and joyous place to be with every little interaction -- your joy is my joy, and I'm so glad our shared love of ID and Choices fandom stuff (and hopefully, my writing too!) has brought you all some happiness.
I hope something makes you smile today. You deserve all the happiness in the world and I appreciate you all so much 🌻🌼🌷
I wanted to give an extra special shout out to @jerzwriter for making this fandom such an inclusive and welcoming place -- you are just straight up lovely! I know I barely know you, but you have a generosity of spirit that I really, greatly admire.
[Skip this bit if you want, as I'm touching on heavier health stuff]. I realise I haven't actually got around to posting the fic in question yet (writing takes a lot out of me atm), but I have been frittering away at a piece based on the ask you sent me forever ago, and I really wanted to thank you for taking the time to send that ask in the first place. Not only did it make me feel like I really was a part of the community here, but you actually sent me that ask right before a meeting with my oncologist where I was due to find out whether I had been responding to chemotherapy or not. (I am getting better! ✨🎉) It was a pretty rough morning, and through some truly serendipitous timing, you swooped in and offered me the perfect distraction. I immediately found myself imagining all these soft scenarios and trying to cobble together little plot points instead of fixating on my anxiety; you gave me an escape when I really needed it.
And for me, that's exactly what fandom is all about! That's what fanfic writers and fanartists are so wonderful at achieving with their works; is bringing this refuge of joy and levity and beauty when we need it the most. So, truly, thank you -- not just for the ask that day, not just for all your hard work with @choicesficwriterscreations, but simply for being you and for sharing your stories with the world. You really do bring a light 💛
And through all of this, my OG reader and wonderful friend @freedom-kitty ✨ You've been there since the beginning bringing so much enthusiasm and eagerness and leaving some of the most wonderful comments on my fics that I have ever had the joy of reading. I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that you are an absolute GEM and I'm so glad ID brought us together 💖 I have so many of your comments saved to go back and re-read when I'm doubting my own skills, or when I just need a smile (I'm still absolutely cracking up about the Aria the Great saga when I "joined you" on holiday lmao). You are the best ever, and I hope you know it.
Thank you for cheering me on, both in writing and in life with all the bullshit going on this year. You kick ass, lovely, and you should feel awesome about being you 💕
Lastly, thank you so much @choicesfandomappreciation for your hard work and thoughtfulness in hosting such an awesome event!! 🧁🎀 I love seeing events like this!
Sending you all hugs (if you are the hugs sort) and sunshine and warmth (if that's more your jam)
You are loved
You are brilliant
You are capable
You are enough 🌻
all my love,
aria xx
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esta-elavaris · 5 months
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Flufftober Day 21: Swoon ~ James Norrington/OC [1,414 words]
My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my behemoth of a main fic about these two is here 💜✨
Notes: So the storyline I’m building here is kind of referenced in the “Playing With Hair” Christmas fill, in which Theo expresses a bit of insecurity over not being the typical wife a man would seek in this time period. The "problem" (as she sees it) is shown from James’ POV here, and then we get the conclusion of it on the fill for day 30. It’s not exactly a high-stakes action-packed plotline or anything, but it’s just a continuing theme that’ll work best when you have all parts – so if things feel a bit vague or like there should be more here, it’s because there should, and there will be, on day thirty.
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Governor Swann insisted on granting them the use of his London home for the duration of their time in the south of England, and while James had been reluctant to agree – a reservation Theodora shared – for a grand townhouse brimming with servants hardly seemed to lend itself to the kind of privacy and solace they sought on this honeymoon of theirs, he could not pretend he was not happy for it when they arrived. Mostly because it meant large hot baths and lavish meals with delightfully little effort.
Of course, it also lended itself rather nicely to their goal. To schmooze London’s high society, acquire further backing and connections for Norne Maritime Protection, and – perhaps most importantly – to show those here that, whatever the rumours drifting out of the Caribbean, he and his wife were of the good sort, and simply could not have acted wrongly in what occurred, nor brought it down upon themselves in any way. The latter goal was rather the trickier one. And Theodora was anxious.
She hid it, of course, even from him. When he asked if she’d been in London before (or, well, after – technically), she murmured the affirmative, along with expressing doubts that she would be able to snag Lion King tickets this time round. James, by that point, confessed himself an expert on discerning when she joked from true levity, and when it came from discomfort, and he knew that to be the product of the latter. And who could blame her? Those gathered in Port Royal had not been particularly kind to her – writing her off as a feral creature, perhaps somewhat soft in the head, who possessed just enough beauty and feminine wiles both to somehow ensnare him along the way. They did not see that he was the lucky one in the equation because they simply did not want to see it.
But her arrival in London was somewhat smoother than the way she’d been catapulted into their lives in Port Royal, she was used to this time now…and they were a team. This would be different. He had faith in that, and in her. Always in her.  Not just because she was charming, but because she was clever. Before there was full transparency between the two of them, he’d sometimes been half-tempted to regret that cleverness. Usually for fear of her safety. But now? Now he was free to be thrilled by it at all times.
For she did know how to play a good game.
On the first night they were set to host, she came downstairs bedecked in a gown of soft light floral fabric, contrasting the darker, bolder colours she usually favoured. Her hair was bound up with only a few soft curls left about her neck, white porcelain flowers set amidst the deep red of her hair and a string of pearls about her throat. Beautiful, she looked – beautiful she always was – but not like herself. None here would look at her and guess she was playing role. None here could look at her and possibly think that any of the rumours surrounding her were true. He allowed that fact to ease his sadness at how she clearly thought she had to hide herself to make a good impression.
Save, perhaps, for when it came to the white glove on her right hand, hiding nails that had not yet properly grown back. She hid it where she could – betwixt her skirts, behind her back, beneath anything she held – and when she was asked about it, she grumbled something about looking like Michael Jackson. Given that James had never heard of such a fellow, he could neither support nor reject her conclusion. But he wished he could ease her nerves.
James himself did not consider him adept at people-ing, as Theodora had once referred to it with great distaste. Oftentimes he was perceived as too serious, too dour, too unable to loosen up and give into revelry. He’d just been rather lucky in that all of those things were fine for a man and a soldier to be. But a hysterical once-tortured woman who was either a witch, mad, or both? Those were heavier burdens to bear for his wife. Judging by the pale cast of her face as they waited to make their first impressions on potential backers, she was keenly aware of that.
So James said the only thing he could think to – lowering his head as he heard the butler let the first of the guests in and murmuring to her.
“Ireland, after this.”
And it gladdened him to see that it cheered her.
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When all had arrived, James was certain none would be able to guess at the doubt and trepidation that had shown on his wife’s face just before they’d walked in – at which time she’d straightened, offered one of those brilliantly warm grins of hers, and greeted them as though they were old friends.
She was not quite herself – more subdued even down to her accent – but none were at social events such as these, James himself included. And she was candid, warm, and lovely. That was all Theodora. He soon found that whenever he looked to her to see how she was faring, he had difficulty looking away. Even those who had arrived with a blatant nose to find gossip would share looks with one another as though surprised to find her qualities so abundant.
It had been difficult not to smile his pride at that. To know that not only did others finally see his wife as he did – others who were not pirates, at least – and to see that he had somehow managed to win the hand of such a woman. He couldn’t help but think of all the many times his wife had set those piercing eyes of hers upon him before proclaiming herself very lucky, laughing at the thought that she truly had no idea that he was the lucky one.
The door closed behind the last of the guests, Theodora’s shoulders dropped and she sighed her relief. James’ hand found the small of her back, entirely sharing in the sentiment she’d so silently expressed.
“Nightcap?” she turned a tired smile in his direction, leading him back to the drawing room.
James was not content to allow her to brush off her victory so readily.
“You’re a force of nature, do you know that?” he asked as she poured them a drink each.
“Oh, har-har,” she snorted fondly.
“Lady Montague made no less than three further appointments to see you while we remain in London,” he pointed out, pulling her to sit with him once their glasses were in hand.
“She was kind. And her husband liked you.”
“They liked you. They liked us. They’re backing us, Lord Montague as good as said so tonight - already. In part because of my very charming wife.”
Her eyes lit up at the first part, but at the second she rolled her eyes – albeit kindly – steadfastly refusing to believe that she might be greeted with anything other than scorn in “polite” society. It was a defence strategy, he knew that, so she mightn’t care when people – when fools – did dislike her. But it grieved him to see it warping her perception so.
“We found the one crowd in London who find the Irish foundling thing to be a cute novelty rather than an omen of doom, then?”
“Do not discount your victory here, Theodora.”
“Is that an order, husband?”
“On this occasion, I’m afraid it is,” he teased. “I will not hear it. You were magnificent tonight. I very nearly swooned to witness it.”
Another eye roll – but accompanied by a blush. And James was fine with that. He was patient, and he knew their victories would only increase from here. She’d see his point before long. He’d make sure of it.
And until then, he’d marvel at his wife enough for the both of them.
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Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune
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tathrin · 1 year
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I should probably wait for when I get around to posting this whole chapter, but. I just wrote this section and I like it a lot and I don’t want to wait, I want to share it now. And this is from like chapter seventeen or something, and I only have up to chapter six posted and I really don’t want to wait that long ugh. So please have some peaceful, before-the-storm, out-of-context (but you don’t really need the context for this, I promise) pre-gimleaf interaction from my zombie au fic.
(Spoiler Warning for the Zombie Au Fic, I suppose, although nothing that’s particularly plot-relevant, I don’t think. Y’all knew they were going to meet eventually, and the fact that it’s happening in Rivendell is not much of a give-away imo. But stop reading now if you’re reading that story and don’t want to read anything out-of-order, I suppose.)
Strange as Rivendell is, however, it is nothing compared to the strangeness of the elf who flits up to Gimli now, his loose golden hair bouncing like tufts of dandelion in the breeze behind him.
"Legolas," Gimli says; a flat acknowledgement rather than a greeting.
Legolas smiles brightly and hops onto the bench beside him, crouching on his heels rather than sitting like a proper creature, as seems to be his wont. (Gimli tries to remember if he has ever seen this elf sit in a chair the way people do, then wonders why he is wasting the mental effort on someone for whom he cares so little.) Legolas is holding some kind of long stem in one hand, and he pinches a small purple bud off of it and sticks it in his mouth.
"What are you eating?" Gimli finds himself asking before he can remember that he doesn't care.
"Lavender," says Legolas. He holds the stem out. "Would you like some?"
Gimli blinks. "No," he says. "No, thank you."
After a pause while the elf plucks at his lavender and tilts his head back to stare up at the trees that line the street beside their bench, Gimli cannot help but to say anxiously, "Lavender. Which you…plucked from someone's garden as you passed?"
Legolas tilts his head, apparently thinking the possibility over. Then he says, "Yes."
"Ah," says Gimli.
He does not know much about gardens or flowers, but he thinks of the humans of Dale, and how territorial some of them can be about their homes and the surrounding grounds.
"Perhaps…perhaps you should not do that again," he says gently.
Legolas turns his silver-bright eyes on the dwarf and blinks at him. "Why?" he says, tilting his head the other way now before breaking into a grin again. "Oh! No, you do not need to worry, Gimli, it will not hurt the flower to lose a few buds. We grow lavender in Mirkwood, too, and I know its growth well. It flourishes in the south of our trees especially, or—or it did," he finishes, his voice going soft and a shadow passing across his gleaming eyes. "I do not know how it fares now, of course." Legolas ducks his head and turns away.
Gimli does not know what to say that will be of any comfort, and he cannot bear to make this strange creature feel worse while he is mourning for his homeland, so he abandons his attempt to explain the concept of private gardens and potentially possessive gardeners. He has a difficult time imagining that anyone in this peaceful valley will take offense to someone plucking a single strand of lavender from their garden, anyway.
He hopes.
I love writing about Mirkwood elves as these weird forest cryptids, and one of my favorite parts of this modernized-Middle-earth AU I’ve got going on here is how while everywhere else is a little bit more like our world due to the modern technology/society/etc innovations, Mirkwood is just even weirder than it was in canon, and Gimli is just like...what the fuck, what is this weirdo elf and why won’t he leave me alone. what the hell am I getting myself into. fuck.
Anyway whether you’re reading the zombie fic or not I hope you enjoy this little moment of out-of-context levity from it.
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bunabi · 8 months
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Housewarming anon again <3 I donated to your Kofi a little bit ago in lieu of a tangible gift. I just wanted to take an extra second to pass along my sincere thanks for all the hard work you do to create and share your beautiful art, in tandem with the humour and insight and levity and everything else you offer to our little corner of the internet. You’re a gem and I hope you and Sabine are so comfortable and happy in your new place, and that you have the freedom to do and create anything that brings you joy :) sending warmest wishes your way xo
Oh my goodness thank you! I'm too vulnerable right now haha you're seriously gonna make me cry forreal!
Thanks for enjoying my work! I hope to share more stuff with you guys very soon! 🫠
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madrino1 · 2 years
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I'm thinking about Riki from Xenoblade Chronicles and I love that dude so much. He's a very literal dad friend and its just great. I know it's easy to just dismiss him as comedy relief compared to the rest of the main team but he's got his own layers.
Spoilers, if I have to say that for a 2010 game.
The big scene for Riki is the scene on Mechonis Arm with Dunban and Melia and it basically creates Riki's depths single-handedly. It plays out like a pretty typical Riki scene, with him being lazy when wanting to rest then greedy when he goes fishing, but when Dunban questions his actions and suggests Riki had noticed Melia's tiredness it puts every other Riki scene into question. The two then discussing Shulk, Fiora and Dunban's relationships then shows Riki's understanding of his companions again as Riki catches that Dunban is somewhat of a father to Fiora, in spite of having seen little interaction between, especially since Riki begins that conversation when noticing that Dunban seems down. Finally, when the group get going again Riki says he notices the pipe while scouting, suggesting he may have foregone sleeping like the other two to some degree in order to scout.
This scene is important for Riki for two reasons - it establishes the idea of a facade and clearly shows Riki's understanding and observant nature towards others, directly linking this to his History as a father.
Firstly the facade. This, to me, recontextualises almost every other scene we see Riki in. While I'm not going to say that the lovable idiot we see Riki as is entirely facetious, I think its something he consciously enhances to do good by others. This can be in both the way we see in the scene, where he feigns a struggle to help someone he believes is hiding a similar struggle, or as comedic relief, much like he is for the game as a whole. In particular I think that he plays up 'funny little Nopon Riki' to cheer up the group a bit - while there can be levity through things like Reyn's antics, the group can be quite a somber bunch who've all very recently suffered terribly - its not unreasonable to say Riki would look at them and think they needed to laugh a bit. You can ever see a bit of this in his conversation with Dunban in the given scene - in particular, when he says "Riki make mistake. Dunban not daddypon" or something to that effect about Dunban and Fiora I always get the feeling he's playing it up a little to make Dunban more comfortable and willing to share his worries.
Secondly, his perceptiveness. This is what I think motivates his playing into the funny little Nopon idea, as he notices all his companions issues and wants to cheer them up. While this is most prominent in the scene I focused on, there are other examples of it, such as noticing Shulk's issue with lacking parental figures and desire for a family in their Heart-to-Hearts, to the degree that he actually offers to adopt Shulk into his family if Shulk wants that. I like to think that, even if Shulk does deny that offer, it made him more comfortable being present in Riki's family's life, and I think Riki's kids' similarities to Reyn and Sharla (though admittedly likely more for Gameplay purposes) indicates the characters had a presence in Riki's family's lives.
In the end, I think the literal purpose of Riki is that he is a dad for the rest of the Xenoblade 1 crew. He's a mature older figure who makes terrible jokes that put a smile on your face and always seeks to benefit the rest of the group. Unlike the rest of the team he doesn't really have any kind of character arc, but I don't think that's a flaw. To me he feels like he's already had his arc, his life changing adventure, it was just (and I know I'm gonna sound cliché here) parenting. In his final heart-to-heart with Shulk he talks about having said goodbye to many littlepons when the time (p.s I always thought it was a shame we never got to see any of Riki's kids out in the rest of the Bionis, I think that would have been quite a neat little detail) and I think that raising and saying goodbye to those kids is what changed him into the Nopon we know (he even mentions having raised many littlepons in the conversation with Dunban I have referenced so many times). It made the kind of Nopon who could support and aide the young people questing to save the world so they can become the best versions of themselves.
So that's why I love Riki really. Even if he doesn't have the complex arcs and thematic depth of a character like Shulk or Dunban, he's still a critical part of the main Xenoblade group in my eyes and an interesting character in his own right. What a funky little dude.
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supergoodfilmanalysis · 5 months
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Multiracial Companionship: To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar
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Saddled with potentially one of the most verbose and ridiculous titles in cinema history, To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar is the campy romp of three New York City drag queens, played by Wesley Snipes, Patrick Swayze, and John Leguizamo who find themselves stranded in a midwestern town after their car breaks down on their way to Hollywood to compete in the Miss Drag Queen of America Pageant. The girls take the town by storm, form wholesome friendships with the classy ladies of Snydersville, Illinois (makeover alert!), navigate tensions with the town’s law enforcement, and chaos and glitz abound.
To Wong Foo represents an imagining of the multiracial buddy movie interested largely in the compartmentalization of identity categories with a concerted interest in gender and sexuality and a resistance to intersectional understandings of identity categories. The main characters being White, Black, and Latino is a fact the film acknowledges with the cinematic ideal of a post-racial U.S.--most importantly, To Wong Foo reminds us, the girls are drag queens, and their racial positionality comes second. The hierarchical ordering of their internal differential social orders that imbue their embodiment firstly with sexuality and gender rather than race comments on the film’s attempt to make a film by and for queer people in response to the growing conservative fear of a departure from traditional values and attempts to largely overwrite race.
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My inspiration for the script came from watching the religious right videotape The Gay Agenda. There’s a scene where they show drag queens going through a town, and the narrator is warning viewers that these people will take over your town, and I thought, ‘Well, that would be fun.’
-Douglas Carter Beane, Screenwriter, To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar
In, “The Black Image in Protective Custody: Hollywood's Biracial Buddy Films of the Eighties,” Guerrero explains that black people “appear on the screen in the 1980s predominantly in the biracial ‘buddy formula,’ which reveals all the strategies by which the industry contains and controls the black filmic image and conforms it to white expectations.” Noxeema, the film’s main Black character played by Wesley Snipes quips about Blackness and her status in this small town is effectively placed in the protective custody of whiteness, severed from the Black community surrounded entirely by non-Black people and at an increased risk of violence in this small town. She at one point jokes that "the last Black person to stay [in this town] was Sam Cooke," a prolific Black soul artist who was famously murdered in a motel.
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The racial tensions in the movie are tonally consistent with the film's self-aware insistence on its own levity, poking fun at itself and acknowledging racial and gender regimes, but ultimately suggesting they can be overcome.
Noxeema: You and your causes! Look, that child is Latin. You don’t want to get mixed up in all that Latin mess. She might turn out to be a Sandinista or something.
Vida: Noxeema Jackson! I have to admit that I am shocked and just a little bit saddened by you. I mean you of all people. Hon, I remember the first time I laid eyes on a certain ebony enchantress in the rough, and how through styling and the occasional makeup tip I helped her look a little bit less like Moms Mabley. And who would think that ebony enchantress would one day share a title with moi.
In an atmosphere where whiteness is presented as the absolute authority, the exchange fails to fully present itself as an examination as racism among people of color and ultimately portrays Vida, who is white, as the gatekeeper of Noxeema's successful identity as a drag queen.
To Wong Foo, ultimately, is optimistic about the possibilities for a multiracial, post-gender regime world--it imagines a world where drag queens take over the town and racial tensions can be assuaged with the power of friendship. It mostly neutralizes race as a factor in the marginalization of the girls, and its depiction of state violence at the hands of an idiotic, bumbling sheriff who is scared of change holds a mirror to conservatism and distorts it like a fun house in return.
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Questions:
How does the film's casting of three mainstream straight, male actors as drag queens contribute to the racial and gender politics of To Wong Foo?
What might the levity of the film regarding racial and gendered violence contribute to it?
How does drag as a performance art relate to racial embodiment in general? How might it play into the film specifically?
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know-the-way · 9 months
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Phrack 20!
Hi! I know it’s like a month later, but I have finally fulfilled this prompt. Thank you so much for sending it! :)
Um… just gonna put it out there that I really struggled to finish this. lol It was rewritten countless times to the point that like… I don’t even know what it is anymore, ya know? So I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense. I tried, I promise. Okay, thank you again, bye!
(and a special shout-out to @glamorouspixels for beta’ing one of the many drafts of this, everyone give a round of applause for them)
A kiss… on a scar. (This prompt is a part 2 to this fic.)
tw: mentions of past abuse
He always asks where she’d rather go and her answer is always the same.
It’s just past midnight and the events of the day are etched on both their faces. He’s sat shirtless and exhausted on the sofa; head hung and breathing deep, save for a sharp hiss now and then when she hits a particularly sensitive spot. A basin of warm water swirls with iodine and faint traces of blood on the coffee table. She’s already mended the gash on his lower abdomen and is dabbing at the broken skin of his knuckles.
On nights like these, after particularly difficult cases, she finds herself seeking refuge in his arms. This isn’t something that surprises her - long before she and Jack even entertained the idea of a relationship, they had formed a sort of unofficial tradition where the case wasn’t truly closed until they shared a drink. It was so easy then to write it off as something light-hearted; a charming wrap up among intellectually-matched colleagues, but she sees now how even then it was far more intimate. In all of those feather-light conversations, the answers to their deeper, unspoken sentiments - are you okay? will any of it stay with you once we say goodnight? I’m here whenever you need, we’ll see each other soon - were affirmed in the subtle expressions they both somehow, intuitively, could interpret between each other. But that just isn’t enough anymore.
“All done,” she says, taping the last piece of sterile gauze around his hand and then rising to empty the basin in the neighboring kitchen sink. “Next time, if you must, try to remember that one or two punches usually does the trick. Twenty or more is rather excessive.”
He chuckles softly, nodding with a resigned tiredness and a bit of remorse. “I will. … Though, under certain circumstances, I can make no guarantees.”
She raises her brows fondly, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. “Are you actually admitting that you might lose control from time to time, inspector?”
He raises his arm for her to duck under it, which she does; settling against his side and resting her head on his shoulder - a gesture that’s become as natural as breathing for them both. He tugs her in close by the waist, his other hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, “Only when things very precious to me are in danger.”
Oh, dear man.
She wishes she had the strength to produce a witty retort; to maintain some levity for the both of them, but in truth the emotions of the day are stacking up all at once and the weight on her chest is becoming far too heavy to ignore. They’d both feared for each other’s lives at one point tonight and with the adrenaline waning, the gravity of the situation is taking its place; forcefully pushing her down to a sobering reality that’s threatening to swallow her whole. She’s not ready to be consumed yet, though; not when she’s only just settled into his arms. So instead of whispering the returned endearment on her lips (“You’re very precious to me, too, Jack Robinson”), she distracts herself by reaching up to trace the lines of his face with her fingertips.
She loves Wardlow; it is the home she built for herself, a fortress that keeps within it the people and things she holds dear, but there is something about joining him in the quiet of his flat that brings her a kind of solace she can’t seem to replicate anywhere else. Here, they have each other’s full attention; there’s no threat of accidental interruptions nor worry over perceived impropriety; no responsibility or obligation that comes with being the head of house or a prominent social figure. At Jack’s place - it’s just them and what they choose to fill the silence with.
“You looked frightened,” he tells her, an unprompted explanation for his actions this evening, and for a moment all she can do is nod silently.
A standoff with their perpetrator had escalated quickly as the sounds of their arriving backup grew closer. The case had started with a murdered woman found two days ago; her house looted and her niece missing. As they worked through the case, every piece of evidence filled Phryne with dread; the story feeling more and more familiar as they put it all together. When they finally identified and caught up to the man, the girlfriend who had tried to escape his repeated violence was weeping and shaking in his arms with a knife held to her throat. Phryne had taken one look into her eyes and instantly saw a younger version of herself reflected back at her - a broken-hearted girl, cold and bruised and scared on the streets of Paris.
It all happened in a blur from there - doors kicked opened, a gunshot, a scream, a scramble for power… then suddenly a hand was fisted painfully in her hair… and had this been a few years ago, she would have found herself back in France, crying on her knees in a freezing flat with broken windows and creaking floorboards. She would have cowered at the menacing shadow of her past towering over her and begged for mercy as if she were living it all over again. But instead she heard the call of her name, clear and present and real, and her footing was instantly found, twisting out of her attacker’s hold and kicking him backwards into the arms of her enraged lover.
With the help of Hugh, they just managed to pull Jack off before he faced charges of his own.
Sitting here with him now, she hates that the image he’s left with from tonight is of her being frightened. She knows he’s blaming himself for it somehow, because he has before - and just like before, he doesn’t realize he was actually her saving grace.
There is a way, though, perhaps - to help him see it.
“You know, I’ve just remembered something,” she says with a soft edge of mischief and he narrows his eyes suspiciously, clearly suspecting that she’s trying to avoid the subject at hand. “I never did keep my end of the deal… to tell you about a scar of mine.”
“Oh,” Jack chuckles under his breath, brows knitting in bemused confusion, “While I’m pleasantly surprised you remembered, and even more so that you admitted it,” she gives him an annoyed purse of her lips that he pretends not to see, “I wouldn’t hold you to that tonight.” He pauses then, considering something, and then smiles warmly, “Unless, of course, you’d like me to ‘kiss it better’.”
She rolls her eyes fondly in response, sighs out a laugh (which he shares), and then she reaches up to stroke his cheek. Looking at him sincerely, she says soft as a whisper, “What if I told you that you already had?”
Before Jack, she only took the company of lovers in her own space, on her own terms, and with the knowledge that her staff was close at hand should a visitor ever outstay their welcome. It was a safety net she began constructing for herself back in 1919 and every thread of it since had been woven with materials made up entirely of her. Phryne Fisher was not beholden to anyone, but herself, by design. She was strong enough not to need others and self-sufficient enough to fight her own battles. But… fighting alone for so long did become exhausting. Being strong always was until someone gave you the space not to be. Others had tried to be that space before, but their intentions were always built on hollow promises; declarations made to a version of herself they had idealized in their minds. Versions she simply refused to entertain.
There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes, but more than anything he looks curious and (somewhat adorably) confused. Gently, she grabs his hand and guides it up to her face. Her fingers resting over his, she presses them against her bottom lip, sliding them to the corner of her mouth so that the skin is pulled taut. He doesn’t understand at first, locks eyes with her; questioning, and she silently bids him to look again. She knows he sees it when the squint of his eyes softens and he carefully strokes his thumb back over the spot.
In the center of her bottom lip is a small, jagged scar, only visible when the skin is stretched and the pink color of her lips fades to white. It’s not something anyone would notice unless she wants them to (a fitting metaphor she tries not to dwell on). Up until now, she’s shown exactly one person, save for those who were there when it happened. She’s always been too proud and, if she’s honest with herself, too afraid of the reaction she might get; too convinced that she’ll be looked at differently or treated her like a fragile broken thing in need of pity. But Jack proved to her a long time ago that no matter what anyone else saw, he would always see her.
He stares at it intently for a few long moments, mesmerized as he repeatedly swipes over it, “What’s this from?”
Keeping her eyes on his face, she stills his hand with hers. “It’s from a long time ago. When I was 18, as it happens… and very naive.”
“We’ve all made some regretful choices at 18,” he murmurs affectionately, referencing the story he’d shared with her.
“Yes, well… youth makes you blind to many things. It keeps you from seeing trouble that’s right in front of you.”
“Hm,” he hums idly, “So what kind of trouble did a young Miss Fisher get herself into?”
She’s quiet a moment, something stirring in her as she watches him continue to examine the spot. “Will you promise me something first?”
His gaze turns upward, the lines of concentration on his forehead fading as he looks her over and his lips turn up into a crooked half-smile, “I won’t laugh.”
She huffs softly off a click of her tongue, feigning offense, then lifts her hand to smooth through his hair, “I know you won’t, Jack. No, I… “ she takes a deep breath, “Can you promise to believe that every word I say is true?”
The lines in his forehead have returned and he lightly shakes his head in confusion, “Of course. Why on earth wouldn’t I?”
She brushes her hand across his cheek reassuringly, “I trust you’ll know once I get to the end.”
The worried suspicion is lingering in his eyes and she feels herself losing her nerve, but after a moment - he nods, “Alright.”
Well then, she thinks, no turning back now.
Straightening herself up from his embrace, she sits on her knees, resting her elbow on the back of the sofa. Jack reaches for her hand and she lets him take it, entwining her fingers with his, thankful for the tether she’s likely going to need. “Do you remember one of the first cases you and I worked on? Pierre Sarcelle? It involved a certain… painting of me being stolen?”
“Ah,” he says, the memory of it playing across his features, “Yes, I… I think I recall.”
She’s amused that still flusters him; occasionally she’ll catch him nervously side-eyeing it in her bedroom and it tickles her that even after seeing the real thing many times now, that painting is what makes him blush. If only the story behind it was equally as amusing. “And the murderer… René Dubois. Do you remember him, as well?”
“Unfortunately,” Jack mutters and she thinks he must be catching on because he sits up to hold her hand with both of his now.
“He… What did I tell you about him at the time?” she asks, genuinely unable to recall.
Jack exhales slowly, searching his own memory. “That he was… a past lover, who you knew to be dangerous… and likely a murderer,” he says plainly, stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb before turning rather serious. “And though you didn’t tell me this at the time, I knew you were rather terrified of him.”
Yes, she remembers that, too. Every one of her senses had been heightened waiting for René to walk through the door of Café Repliqué. Every sound pushed her further on edge, and when he finally appeared, her body froze in what felt like shock. The Phryne of 1928 wasn’t afraid of him, but in that moment - the Phryne of 1918 took over and all she knew was ice cold fear.
“I was,” she tells Jack, who leans in closer to her, “I was terrified. At the time, he was one of the darker shadows in my life, and knowing he was nearby… that he’d been in my home even, was… deeply unsettling.”
“Mm… I remember Dot describing the bruise he gave you in her statement,” Jack confesses, staring down at their joined hands as he fidgets with one of her rings.
She closes her eyes for moment; takes a deep breath, “Unfortunately, that wasn’t the first he gave me.”
Jack looks up cautiously, an immediate understanding in his eyes which shatters the part of her that likes to pretend it never happened. Without further preamble, tears start gathering and she really, really doesn’t want them to fall this soon. She needs to make it to the end of this. Because even though there’s a faint whisper of hesitance in the back of her mind, here with him - she feels safe, at peace, and entirely unafraid. Because she finally has the words… and if not now - she may never find them again.
He hasn’t said anything, but Phryne sees his jaw tighten as his eyes search hers, silently seeking permission to move closer to her. She grants it by lifting one of his hands and placing it on her waist. He slides it around the small of her back and traces soothing circles there.
“You don’t have to say more,” he whispers sincerely, “Sod the deal, love; this isn’t a fair trade.”
A look of sorrow and longing accompany her responding smile, one of her hands hooking around the back of his neck and the other resting over his heart, “It is. Because I want to tell you… it’s important I do. It’s important to me .”
He presses his lips together, searching her eyes for a moment, and then gives her one of his signature, almost-imperceptible nods. “Then it’s important to me, too.”
She nods back, takes a moment to collect herself, and sighs. “You asked what trouble my younger self got into, yes?”
He nods again.
“Well… just after the war, in Paris, the younger and more naive version of me had no desire to return home to England, so she settled in with a group of friends she knew from the field.” He’s staying silent, giving her the same space she gave him, but even without looking at his face, she can feel the warmth of his support reaching out for her, offering a soft landing should she need to fall. “There wasn’t much work to be had, but she got by through modeling for local artists - sculptors, painters… it was all very bohemian,” they share a brief smile, “And one day, she met a man… another artist, who was very charming, very mysterious… and he made her feel like she was special.“
“Monsieur Dubois, I take it?” Jack asks in a low voice, attempting to hide the building disdain he feels for the man.
“The very same,” she confirms, smoothing her fingertips over his collarbones nervously, “Her friends tried to warn her at the time - the good monsieur had a reputation, you see. But… for some odd reason, she had rather a penchant for ignoring good advice in favor of chasing danger… “
“Imagine that,” Jack smirks in faux surprise. “I wonder if she ever grew out of such a habit.”
“Well… “ she pouts defiantly, avoiding looking into his eyes, “That’s not exactly relevant at the moment.”
“Mm,” he acknowledges quietly. “Something to circle back to.”
She briefly narrows her eyes, lightly shoving his shoulder, and continues, “Anyhow… it was all very nice for a while. The nicest she’d ever felt, actually. He said such pretty words and made so many impassioned promises. And it was in that dreamy haze that she did something rather foolish: she fell in love with him.”
Jack’s arms wrap tighter around her, enough to reassure, but not to smother. She takes a beat, smiling sadly, and looks up into his eyes for what she says next.
“Even more foolish, she let herself get so lost in him that she didn’t even realize she’d given him everything she had in the process,” her voice cracks slightly here, but she ignores it, “Her affection, her body, her money. All of herself. And then one day… he wanted more.” She takes a few cleansing breaths, her hands resting on his chest to support herself, “But she had nothing left to give… and he didn’t like that at all.” She feels more than sees the slight gulp he takes; he knows what comes next. “So one night he grabbed her by the hair, forced her to the floor, and when she cried and pleaded, he called her… such awful things… and then he hit her.” She says it so plainly she might as well be commenting on the weather, but the tension in her body says otherwise. “Without remorse nor restraint. Slapped her so hard across the face that her lip split, right along with her heart.”
Despite her best efforts, a warm tear slides down her cheek, but she cares not to hide it now. She can feel Jack’s breathing becoming deeper, the quickening beat of his heart, the rise of heat on his skin. She knows what it is to have knowledge of a loved ones pain that it’s too late to save them from; knows how infuriating and helpless it feels, but for her he stays steady. He knows that she needs him to.
“I lost her for a while after that. I was worried she’d never come back, to be honest. But slowly, she returned, and I swore to never let anyone take her from me again. Anytime someone got too close, I felt the bump of that scar on my lip, held her tighter, and ran.”
Without realizing it, she’s leaned in so close that her forehead is resting against his and he’s quietly encouraging her to match his breathing, slow and deep. “I… “ she breathes in a few more times, focuses on the warmth of his hands on her waist, “I didn’t love anyone again, Jack. I was too afraid that someone loving me was the same as owning me… and loving them back meant that I was allowing them to.”
“Darling… “ it comes out so soft, she barely hears it, but it’s no less full of the understanding and compassion that is so very him.
“That day at the café, when we were waiting to catch him, I felt panic in a way I hadn’t since 1918. And when he walked through the door, I was petrified; everything around me froze and it felt like I was that broken girl in Paris again. Everything I’d learned to protect myself crumbled into nothing and I was so scared,” she pulls back just enough to look into his eyes again, “Then you kissed me… no Jack, let me finish… you kissed me… and you brought me back. You brought me back to 1928 and I wasn’t afraid anymore. Nor have I been since - for anything - when I know you’re there with me.”
Embraces that felt suffocating in others’ arms now feel liberating in his… stillness she once feared akin to defeat now feels like peace. She knows, if ever she asks him to let go, he will. Without hesitation. And it’s because of that she holds him all the tighter.
He’s shaking his head, lips pressed together as as if he’s refusing to accept what she’s said, “That can’t be because of me. Phryne, you are the strongest, bravest… most frustratingly hard-headed person I know… you can do anything all on your own.”
She huffs out a teary, adoring laugh, lightly framing his face, “That’s not what I meant, Jack.” Sliding into his lap, carefully avoiding the injury on his side, she smiles when he reaches up to brush away one of her tears. “You’re right, I can do all of those things, and I would, but it doesn’t mean I’m not scared. … Except when you’re there, or even sometimes just when I know you’re on the way.”
Eyes glassy, he swallows thickly, hand resting where her neck meets her shoulder, “I think you’re giving me too much credit, Miss Fisher… “
She tilts her head to the side, sighing in loving exasperation, “You promised to believe me, Jack… every word.“
The reservation on his face quickly settles into tender obeisance, hands falling to her hips and squeezing lightly as he nods. “So I did. And I do.”
“Good,” she says, hiding the sudden trembling of her hands by anchoring them to his shoulders. “Because I told you once that I needed you to remind me not to be afraid of shadows. And you have - back on that day at Café Repliqué and every day since.” She hopes, through sheer force of will, that he can see all the moments flitting through her mind - her sister’s murderer, her father’s vengeful cousin, a corrupt vineyard town, the insidious silence of a docked cargo ship on a foggy night. “Tonight, when that man had me by my hair, for a moment I was frightened; for a moment I almost felt like I was in Paris - but then I heard you yell for me and you brought me back again.”
There were very few constants in her life, even fewer that she’d count as blessings, but Jack had witnessed both her best and her worst; had walked with her through darknesses she thought she’d never face again… and still he was here beside her. Not trying to fix her, to tame her, or to step in front - never asking anything of her, but to be the best and worst of her whole self.
The tide within her is rising again, on the precipice of pulling her under, but she just needs a moment more; just needs him to hear this last bit. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she clings to him, her voice muffling into his hair, “I’ve never had to run from you, Jack darling, because you never tried to take anything from me… God, even when I wanted you to.”
The vibration of their joined laughter soothes her like a warm bath and her tears flow freely down her face. “But you have given so many precious things to me,” she tells him on a sob, “Some of which I thought I’d never be capable of again.”
”Phryne,” he murmurs into her neck, his voice thick with emotion as his hand cradles the back of her head, “I can only say the same, my darling.”
She presses her lips to his neck, his temple, his cheek, her vision blurred with tears, though she scans over his face, anyway. “I love you,” she whispers earnestly, kissing him once softly, “I love you so dearly, please know that.”
His hand cups her cheek, tears gathering on the thumb he gently runs over her bottom lip once more, “I promise I do. And I promise, without any give or take, I love you just as dearly. Helplessly even, I fear.”
She manages a quiet laugh, leaning into him as he brushes his lips over hers with purposeful gentleness. “Good.”
Her safety net has frayed at the edges over the years, but she never fears of it breaking. It will always be there; she will always be able catch herself. But slowly she’s been weaving in threads of Jack and she notes now that, when she falls, it is far softer and far steadier than it ever was before.
End Note: Just want to be clear - neither Jack nor Phryne are saying the kiss in Café Repliqué was okay. Obviously, ensuring consent is always a requirement. Nonetheless, the effect of the kiss - in this fic - is a positive one. Of which I hope I have done a decent job of explaining/portraying. Thank you! xx 💙
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