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mrdixon · 8 months

Text

Slow mornings

pairing: established daryl x f!reader

wc: 1k (WOW)

warnings: mention of sexual content (very suggestive oohhhhrrr)

summary: the morning after, he cant get enough.

A/N: HI IM WRITING A SERIES DONT FRET and i just wrote this because i woke up and thought of him. also i was like so ready to post this and then SCREAMED because i forgot to make a gif.

masterlist

You scrunched your face up feeling the warm Virginian sun on your skin, squeezing your eyes shut as you rolled over onto your side. Once your eyes adjusted to the bright light you looked over and saw your boyfriend, laying on his stomach asleep.

It was a bit of a shock to see him still in bed next to you, usually he'd wake up early and be up and about. You couldn't blame him for sleeping in though, after your night of pure, rough passion. You shivered remembering his skin on yours, the ghost of his lips still lingering on your neck.

You tucked your arm underneath your head, watching his sleeping face. His lips parted a little and you could hear soft breathing from him, his hair messily resting over his eyes. You reached forward, gently brushing the strands of hair out of his face. He grumbled low in his throat, keeping his eyes closed as he threw an arm over your waist, dragging you closer to him. You sighed quietly, wrapping your arm around his head and burying his face in your neck to which he accepted with zero resistance. His lips started to slowly pepper kisses along your throat, brushing over the marks he left the night prior, sending shivers down your spine as your hand closed in on his hair gently.

“Morning to you,” you murmured softly which earned a grunt from him. His hand roamed behind you, his nails tracing over the curve of your back, goosebumps rising on your skin. The kisses on your neck became more urgent, pressing his lips hard against your flesh and taking a deep breath.

“Mornin’,” he muttered against your neck. Nibbling one of the hickeys on your collarbone before pulling back slightly to look at your face, his hand retracting a bit to thumb at the side of your breast. He chuckled at your appearance, hair still messy, your eyes tired. “Ya look beautiful like this.” He ran his fingers through your hair, getting caught in a few tangles on the way down, leaning in to peck your lips.

You kissed him back tenderly, softly. His hand stilled at the back of your head as he groaned into the kiss, pulling back before burying his face in your neck once again.

“We should get up soon…” you mumbled while giggling, a soft sigh leaving your mouth when he dragged his tongue along the marks on your neck. He pinched your waist playfully, biting the area where your neck met your shoulder.

“Don’ wanna get up,” he grumbled, kissing your chin. You laughed, catching his lips with your own before pulling back, his chin resting on your chest as he looked up at you.

“Fine, five more minutes.” You grinned, your hand tickling the side of his face to which he swatted away. He grabbed your waist, flipping you both over so you were on top of him.

“Make it half an hour,” he whispered, pulling you closer so he could press his face into your breasts. You giggled lightly, tugging his hair and pulling him away.

“We have work to do, wouldn’t want Michonne up our asses huh?” You pointed out to which he scoffed, shoving his face back in your breasts.

“Wouldn’ mind if it meant I got to be inside you again,” he said, muffled. You smacked his head lightly, “hey. I got needs woman.”

“Sure you do,” you sighed dreamily. As much as you wanted to continue this, you had to do some work. Muttering an apology you started to get off of him, but you didn’t get far before he pulled you back on top of him, his big arms wrapped around your back.

“Wha’ do I gotta do to convince ya?” He murmured almost pathetically, but you knew better than to point out his tone of voice. You looked down at him, meeting his captivating blue eyes, ones that begged you to stay in bed for awhile longer. He bit his lip once you didn’t respond, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek with his nose. Kissing your jaw gently as his hands rubbed your lower back, his eyes remaining on yours. “Please? (Y/N)…”

You stroked the side of his face, rubbing his stubble with your thumb. He was being so needy all of a sudden, he usually wasn’t. You placed your palm on his jaw, tilting his head up and leaning down to place a light kiss on his lips. As you pulled away he chased after your lips slightly, his shoulders drooping. How cute.

“(Y/N)…” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist and rubbing it. “Let me in ya…” You sighed, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“No,” you whispered gently, earning a loud grunt from him. He bit your neck quite harshly, a yelp escaping you.

“Please…” he whispered, now kissing over the bite he just gave you, massaging your lower back. His hand moving to cup your ass, his breath shaky. “I’ll do anythin’… Just let me have ya..”

You smirked, running your fingers through his messy hair and tugging his head back. “Anything?” You grinned to which he nodded eagerly, you leaned down to kiss his lips. His hands on your sides, caressing the sides of your breasts while his tongue fought with yours.

He tried to flip you both over at one point but you held your ground, biting his bottom lip which made him groan deeply into your mouth. You rocked your hips against his teasingly, his hands slowly inching over to cup your breasts, but you swatted them away.

“Okay fine, we can stay in for a bit. But I’m on top.” You grinned to which he rolled his eyes, nodding reluctantly.

“Fine ya little minx.” He grunted playfully, shivering when your nails tickled down his back.

“15 minutes… that’s it,” you whispered above his lips, his breath mingling with yours. He groaned, rolling his eyes.

He grumbled, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you down onto him. “Nah, 30 minutes. ‘s a slow mornin’.”

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl x reader #twd daryl #norman reedus #daryl x y/n #daryl fluff #mrdixonposts

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thatlovinfeelin · 1 year

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The Way Home - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

In which you meet Bradley during a wedding and your relationship evolves over the years into something more than just fwb.

The Virginian sun was warm against your bare skin as you sat at Buckroe Beach in Hampton Virginia. You were home for an old friend’s wedding taking place at Fort Monroe, just a quick drive away. She was marrying some military boy, which didn’t come as a big surprise considering where you were. The Tidewater area of Virginia was more or less filled to the brim with military, thanks to the multiple bases nearby.

You wiggled your toes in the sand, smiling softly at the feeling. You lived too far inland now, nowhere near the beach, which normally didn’t bother you. But every time you managed to make it home, you’re always reminded about how much you missed it.

Shade suddenly fell on you, blocking the warm sun.You propped yourself up on an elbow before tipping your sunglasses down, “Hey, Gigantor, could you move? You’re blocking the sun.”

The tall man seemed to flinch before looking down at you. His cheeks were red, you couldn’t tell if it was a blush, sunburn, or if they just stayed that way. He ran a hand through his short hair before mumbling an apology and stepping out of the way.

Everything about him screamed military, you spent enough time around them to know. You surveyed the way he was built and the way he was standing. Definitely not Air Force, and somehow you guessed he wasn’t one of the Army boys either.

“Hey, big guy, have we met before?” You questioned sitting up fully before taking your sunglasses off.

“Pre-wedding brunch yesterday,” He replied after looking at you for a minute, “I’m one of the groomsmen.”

“Ah,” You nodded, “So you are military then.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, guilty I guess.”

You moved over on your towel before patting the empty space. The man glanced around the beach, like he was making sure no one was watching, before he carefully sat down next to you. Now that he was next to you, he seemed even bigger. He had to be young, like the same age as you, maybe a year or two older, but he was solid. His shoulders were broad, and muscles.. Oh god, his muscles. They were defined without being like meat-head gym-rat defined. Like he got them just from day to day work and not spending hours and hours in the gym.

“So, what branch?”

“How did you even guess I was military?” He questioned you.

You shrugged, a small smirk forming, “My dad is a Marine. Not active duty of course, but he still works as a contractor. So, correct me if I’m wrong here, but I’m guessing you aren't in the Air Force, and you don’t seem like a soldier. So that leaves the Navy or Marines.”

He nodded along before sticking out his hand, “Bradley Bradshaw, United States Navy.”

“Ah, a sailor then,” You shook his hand back, “Y/N Y/L/N, total civilian. Nice to meet you Bradley.”

He grinned, you almost swore your stomach tightened a little. You liked that smile. His smile was a hell of a lot better than some of the guys you tried to go out with in the last few months. But you only had the weekend, you were only here for the wedding and then you’d go right back home.

“So, are you stationed here?” You asked him.

“Over in Virginia Beach. They have me at Oceana.”

“Personnel or are you one of the flyboys?” You questioned.

He let out a little laugh, “Guilty, I’m an aviator.”

You leaned back to look at him fully, “Damn, that’s impressive. Alex is just a mechanic. But you actually get to fly the things?”

The two of you fell into an easy conversation. You weren’t entirely sure what it was about him that made him so easy to talk to, but you liked it none the less. He seemed so comfortable sitting on the beach with you.

Part of you began hoping you would be able to dance with him at the wedding. You wanted to spend just a little more time with him before you left, probably never to see him again.

“Are you hungry?” You asked some time later.

He shrugged, “I could eat.”

“Great, c’mon, I know a great Italian place just down the road. They have the best subs and I’ve been craving one for months.”

He laughed and followed her as she nearly ran down the road. He soon found himself in a dimly lit italian restaurant, tucking into a big sub. You were right, the sandwich was amazing. The conversation seemed to flow easily. You chatted about your upbringing in Virginia. He told you all about his army of uncles, who also doubled as his father’s old flying buddies. The both of you laughed about certain things the Navy did that just didn’t make sense, and the list was long to be sure.

Before you knew it, you had to leave to meet your friend to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. Admittedly though, you weren’t ready to leave your little one on one with the pilot across from you. Somehow you were quite drawn to him, and you liked it.

“See you around, Bradshaw,” You gave him a little salute with a wink before hopping in your car.

The next day you didn’t get a chance to see him until everyone was lining up for the processional. He looked good in his dress uniform, too good in fact. You found yourself licking your lips a little as you stood beside him. He was the best man, as it turned out. Which meant you were able to stand side by side with him the whole time.

He didn’t make eye contact with you, however you caught him glance down at you and smiling a little. You looked damn good, if you had to say so yourself. As many times as you’d been a bridesmaid, you never loved a dress as much as you loved this one. Your friend did a damn good job picking them.

The ceremony was beautiful. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t shed a tear or two. Truthfully, you were just so happy your best friend finally found her Prince Charming. Even if he was a Naval mechanic. She loved him more than anything, and that was enough for you.

So when it came time for their first dance, you held your glass of champagne close to your chest and wondered if one day you’d be able to have the same thing. You had no boyfriend, no one to call your own, and certainly no prospects. Any of the dates you went on recently were horrible and you wished you could forget them. Hookups weren’t in the cards either since no one seemed to know how to actually give you what you needed. Bottom line, you were all alone.

“They look good together,” You glanced over your shoulder to see Bradley standing just behind you, the same wistful look in his eyes.

“They really do,” You agreed, “She made a beautiful bride. Alex is definitely a lucky guy.”

Bradley nodded in agreement and took a long sip from his glass of what looked like whiskey. His tie was gone, along with his suit jacket. He also unbuttoned a couple of his shirt as well. He looked even better now, it made your mouth water just enough.

“You wanna dance?” He asked you, finishing his drink, “I promise not to step on your toes.”

“I can’t promise the same thing, I’ve been told I have two left feet,” You admitted, drinking more champagne.

He looked down at his feet, kicking his toe, “The shoes are sturdy, I think I could handle it.”

So you danced, and danced, and then danced some more. Both of you took breaks to get another drink, and then it was right back to the dance floor. Somehow, you wandered off, finding yourselves outside of the reception venue.

You weren’t sure how his lips ended up on yours, or how your hands tangled into his hair. Or how you managed to find yourself in his bed with his cock burried impossibly deep within you, but you weren’t going to question any of it, or complain.

But the next morning as you were both getting dressed, he was kind enough to lend you a shirt and a pair of sweats so you didn’t have to do a total walk of shame back to your own hotel room. You felt a tug somewhere deep within your chest, like you were getting ready to walk out on something important. So instead you turned back around, dress balled up in your arms, you heels dangling from your fingers.

“How about we make a deal?” You questioned, stepping back towards him.

“A deal?”

“Well, you’re here, and I come home every now and again…” You explained, “And well, I really, really enjoyed last night. Seemed like you did too.”

He nodded, “Go on.”

“How about we call anytime we’re near each other, maybe grab dinner and uh, you know?”

Bradley couldn’t help but smile a little bit. He didn’t want you to walk out anymore than you did. The thought of being able to see and talk to you again made his heart seem to skip a beat.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” He replied, trying to sound as calm as possible.

“Cool, well, uh- I guess I should give you my number.”

That’s how you found yourself in the same situation a handful of times over the next couple of years. You’d call and text any time something major happened, for some reason Bradley was one of the first people you wanted to tell. He did the same. Slowly, you built a relationship with Bradley, a friendship.

You spent several nights in bed with him when he came to see you one month when he had leave. The light kisses and soft touches were enough to make you feel incredibly safe and almost loved.

You found yourself missing Bradley Bradshaw when you weren’t with him. You didn’t call him Rooster like everyone else in his life, except for when you were joking with him. He told you that he loved the way you used his first name. While you loved the way he said your name. You loved the warmth that spread throughout your chest. You wanted to hate it, but you couldn’t.

“I’m being moved again,” He told you over the phone one day, “They’re sending me overseas this time.”

“For how long?” You questioned, feeling your throat close up.

You could almost picture him shrugging, “I don’t know. As long as they need me, I guess?”

“Can I see you before you leave?” You questioned, unable to stop the small amount of hope.

“Not this time,” He replied regretfully, “I ship out in twelve hours. You wouldn’t be able to get here in time. Not from New York, plus you have that conference.”

“Fuck the conference,” You mumbled, “You’re getting ready to leave the country.”

“I know,” He sighed, “I’m sorry. I would’ve told you if I knew sooner. I wish I could see you.”

“Just-just be safe, okay? I won’t make you promise me anything but that,” You swore.

You were glad the way he couldn’t see you clutching your chest. Or the way your eyes were burning with tears. After all, you were just hookups, nothing more. Right? Friends with benefits. You only saw him once or twice a year, if that. You had no claim to him, no right to him. Any type of call you got you savored, even if it threatened to break your heart into a million pieces.

“I’ll do my best, I promise.”

You hated the fact that you were so far away. You hated that you didn’t even live in Virginia. Every part of you somehow ached to be back with him. You missed him even if you didn’t have the right to. Sporadic nights in bed with him just weren’t enough anymore. You wanted more, so much more, but you didn’t know how to ask for it. Or if Bradley even wanted it.

“I’ll try to call you when I can,” He promised you, “But I normally give away my phonetime to the guys with families, but I’ll keep one or two for you.”

You felt empty and hollow when you hung up with him. You wanted to call him back and tell him how you felt, but you knew you couldn’t, he needed to focus on what he was about to do. Not some girl that he hooked up with whenever he was in town.

So you went about your normal life. The meetings and phone calls. Slowly unpacking boxes that were stacked almost to the ceiling of your studio apartment in Raleigh, NC. You went out to a couple of bars, met some friends. But you always lunged for your phone when it rang, no matter the time of night. You never wanted to miss a call from Bradley.

Only, the last time you talked to him, you ended up fighting. It was stupid really, but you were stubborn and didn’t want to apologize or admit he was right. So when you were on a date and your phone rang, you simply silenced it.

“Do you need to get that?” Your date asked you, pointing to your purse.

“No, it’s no one important.”

Even the words seemed to hurt you. He was important, so important that you wanted to move back to Virginia to be close to him. That’s what the whole fight was about. You wanted to uproot and he kept telling you how stupid that would be. You didn’t listen, or maybe you didn’t want to listen. Bottom line it ended with you screaming at him before hanging up.

“Who is it?”

You just shrugged and took a sip from your cocktail, “Someone I used to hook up with. He’s deployed right now, but I’m really the only friend not in the military that he has. But he can wait, I can email him later.”

It was almost halloween, the fall air outside was chilly enough for you to need a jacket as you left the restaurant more than an hour later. You pulled your phone out from your bag before playing Bradley’s voicemail, expecting to hear him begging you to just talk to him again.

“Hey, it’s uh- it’s me. Look, I don’t have much time okay, so I need to make this quick. But I’m kind of glad you ignored my call, because I’m not sure I could say all of this with you on the other end of the line.” He took a deep breath, so loud even you could hear it through the recording, “I was stateside, but not for long. They called me back for some special mission, and I’m not sure I’m gonna make it back for this one. We’re on the boat right now, I’m gonna be getting in my plane here in a few minutes. I already told someone how to get in touch with you if something happens to me, okay? They’ll call you, because you’re all I’ve got.”

You clutched the phone, starting to hate yourself for not picking up. The tears that ran down your cheeks were even colder thanks to the fall air. Why did you have to be so mad at him for not letting you ask for a transfer to be closer to him when he came back? He was right, you couldn’t uproot everything just on the off chance that he was going to stay in Oceana.

“I need you to listen to me, okay? Really listen to me,” He said sternly, “I love you. I know it’s a really fucking bad time. And I know this wasn’t part of the deal, we were just supposed to fuck and have fun and not catch feelings. But I caught them. Because I really fucking love you. And I hope I get the chance to actually say it to you. I hope the next time you get a phone call I’ll be the one calling, not someone with bad news. But I couldn’t do this without you knowing. I wish I could tell you where I was, or what we were doing. Just know….I’m gonna do my best to come home to you. But…between you and me, I’m a little scared. So I’m just gonna remember what it felt like when you held me that one time after I had that shitty nightmare. Because that’s what I need.”

There was a loud sound somewhere on the boat, “I have to go….I love you, okay? I know you’re mad at me, but I hope you understand why I said what I said…but I love you.”

The line went dead. And over the next few days you listened to that voicemail again and again. You went through the motions, but truthfully you were too worried to really focus on work or your friends or the second date you somehow agreed to even though you didn’t want to go. You just wanted Bradley. But you didn’t even know if he was okay. You didn’t know how long this mission was going to take. You knew nothing.

So you tried and tried and tried. You went as far as to dig out the old college shirt you stole from Bradley the last time you were at his place. He probably didn’t even know you had it. You hoped he didn’t, because you didn’t want to give it back.

Just like you didn’t want to be on this stupid date. But you didn’t know how to get out of it. He was so nice, almost too nice, and you didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But you felt nothing towards him. Maybe you could ghost him after this was over? Pretend it never happened and keep wishing Bradley would call you, because that would mean he was safe.

“You know what?” You mumbled, “Fuck this. This isn’t working. You’re a great guy, but I’m sorry. I can’t be here. I need to go.”

You put down some money on the table and rushed out of the restaurant, pulling your jacket even closer to your body. Normally you wouldn’t walk alone in downtown Raleigh, but you wanted the cold air.

Only, you stopped dead in your tracks when your phone started ringing. You fished it out, taking a deep breath before answering. His voice filled your ear, rough and a little broken as he said your name. But it was him, it was Bradley. He was safe and alive and that’s all you could think about. People pushed past you, jostling you a little as you stood in the middle of the sidewalk. You were sure your eyes were blown wide open as tears started to fill them. He was okay.

“I love you too,” You forced out before he could say anything else, “I really fucking love you too.”

“I’m in Raleigh, I flew in as soon as they let me go,” He told you, “Where are you? I need to see you. I need to hear you say it in person.”

You quickly looked around to find the street signs, because your brain seemed to forget everything else. He was okay, and he was here. He wanted to see you. And you wanted to love him until nothing else mattered.

“I’m only a couple blocks away. I’ll be there in a minute,” He promised, “I look a little rough, had a bit of trouble during everything, but I couldn’t wait.”

“I love you,” You repeated again, because that’s all that mattered.

“I love you. I’ll be right there.”

But all you could hear was him saying that he loved you. All you could feel was the warmth in your chest despite the cold outside, because you loved him and he loved you in return. He was here and coming for you. You could be together for a while, maybe more than just a night.

“Look up.”

You could see him smiling in a rented pickup truck just in front of you. You hung up your phone, nearly squealing as you launched yourself into the front seat. There wasn’t time to look over the cuts on his face and neck. No time to comment on how he looked, because instead you kissed him. Hard. Like there was no time in the world for being soft and sweet.

“I love you.”

He smiled against your mouth and pulled back just a little, tucking a stray bit of hair behind your ear, “I love you, so so much. I should’ve said it sooner.”

“No,” you shook your head, kissing his hand, “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“No more just fucking then?”

You laughed and kissed him again before cars started honking behind you, “Oh honey, we’re long passed just fucking. But if you don’t take me back to my apartment and fuck me there, I’m going to explode.”

He laughed, pulling away from the curb, his smile big enough to make your heart squeeze a little, “Well, we can’t have that. Show me the way home, honey.”

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compacflt · 1 year

Note

if you're open to angsty prompts - tgm mission goes bad and Ice gets to accept Bradley and Mav's flags at their funerals? (but only if you're feeling angsty. if not, feel free to ignore!)

San Diego, California. November 2016.

It should not be surprising that the complicated politics of a funeral like Mitchell’s supersede even the national grief of losing him, but of course it is. The Defense Department and the new administration (loudly Tweeting out of their asses because the President-Elect hasn’t yet been sworn in) want to hold it in Arlington. Do it in D.C., show American unity, show how proud we are of our fallen aviator, who sacrificed himself for America’s national interests, bury him in Virginian soil next to Kennedy’s eternal flame… It’s not a terrible idea, geopolitically speaking. But the Republican leadership of the state of Texas wants a piece of him, too. Why not bury him in the National Cemetery in Dallas? That’s where he’s from. Lay him to rest in the soil of his forefathers, as all good men should be. But the entire Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy, it is argued by people who aren’t Kazansky, also has a stake in this. Bury him at sea. He gave his life for the Navy. This is how it ought to be. Bury both Mitchell and Bradshaw at sea the way we buried other American Navy heroes like John Paul Jones. (When he hears this argument, Kazansky also remembers that we buried Osama bin Laden at sea, too.)

The whole political clusterfuck is put to rest at last in mid-November, when someone bothers to ask Kazansky what he thinks, and Kazansky says, “I’ll remind you that there’s absolutely nothing left of him to bury. But Mitchell lived in California for the last thirty years of his life. He told me he’d want to be buried in San Diego. I don’t really care where you put him. But that’s what he said he wanted.” And after Pacific Command leadership hears this and communicates it to the White House, everyone all of a sudden bends over backwards to organize a joint funeral in San Diego, where Bradshaw’s parents are buried, anyway. Maybe it really is fitting. Okay.

It’s a funny thing, ritual. The military’s full of it. A funeral: that’s a ritual. So, too, is promotion, retirement, commissioning in the first place. So, too, is the everyday ritual of getting dressed, donning battle gear, which today is dress blues, the way it was the day Mitchell died. Medals instead of ribbons. The President posthumously gave Bradshaw and Mitchell Medals of Honor. Their bodies would be wearing them, if there were bodies to bury. The President prehumously gave Kazansky and Seresin Medals of Honor as well. Kazansky’s is sitting around his throat like a noose. He feels like nothing but a body himself, no soul, already passed-on. They’ll lower Mitchell’s empty casket into the ground this afternoon and Kazansky’s already thinking about climbing inside it before they do. He’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t see the absurdity in that thought. But he’s also not so self-aware that he isn’t having that thought.

It’s the highest-profile funeral Kazansky’s attended in a few years. The Secretary of State is here. The Secretary of Defense is here. The Secretary of the Navy is here. The Vice President is here. He, too, has only recently lost a son; he, too, has already lost someone he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. They don’t talk, but when they shake hands, it feels like stronger solidarity than all the Sorry for your losses Kazansky’s received over the past couple weeks. Everyone here knows about him and Mitchell, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare; now, his actual worst nightmare having been realized, he can’t bring himself to care, and no one’s making a big deal out of it. When they say, Sorry for your loss, they don’t mean in the “loss of two highly strategic assets for the U.S. Pacific Fleet” sense, they mean in the “loss of the only two people you cared about more than your career” sense. Sorry for your loss. It’s not so bad. And because everyone knows, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare, no one bats an eye when Kazansky realizes his actual worst nightmare and accepts Mitchell’s folded flag. No, they weren’t legal family. But everyone knows they were close enough.

He tacks his own Naval aviator wings onto Mitchell’s empty casket. Twenty-one guns fire. He salutes. They lower two empty caskets into the ground and he’s still standing. It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not really a goodbye, because neither Mitchell nor Bradshaw are actually inside. He watches Seresin struggle not to cry. He stands before a few hundred people and makes a short boring speech about service and sacrifice that he did not write. This is all political. This is all just for show. Most ritual usually is. So who gives a fuck.

He disappears before anyone can pin him down to apologize again and again, but finds that his intended hideout location has already been claimed: by the time he makes it to Goose’s grave, Seresin’s already standing there alone, his hands in his blues pockets, his cap tucked under his arm.

“I just,” says Seresin stupidly. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is sallow. They’ve never really spoken, the two of them, but Kazansky’s heard the rumors about him and Bradshaw. And he’s sure Seresin’s heard the rumors about him and Mitchell. They’re in the same leaking boat, here. “Bradley talked about him all the time.” Gestures down to the grave. “And about you. And about Maverick.”

Kazansky says, “Would you want to have lunch with me? I’m not very hungry. But maybe we can talk.” He’s trying. Too little too late, but he’s trying.

He exchanges his jingling blues coat for a regular suit jacket in the armored Suburban. Takes the Medal of Honor off as he does. Seresin, still only a lieutenant, doesn’t have the luxury of a general staff who will carry around a wardrobe change on his behalf. He’s gonna have to make do with his dress blues. He’s nervously fingering the Medal of Honor around his neck, and will continue to do so long after they’ve taken their seats in a restaurant downtown where Kazansky used to take Mitchell out for dinner, not so long ago. He can hear his chief flag aide kindly whispering to their waiter: Somewhere in the back. Where they won’t be bothered. Everyone’s being so kind.

“I could kill him,” Seresin says after a few minutes.

“Who?” says Kazansky incuriously. He’s been running his fingers over the condensation on his water glass. Now his fingertips are wet. Actions and consequences.

“Cyclone. He’s the one who refused to send me. And he didn’t launch search-and-rescue, either.”

Kazansky blinks, then looks down at his menu. “No, son, that was me.”

Seresin’s Then I could kill you goes unsaid. It’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Kazansky’s read through the menu—every word—twice. Then Seresin says, “Why?”

“You would’ve searched for the rest of your life and rescued nothing, and blamed yourself.”

“I blame myself for not going anyway. For not disobeying orders. —Maverick would’ve gone.”

Yeah, he probably would have. Kazansky remembers, in a split second, a story Mitchell had only told him a few years ago, lying next to him in the dark, a little tipsy after dinner and touchy-feely as he always was lying next to Kazansky in the dark: I don’t think I ever told you the story of how I saved Cougar’s life. His warm hands, gentle and unhurried, sliding up and down Kazansky’s abdomen: it’s so funny the details you choose to overlook at the time, and only remember when you lose them. / Well, I never wanted to ask. You hate telling those stories, I thought, Kazansky had said. Because it was true. At any party, Mitchell could tell the stories of how he saved Cougar’s life and how he ejected out of a flat spin at TOPGUN and how he shot down three MiGs not two weeks later—but he’d always have nightmares about all of it the night after. He hated telling those stories. He’d only do it if people asked, so Kazansky never asked. / You’re here in bed next to me, Mitchell said, so I’ll sleep just fine. Let me be a hero for you for once. —It was the day I saw that first Soviet MiG up close. Remember that? Negative four-G inverted dive? That was real, baby. Scared the shit outta Cougar. Messed him up bad. I mean, he thought we were all cooked. He wasn’t gonna land, I mean. Or if he tried, he was gonna plow right into the side of the boat. Couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? He was dipping his wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving his Tomcat, I mean, it was freaky. So I touch-and-goed my F-14. / Against orders, surely, Kazansky’d said. / Oh, of course. You’ve met me, haven’t you? Of course, against orders. We were both outta gas. But I took off again and circled around to find him, and guided him in, you know, level off, call the ball, there you go, Coug, you got it, you got it. Don’t know if he ever told you this—he probably did ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up the landing gear and snapped off his tailhook and ground up into the fuselage. / But he lived. / But he lived, Mitchell said, and that’s how I got sent to TOPGUN. And that’s—with a soft sweet kiss—how I met you. / My hero, Kazansky’d said.

“Yeah,” he says noncommittally. “Maverick would’ve gone. —But he’d have searched for the rest of his life and rescued nothing, and blamed himself.”

Seresin says, “Is that what happened with him and Bradley’s dad? Is that what happened with Goose?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for another while. The waiter comes by to take their orders. Kazansky’s not hungry and orders a beer. Seresin’s starving and orders a burger and a side of onion rings and a glass of wine.

“Can I ask you a question?” Seresin says after another few minutes. “Are you, like, a coward, or something? —That speech you gave was pretty neutered, sir. You loved him and you can’t even say it at his funeral?”

It’s a stupid, immature question. The Navy doesn’t deserve to hear that out loud. Nor does Mitchell’s empty casket. Only Mitchell did, and too late now. Kazansky shrugs. “If I were a brave man,” he says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

“I’d like to think I’m a brave man,” says Seresin. “I let Bradley go because I trusted him to come back. —Honestly, I’m kind of fucking pissed about it, to be honest. Sorry for the language. But it’s the truth. The night after he died, I mean, I went apeshit. Tore up our photos, punched the wall, cried myself fucking dry, that kind of stupid shit. I was so mad. I trusted him to come back, and he didn’t. Thought he was a good pilot. —Sorry. Is that sacrilegious to say? We aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, are we? I don’t care. I’m still mad about it. I know I shouldn’t be. But it’s the only thing I know how to be, is angry. Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes, but not at Mitchell. You know that saying, we have old pilots and bold pilots, but never old, bold pilots? Maverick was an old, bold pilot. We both knew he was living on borrowed time. That’s how he lived.”

“Pretty fucking defeatist.”

Kazansky shrugs again. He is a man defeated.

Seresin says, “Are you gonna be okay?” Then, in the resulting silence, he says, “Sorry, stupid question. Sorry. It’s just—“ He hesitates. It’s only now that Kazansky sees the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the desperation in the stiffness of his shoulders. “Look, it’s just that I don’t think I’m going to be okay, and you’re a lot older than me, and I keep thinking you have, like, the answer. Some wisdom, you know what I mean? How am I gonna be okay? You’re the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy. Aren’t you supposed to know what to do? Aren’t you supposed to give me orders? What do I do?”

“If I were a wise man,” Kazansky says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

Seresin is quiet. His food comes. He immediately launches into it, eats ravenously and silently for a few minutes.

Then he says, around a bite of his burger, “You know, I was gonna ask him to marry me.”

“Bradshaw?”

“Who else?”

Kazansky blinks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah,” says Seresin. “You know, fucking everyone is.”

“Lunch is on me,” Kazansky says.

Home, afterwards, is silent and lonely. Of course it is: Mitchell’s not here. Of course. Kazansky’s settling into it. Life so rarely gives you a choice, when assigning you ritual, routine. There’s still legal paperwork to fill out. That he can do. And there are still letters of condolences to respond to: Thank you for your kind words. Maverick was… figuring out how to end that sentence will give Kazansky a way to occupy his time for a while. And there are flowers to throw out—no one wants flowers after someone they care about has died. They stink up the house and permeate everything with their reminder of grief and mourning, and you’ll find the dried petals even months later and grieve and mourn all over again. Kazansky throws them all out before they can start shedding. There are friends to call and thank for coming. “I don’t know what to say,” Slider says over the phone. / “Yeah, neither do I,” says Kazansky, so they sit in silence on the line together for a while, and that’s pretty nice. / “He was the best of us,” says Sundown, and Kazansky thinks about what Seresin had said a few hours ago: Thought he was a good pilot. It’s a cruel thought, but sometimes the only thing you can be is angry: if Maverick really was the best of us, he should’ve come home. / “You know, I’m still in his debt,” says Cougar. “He saved my life thirty years ago. It’s so fucking stupid, you know what I mean, this idea that I should’ve saved his in return? Feels like it’s my fault that he died. Maybe I’m too superstitious. I’m indebted to a fucking dead man. I’ll never be able to pay him back. —Sorry, Ice. Sorry. I don’t mean to make it all about me. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Kazansky. “Don’t, um—look, I’m just curious. How did he save your life? Would you mind telling me?”

“I don’t remember too much of it, to be honest,” says Cougar. “That’s why I quit, isn’t it? Something wrong with me. I was so scared I couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? I wouldn’t have landed if it weren’t for Maverick. Or, if I had tried, I think I would’ve plowed into the side of the boat. Dipping my wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving my Tomcat. There was something wrong with me. You know, they could’ve kicked him out for that stunt, touch-and-going his F-14 like that. We were both outta gas. It could’ve killed him, too. But he guided me in. Saved my life. —I don’t think I ever told you this. I probably did about ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up my landing gear, snapped off my tailhook, ground up into the fuselage.”

“But you lived.”

“But I lived,” says Cougar. “And I came home to my family. Only ‘cause of him.”

“He was a hero.”

“He was a fucking hero,” says Cougar. “To the very fucking last. Sorry you had to go and fall in love with him. They advise against that, don’t they?”

“What, falling in love with heroes?”

“Yeah. —Sorry. Not funny.”

“A little funny. In a cosmic sense. Means it’s my own fault.”

Cougar pauses. “It wasn’t your fault, Ice.”

There’s still a Fleet to be run. Still work to be done. Kazansky can do that. People will laud him for the rest of his life for his professionalism under duress. He works when he should be grieving. Work is a ritual, too. Take some time off, sir, one of the Chief of Naval Operations’ aides had begged him. You need time. But he can’t. Only thing to do is keep working until all the work is done. The geopolitical situation after the mission, which was still classified as a success, is quite bad. They knew it would be. A bombing mission on Russian territory right near the American general election? Yeah, that’s bad. Russia’s Foreign Ministry has openly stated that if they find any remains of Mitchell and Bradshaw’s bodies, they will not extradite them home to the United States. I’m sorry you had to hear that, the President e-mailed him personally. But it’s fine. Kazansky likes the chaos. Means there’s work to do. He works.

When he can’t work anymore, because he’s done all the work that needs to be done, he takes care of another ritual. Life assigned him this one without giving him a choice, too. It’s past 2200. He turns no light on. He’s not sleeping in their bed, which is pretty cliché, and maybe he should be stronger than that, but you do have to make some concessions to your own grief when something like this happens. But he’s strong enough to sit on the side of it that had been his and open his phone and dial the number of his only favorited contact and hold the phone to his ear. It gives the dial tone five times, as is routine, and then Mitchell picks up the phone, as is routine. Hi! Captain Pete Mitchell here! Unfortunately I’m not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message, or if it’s Navy business, you can shoot me an e-mail at C. A. P. T. dot P. dot Mitchell at navy dot mil. Thanks! Bye. Maybe Mitchell’s just busy. Maybe Mitchell’s somewhere without cell service. Maybe Mitchell’s just out flying.

Kazansky considers leaving a message, as is routine; realizes he doesn’t know what to say, as is routine; and hangs up, as is routine.

He takes all his medals off the rack of his double-breasted blues coat, packs them back into their clear-plastic-velvet boxes. He considers, momentarily, throwing out the Medal of Honor with the flowers. But he’s too self-aware to do that. He hangs up his coat on its felt-lined hanger, steams it straight, does the same to his slacks, slips the ensemble back into its garment bag, hangs it up next to Mitchell’s in their closet. This is a ritual, too. He takes a shower. He eats something. He answers a couple e-mails. He climbs into a bed that is not his own. He holds one of Mitchell’s college sweatshirts over his face and breathes in. He takes stock. His fuel gauge is reading pretty low. He knows his wings are dipping. If he really thought about it, he’d say he’s so scared he can’t see straight. And the truth is—he’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t recognize this, however numbly—Maverick’s not coming home to guide him in to land. Maverick’s never coming home again. Thought you were a good pilot. He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep.

#major character death #death #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun maverick #top gun #icemav #top gun fanfiction #asks #sorry to start out my prompt fills with maybe the most soulcrushing thing ive ever written #ngl writing this yesterday fucked me up hard #sorry to sneak more pro-brandon propaganda in here but the parallel was too good to pass up #rip beau biden i guess #forgot to tag:#bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #hangster #soundtrack for this one is Judy collins’ send in the clowns

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wolfepirat3 · 8 months

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Okay i like... just realized that ive literally never expanded on my love for westerns besides the copious amounts of references in my fic and the one picture of all my westerns...

So heres a list of all the westerns in my collection (plus my favorites, ill mark them with a *)

Shows

Gunsmoke (seasons 1-5)

Laramie (seasons 1-4)*

Wanted: Dead or Alive

Lonesome Dove The Series

Magnificent Seven 1998 (season 1-2)*

Rawhide (season 1)

Shane 1966*

Lonesome Dove (miniseries)

Return to Lonesome Dove (miniseries)

Sugarfoot (season 1-4)

Alias: Smith and Jones (season 1-3)

Movies

Streets of Laredo

Dead Man's Walk

The Magnificent Seven 1960*

The Magnificent Seven 2015

Tombstone*

Young Guns*

Young Guns II*

A Fistful of Dollars

For A Few Dollars More

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Pale Rider

Hang 'Em High

High Plains Drifter

The Outlaw Josey Wales

3:10 to Yuma 2007*

Shane 1952*

Once Upon A Time in The West*

Books

Evil Roy Slade

Dead Man*

Appaloosa

Brimstone

Shane*

Blood, Guts, and Glory

Saddle by Starlight

The Gunslinger

Lonesome Dove*

Comanche Moon

Dead Man's Walk

Streets of Laredo

The Big Sky*

The Way West

Seven Ox Seven Part One, Escondido Bound

The Tall Stranger

Kilkenny

Hondo

Showdown at Yellow Butte

The Virginian*

Miscellaneous

Adventures of the Old West (docuseries)

Outlaws & Gunslingers (docuseries)

Legends of The Old West (docuseries)

The Classic TV Western Collection (40 misc. episodes)

TV Western Collection (27 misc. episodes)

Western Collection (8 misc. movies)

The Wild Wild West the Series (book)

The Hollywood Western (book)

A Pictorial History of Westerns (book)*

Please please please ask me about any of them if you like any please!!

Those are all of the physical westerns i have, but there are plenty more i love but havent gotten my hands on yet!

#westerns #western #cowboys #collection #western collection #the magnificent seven 1998 #magnificent seven #laramie #shane 1966 #lonesome dove #dollars trilogy #western movies #western media

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mydaddywiki · 14 days

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Jim Justice

Physique: Heavyset Build Height: 6’ 7" (2.01 m)

James Conley Justice II (born April 27, 1951-) is an American businessman and politician who has served as the 36th governor of West Virginia since 2017. Justice was once a billionaire, but his net worth had declined to $513.3 million as of 2021. He inherited a coal mining business from his father and built a business empire with 94 companies, including the Greenbrier, a luxury resort in White Sulphur Springs.

Justice is a well-liked and wealthy coal magnate who is one big fucking bear of a man. No other way to describe him. Hell… he compared himself to a grizzly bear. A 6-foot-7, 400+ pound millionaire grizzly bear. I’ll admit, I’m a little intimidated by the sheer size of him. But once I leave my goo on him, that’ll pass.

A lifelong West Virginian, he attended Raleigh County public schools and graduated from Woodrow Wilson High School in 1969, and attended Greenbrier Military Academy as a post-graduate. Governor Justice went on to Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia, and was captain of the golf team for two years before earning his undergraduate degree and a Masters in Business Administration.

Justice married his high school sweetheart, having two adult children and spend time spoiling four grandchildren. In addition, they have three dogs: two Boston Terriers, and their famous Babydog, an English Bulldog. Plus, he coach girls' basketball. Not the most handsomest guy, but I'd love to fuck around with him for a weekend. And for some reason with his dog, Babydog watching.

#Jim Justice #mydaddywiki politicians

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roselyn-writing · 5 months

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Ardin Kayuel.

Full name: Ardin Martin Kayuel

Nationality: Italian.

Skin tone: Porcelain.

Hair colour: Grey and white colour.

Eye colour: Grey-Blue.

Accent: Italian.

Face-claim: Blake Roman (his VA too).

Languages: English, Italian, French.

Age: 90 Y.O. 7th of May (1111, In Virginian time & year).

Favourite food: Pizza, Bruschetta, Pasta, (Pretty much Italian cuisine), Vanilla gelato.

Least/Hate: Pineapple Pizza (Don’t ever ask him why).

Hobbies:Playing cards, practicing his magic, collection gems, Playing Harmonica/ Armonica instrument, Listening to italian music. Singing Opera, listening to opera.

Aesthetic: Italian, Music, Opera, Food aesthetic, Grey and Silver aesthetic, Good luck four-leaf clover plant.

Favourite colours: Sky Blue, Grey, Silver, White, Black.

Clothing: Roman Robes, Clothes, Black jeans, jackets, casual outfits.

Weapons: none, atm.

Magic: Virginian magic, Manipulate Luck and probability. He fires colourless/invisible blasts and spells; some could say he use telekinesis too. He also steals people luck; resulting in their demise, (No luck no life).

Titles: The Luck Incarnate, Il Dio Di Fortuna (The God/Lord of Fortune)

“I do not need luck because I’m luck itself.”

_________Ardin Kayuel quote.

Ardin’s Lore

Born in the majestic city of Zolin’Tarah. Ardin’s family worked in the mines. They managed to profit off it. Digging out rare and expensive gems and crystals. Selling it to the people who want to buy it. Ardin’s father worked as a miner too to honour his father legacy as the greatest miner ever.

When, Ardin was born, His family's social and financial status was great, it changed for the better once Ardin was born.

His father; Archie was the happiest father ever as his wife, Miranda. They loved Ardin and took care of him. They saw him as their world, They took care of him, They taught him and raised him well.

But, Good things never last, The majestic and Great city of Zolin’Tara was attacked by the Giants — Known for their cruelty and unmercifulness. They breached open the heavy and magnificent walls of the city. Breaking it as if it were nothing.

Then, They killed the people and stocked their bodies for food. The once majestic city bathed in blood and the corpses of its people, Little people managed to escape and among them is Ardin.

His parents, Shielded him and sacrificed themselves so their precious son could escape and live.

After Ardin and a few people who escaped. They sought refuge in the nearest city. Its name is Mika’Asla, There, He vowed he would kill all the Giants, In his heart; There is such unweightable hatred for the Giants.

He met the infamous Giants Slayer, Maghda Saliem, He was inspired by Maghda to kill the giants and wipe them from the face of Virginia.

Once, He was collecting herbs for dinner, Some giants found Ardin and they charged at him, intending to kill him.

Ardin ran away. He managed to run as fast as possible but the Giants were relentless, They intended to kill him. He passed the safest rope bridge, The people named it ‘The Safest Route’

He looked over his shoulder; The giants were still behind him. Desperately, He flicked his finger. One of the ropes that holds onto the wooden blank. Loosened itself, Making the Giants fall and meet their demise.

People saw this. They were astonished and shocked. The bridge never fell and it was a good thing it fell because if it weren’t the Giants would enter the city and kill the people. Then, The people knew that Ardin manipulate luck and fortune.

They named him ‘II Dio Di Fortuna’ which means the entity of luck in Virginian language. In another incident, The Giants also tried to attack Ardin and nearly entering the city, Ardin used his luck magic to move the icy texture of a big ancient mountain, causing an avalanche and drowning in the Giants under the frigid and merciless ice; killing them in the process.

The people of Mika’Asla, Started to see him as a god and they started to worship him and venerate him. Initially, He refused to be seen and treated as a divine being. He was humble and kind. He helped people by doing many things, Mainly, Healing the people, and Finding their lost items and possessions. Saving them from disasters, using his magic to make the lands fruitful and rich, so that they can cultivate it, He is protecting the city from Giants and other threats. And many, many, incidents that the people started to see him as a god.

Years later, He killed many many Giants and other deadly creatures to protect people and his beloved city, Pride, Arrogance and Vanity started to creep into his heart, slowly polluting his mind and affecting his kindness.

He started to become arrogant, prideful. Seeing himself above all people and creatures. Despite all this; The people still love him and worship him.

Finally, He was humbled by Aliyaa, She managed to beat him. She didn’t rely on her magic and gifts unlike him, She relied on herself and her skills.

He apologised for being an arrogant and prideful person, He saw the error of his ways.

He vowed to do better and change. To find redemption; he decided to let go of the past by apologising to people, Declaring that he is not a god or a divine being. He is but a man who was bestowed upon such powers.

The people understood Ardin, They accepted his apology and forgave him. They even thanked him for having the courage to apologise.

Then, Ardin left Mika’Asla city, He decided to join Aliyaa and the others, so that he could find the redemption he seeks.

In Earth-World or simply Earth, He works a physics Teacher in a school. The same one Eevie works as a an English Teacher.

This is Ardin lore! Hope ya like it! 🖤🖤🌹❤️😊.

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hooked-on-elvis · 2 months

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okay, hiiii! so ahem, I’m not too sure if you’ve watched elvis’ “stay away, joe,” and if you haven’t you really should. although it’s kinda…iffy, he’s so damn fine in there 😮‍💨🫠

I’m really curious about one of his ladies in the film! Quentin Dean, do you know anything or any info as in if they’ve had a bond, or any outtakes?

She randomly popped into my head after watching the wh0rehouse scene in the ‘68 comeback, bc susan henning lowk looked like her in it?!?! lol I think it’s the bangs or sumthin’

But please and thank you, I gotta know!

Hi, Lexy! I'm so, so sorry for taking so long to answer your question, dear. Thank you for reaching me out for information on Elvis' movies, I feel honored you'd think of me for this, really. If there's something I love to talk about, concerning Elvis' career, this is it, his movies — even if it's not always I am lucky finding satisfying info on them, like in this case. 😣

I've spent a long, long while trying to find anything about Quentin Dean and her relationship with Elvis during making of Stay Away Joe (that's why I took so long so answer you) - from Youtube videos to movie magazines articles, but unfortunately I still haven't.

Strangely, Quentin Dean retired pretty quick from Hollywood, after only 4 movies done and very few one-episode appearances in some Western TV shows.

Her acting career (TV and movies) lasted from 1967 to 1969, two years, and it's just bizarre since she was nominated for a Golden Globe Awards for Best Supporting Actress due to her first role on the big screen on the Oscar winner movie (Best Picture) 'In the Heat of the Night' (1967). This movie was released the same year Quentin filmed Stay Away Joe with Elvis (filmed from October 9 to November 27, 1967, released on March 8, 1968).

Quentin Dean prepared for her screen test for the Academy Award Winner movie In The Heat of the Night (1967).

Curiously enough, other than the movies, one of the few TV shows Quentin worked on was The Virginian, created by - guess who! - Charles Marquis Warren, director/producer/screenwriter of Charro! (1969 *updated for minor correction on date -- 'Charro!' was filmed during July and August of 1968 and released in 1969*). Quentin appeared in only one episode of that show, but even so, why would she give up her acting career so fast? She surely had good network in Hollywood... that's just weird. What's worse is that it seems she rarely gave interviews during her acting career and/or denied interviews after retiring from Hollywood, which would explain why her interviews are so hard to find.

1968. Quentin Dean as Saranora on The Virginian (TV Series, 1962–1971) S7. E1 "The Saddle Warmer".

I really tried to find any interview with her, and there must be some, but with a career as short-lived as hers the journalists' interest for details on her acting career is not that big, therefore there aren't modern articles online (that I have put my eyes on) and the existing vintage 60s printed ones weren't scanned and shared online so far, I suppose. 😣 What a shame!

I am confident (or just hopeful) there must be some kind of information concerning her work relationship with EP in books specifically dealing with Stay Away Joe making of, such as "Elvis: Behind The Scenes Speedway & Stay Away Joe" by Erik Lorentzen. I haven't read this book yet, unfortunately. I'm so sorry for not being helpful for now, dear. I tried. I wish I knew something. :( If any friend reading this have already read this book and know something helpful, please, feel free to share what you know with our community. ♥

Well, since we're talking about it already, if you ask me I'd say Elvis and Quentin had a pretty good professional relationship but not as close as Elvis and some of his other leading ladies had. This is pure speculation on my part, but I have a reason to think so. This if one of the movies Elvis did (this one and 'Kissin' Cousins', maybe a few others too, not sure) that Priscilla -- as well as some of the wives from the Memphis Mafia guys -- was right there watching Elvis work in the filming set. I'm not implying Elvis would have had any intimate relationship with Quentin if Priscilla hadn't been there on the filming set or anything but, speaking on friendship matters, it makes sense Elvis would have spent more of his time on set, during breaks from filming, with his gang than with the other actors. Not sure but if so, Quentin wouldn't have many opportunities to get better acquaintance of him, I guess she wouldn't have much to say about him as a person because of this.

What I can say is: below is a "behind the scenes" picture [on the right], not a publicity shot for what I've read. Judging from their faces, Elvis and Quentin had fun working together. ✨ I know, I know... this is not specific but this is what I can share for now.

I'm gonna keep trying to find some information about Quentin's career, and hopefully on her accounts over working in Stay Away Joe. I really wish I could understand why her acting career was so short and what she has done afterwards in her life, so maybe in interviews she shared something about it.

For now, I'm humbly gonna share some of the pictures of Stay Away Joe. And, yes, I've watched it! I've watched all of Elvis' movies.

Stay Away Joe didn't catch my heart at first but little by little it grew on me. Now it is one of my favorite Elvis movies, even tho I still think it's an extremely noisy and a little messy-looking movie too. LOL. Even so it's a good movie... here and there I re-watch it. ♥

Elvis Presley (Joe Lightcloud), Joan Blondell (Glenda Callahan), and Quentin Dean (Mamie Callahan) in Stay Away Joe (1968)

And, to make all of us a little happier, our man:

Stay Away Joe (1968 released, filmed in late 1967)

#elvis presley #quentin dean #stay away joe #1968 #elvis movies #elvis films #elvis fans #elvis fandom #60s movies

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satanfemme · 3 months

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More good trans news coming out of Virginia!

A week ago I made a post about how, for the second year in a row, all of the anti-trans bills introduced in the Virginia General Assembly were defeated this session, but it was just announced today (2/15/24) that the ACLU of Virginia will also be suing the Virginia Department of Education (VDOE) for the implementation of transphobic policies.

This is GREAT news. Despite Virginian law-makers blocking anti-trans legislation from passing the GA these past 2 years, in 2023 the VDOE (under the guidance of our Governor Youngkin) was able to insert transphobia into its model policies. These policies allow the forced outing of trans students, encourage deadnaming and incorrect pronoun usage, suggest that schools prohibit trans students from using their preferred restrooms, and can be used as a basis to prevent trans students from joining their preferred sports teams. These statewide policies exist for individual schools to model their own rules after, and many schools have outright rejected the transphobic guidelines suggested to them, but the schools that have adopted them have obviously fostered a harmful environment. And ofc these guidelines being written at all has only furthered the wave of transphobia in the US.

The ACLU VA is suing on behalf of 2 trans students who have been negatively affected by these policies this past year. If they succeed, it will undo VDOE's transphobic policies, discourage similar policies and laws from being written in the future, and send a message that Virginia is working towards becoming a safe state for LGBT people, despite what our current governor wants. This is a legal case the ACLU VA has been building since the VDOE 2023 policies were first proposed in 2022, and I can't stress how big of a deal this will be if it succeeds.

#this news came as a surprise to me but ofc a pleasant surprise. aclu va is great

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greypetrel · 3 months

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(resisting the urge to not say "i'm not calling you a liar" for Raina LOL)

Maybe "This is as good a place to fall as any" for anyone who fits for Radha, or anyone else who fits? c:

Hello Laya!

Thank you for asking and LOL that song for Raina would have been so funny. x°D

This got me thinking. As previously said, I’m all for Solavellan when it’s platonic, not much when it’s romantic. But, Bedroom Hymns was undeniably romantic, and I couldn’t find one way to decline it as platonic (I TRIED). Thinking and rethinking about how to make myself like Solas as a romance enough to write something convincing unlocked me, tho! I tried, let me see how it went, it was out of my comfort zone, but I hope it’s convincing enough.

And for the record, this is the book I followed. Some names are adapted to Dragon Age of course (Arbor Vitae sounded so similar to Arbor Blessing that I just put that. And “Virginian Spiderwort”… I put the name of a random city in the Free Marches. Also, Tevinter Plum is Indian Plum, with a VERY rough assignation.)

Tis the prompt list

Floriography

[ “This is as good a place to fall as any” ]

This is his body This is his love Such selfish prayers And I can't get enough Bedroom Hymns - Florence + the Machine

Radha observed Josephine with the air of a person that firmly believed she was being made a fool out of.

“Oh, come on.” The ambassador laughed. “Don’t make that face, it’s just a coded language like any other Leliana taught you!”

“Except assigning meanings to flowers makes no sense. Why should a Pansy mean thought?”

“It means I think of you. And I don’t know, maybe because it’s such a pretty flower?”

Radha watched Josephine fix the bouquet in front of her with care, a smile she couldn’t contain on her lips and in her eyes. She looked happy, and even if Radha knew who sent those flowers and was burning to tell her that Blackwall was hiding something, and to watch out… Whatever made her smile like that couldn’t be all that bad, she considered. She could attach meaning to those flowers, if she wanted, it really hurt no one, as much as a nonsensical way of communicating that was.

“If you say so.” She shrugged in the end, not convinced.

“I think it’s sweet.” Josie kept on, and turned her smile to her in a way Radha didn’t like. “Wouldn’t you like for Solas to gift you flowers as well, and know he meant something with each one he chose?”

The elf groaned in all answer, rolling her eyes to the ceiling of the office. It was far too silly for her, and as Josephine laughed at the display, she smiled back at the woman and wove a goodbye, turning back and leaving her to attach whatever set of words she wanted to the plants she received.

She crossed the Great Hall, headed to the library, and the thought still stuck, picking at her curiosity all the more because she couldn’t really understand the purpose of it.

She was there when Ydun filled the aravel she and Aisling shared with field flowers, once her sister complained the other never did anything spontaneous. She was there to help Aisling and her girlfriend clean the damn flowers out of the cart, which took the three of them hours of work, and a big question on what to do with all those flowers.

It had been silly and uncomfortable, and even Aisling had agreed that maybe picking flowers wasn’t that nice. That they were nicer growing in fields, instead of dead just for a fleeting moment of beauty.

That had settled the flower matter, for Radha, and she told Solas right away that if he really wanted to court her, beside not entering her dreams uninvited ever again, not to gift her flowers. And he had listened on both things.

But now, working with Leliana on how to circle the Templar blockade in the Emprise du Lion, reviewing reports and trying to concoct a safe way around the main pathway that could lead an armed group into Sahrnia off track, without having them trapped in the snow… The thought kept bugging her most annoyingly.

So annoyingly than when they were finished for the day, after she checked that Aisling and Dorian weren’t planning on setting themselves on fire or make something else explode that afternoon, she started shuffling the bookshelves until she found… ah.

Floriography.

There was a whole book about it, and it was fairly thick. Surprisingly thick.

Shuffling through pages, she discovered it contained pages upon pages with pictures of every single flower and plant, with instructions on how to recognise the wanted variety precisely, curiosities and other uses. Beside a dictionary of associations, ordered one by flower, one by meaning.

Radha wondered why it wasn’t just a book of botany and nothing more.

But, curious as she always was when meeting something new to learn, she placed herself on her spot on the couch in the rotunda, and started to read. With a grudge, and fully intending to disprove that silly method and silly book.

“I thought you weren’t the type for flowers.”

A known, dear voice chuckles over her, coming to sit beside her some minutes after.

She huffed, settling better to get in contact with him, allowing Solas to hug her shoulders and peek on the page she had opened on her bent thighs, as she kept on reading.

“This language is stupid.”

“Is it? I think it’s a clever way to communicate in an environment where being open is socially frowned upon.”

“Bah.”

She scoffed, not convinced, and turned the page.

“A rose changes its meaning according to the colour. It makes no sense.”

“A letter can stand for two different sounds as well, making equally little sense.”

Radha huffed through the nose, shaking her head. Not convinced at all. Solas chuckled some more, and bent to press a kiss on the side of her head.

“Would you like to try?”

She turned to him, raising one eyebrow in a silent and very disappointed question that, apparently, just amused him more.

“Just to see if it makes sense in the end, or if it’s fun.”

“Crittography is fun and doesn’t require the death of a plant.”

“It’s far less beautiful, tho.” He countered. “The brief time a flower is allowed to bloom adds to its meaning. Even if its life is brief, it’s not less precious. All the more so for it. And the sentiment attached keeps on even if the petals wilts. I find it quite poetic.”

Radha shrugged, seeing the point of his words but not fully agreeing with it. She settled herself more comfortably against his side. If he was in a mood for explanations and reading and not for painting, it was fine with her. Aisling had rubbed off her too much for Radha to not have picked up that love was in touch.

A slender arm clutched her closer, another kiss made her lips curve up in a smile, and she turned another page, deciding she may as well indulge him. If not just to prove it wrong. It didn’t work for Cullen and Aisling, she didn’t see why it should work for her. But if he wanted to try…

“As you wish.”

“I will think of something.”

She shrugged it off, and went on reading, trying to figure out if the whole thing had some sense upon it. But no matter how much she read, she just couldn’t figure out how one person could look at a bush of lavender and think of Distrust.

---

Radha found the first flower three days later, early in the morning when she walked out from her room.

On the ledge of the half wall, just in front of her door, he left her the Floriography book. In its pages he firmed the stalk of the first flower, shining white against the dark of the stone, tiny flowerets gently moving in the breeze that swept the Keep. She conceded herself half a smile, just for the care he took to leave her the guide as well. Shuffling through the pages, it was easy to find the flower she needed. It was a fairly common bloom and she of course knew its name well.

Lily of the Valley: Return of Happiness.

She rolled her eyes to the sky, but kept smiling, as she gently smelled the flower.

Silly and sappy.

She needed to find just the right answer. She was early anyway, she could spend ten minutes finding for something on the damn book.

Facing Aisling and asking her if she could please summon a very specific flower she had but a picture of in a book was another story. She hated to ask, and she knew that of her siblings, the one truly skilled with Creation magic was, without a hint of a doubt, Pavyn. But, she didn’t really trust other mages on such a personal matter, their brother was miles and miles away, and Aisling would have had to do. Even if she smirked with a horribly knowing smile at her. Saying nothing, and at the same time saying everything.

Radha groaned at it, Aisling laughed, and she gave her the flower she had asked anyway, telling her to come anytime for the next. This looked like an important mission, and had the priority, surely.

The flower was left on his desk right after, during lunch.

Ostwick Spiderwort: Momentary Happiness.

Because she was playing the game, but she was playing to prove it silly.

They went on for days, leaving flowers to each other back and forth, in places each one knew the other would have found it and know whom it was from.

When they met, they never spoke about them, of course: the fun was in the secrecy of it, and talking about the flowers would have broken the game.

Solas left her a White Periwinkle: Pleasures of Memory.

Radha shook her head and oomphed, found just the right flower, and pushed Aisling to create it anyway even if she disagreed with her choice of proving a point.

“Can I at least tell him I disagree with-”

“No, Shrimp.”

“Oomph.”

Tevinter Plum, for Privation.

He didn’t say anything, but looked at her funny that evening, raising just one eyebrow as he saw her, in a silent question. She rose one of her own, challenging him to say something. He smiled under his breath and spoke of something else.

The next morning, there was a jonquil in a small glass jar on her spot at Leliana’s table. Leliana smirked knowingly, but all she had to say at the third time she looked at the plant – just to check the jar wasn’t staining the map it rested upon, of course- was:

“It means ‘I desire a return of affection’.”

Radha groaned and urged everyone -who was horribly giggling at her, to get back to work, they had no time to lose in silliness and flowers.

She wasn’t ready to give in so early, so her choice was, and at that Aisling giggled in mirth. Not that Radha minded.

A Lady’s slipper: Win me and wear me.

To which the answer was quick:

Saffron Crocus: Mirth.

Radha smiled at it, and mirth was what she felt. Before the cook saw her with that particular flower in her hand and yelped, asking her where did she found it and if there were others, if there were enough they could have saffron for free and-

Flowers were dangerous, Radha decided, running for her -and mostly for Solas’ life from an overeager cook that would have demanded the mage to grow her a field of crocuses daily, if she had caught her and coaxed a name out of her.

The next flower, she found it herself in the garden, growing spontaneously in the meadows. A fitting answer, she thought, returning to the rotunda just to slip it behind his ear, with a briskness that masked some shyness out of inexperience. He turned, and she was out of the opposite door with just a glance of pink cheeks.

Wild Daisy: I will think of it.

When she finished with her training, patting dust away from her trousers after the Iron Bull threw her to the ground the fifth times as she was distracted by parrying Krem’s sword, his answer was in the scabbard of one of her daggers. For all she blamed this stupid flower thing for being silly and pointless -and it was silly and pointless and a waste of magic- the small twig with red lantern-like fruits brought a smile to her face, and made her forget that her back was sore and she fell badly on her shoulder.

Gooseberry: Anticipation

The game continued in the next days, and keeping a straight face when they were together became more difficult.

Radha thought she had a good control over herself: she wasn’t emotional in the way Aisling was, bursting into tears and smiling wide so everyone could partake in her emotions as well. She felt hers, but always kept them private. This new thing, tho, the expectation of seeing the hint of a coloured petal or of a leaf every way she turned, made her silly.

Her lips curled up in a smile almost automatically when she caught a glimpse of Solas, in a way she found silly and blamed herself for it. It happened to others, it happened to Aisling and Pavyn and Vyrina: it didn’t happen to her. It never did, and she wasn’t interested in having it happen. She was happy as she was.

And yet, seeing him smile back, something melting in his face, posture relaxing ever so slightly, took some of the disappointment away from her.

She left him a sprig of mezereon: Desire to please.

He answered with a white mignonette: Your qualities surpass your charme.

She was happy that he left it in her room, so nobody could see her blush. He wasn’t scarce in compliments, but she wasn’t really good at receiving them. Less of all in replying it: it felt… Too much, too soon, and she didn’t know what she should do.

After hours and hours of mulling it over, thinking if she was ready to be more direct and give a compliment back -he knew she admired him, what more could he want? Courtship was stupid. She decided that maybe not. She also decided that asking Aisling would have been a terrible idea if she didn’t want her sister to arrange with Leliana and Josephine a way to close them both in the same room with candles and rose petals and a chocolate cake so big no couple of living beings could ever dream of eating on their own… she may as well just offer him some sincerity back.

That would have worked better than Aisling setting them up, surely.

Amaryllis: Timidity.

She stayed the whole morning on pins and needles, uneasiness settling in the depth of her stomach in a way that was familiar of every time someone had requested something physical or emotional from her, and she just… Hadn’t it in her, and was made to feel in defect because in the field of love she wasn’t interested… Or in this case, when she surprisingly found herself interested, she needed to proceed slow.

He didn’t make her wait, tho: his answer was waiting for her in the war room, where she was expected for a recollection of the official plan to gather an entrance in the Emprise and Leliana had requested her presence.

A ceramic glass, stained with paint on the border -one of those he used for water when he painted, she knew- with clean water and a sprig of Evergreen Thorn, heavy with firey red berries.

Solace in adversity.

A consolation, and an acceptance. Aisling and Josephine looked at her, seeing the twig. Josie was worried, knowing probably the meaning of it, and asked her if everything was all right.

“Yes.” She answered. “Yes, it is.”

And she was fully sincere in her words.

The answer was fairly easy to find: it was Aisling’s favourite after forget-me-not, and it felt like a witty remark.

A tiger-lily on the top of his scaffolding, in the same glass: For once may pride befriend me.

She was up in the first story of the library, in the corner beside Aisling and Dorian to see his reaction. He turned the flower in his long fingers, and he heard him chuckle, as she had intended him to. He turned towards the nook with a sly smile, caught her eyes.

She felt the shiver of magic and the smell of ozone, and the next thing was something velvety and delicate caressing her right cheek. She startled to the side, thinking of something evil, for to her right there was just stone wall.

It was no demon what met her, but a single flower growing between two stones, and what velvety touched her was its leaf, spiky and sharp beneath delicate rosy and purple flowers.

“Can you go elsewhere before I puke with all this sappiness, please?” Dorian complained, groaning aloud.

“Hush, you!” Aisling giggled, swatting his arm aloud. “They’re cute, leave them be.”

“They’re getting sappier than you and Cullen, and I’m getting diabetes. Too much straight energy for me.” He groaned aloud, as if he was in pain, and let his bust fall heavily back, a wrist on his forehead for added dramatics. “I think I may die.”

Aisling hoomphed under his weight, collapsing back a little in surprise. A pile of books fell down under their combined weight, but they went on bickering about Radha one moment, their experiment the next. In the meanwhile, Radha had found which flower it was, and what did it mean. She snorted a laugh.

Oak leaved geranium: True friendship.

“See? Sappier by the minute, I swear!”

“Leave her be!”

It was, all in all, a nice afternoon full of laughter. And in all sincerity, all Radha could answer was but one flower.

Saffron Crocus: mirth.

It went on for some days more, and Radha slowly and carefully had to admit, if only to herself, that it was indeed amusing to go back and forth that way. No words, no grand declarations nor speech. Just colourful messages, well thought for their synthesis, to the point.

A bellflower in her glass, at breakfast: Gratitude.

Corn straw, deftly braided, between his quills: Agreement.

And then, after a day, when Radha was thinking he had stopped, they got through with it and had their fun but there was only so much they could tell each other through flowers -not thinking that she spent the day looking this way and that expecting a petal, a splash of colour in her field of vision… Another one that left her unsettled.

He had asked her if he could leave a couple of books he had meant to lend her directly in her room, instead of leaving them in the rookery where she was, and let her bring them back herself. She paid it little mind and told him yes, and in the evening, when she returned, there wasn’t just the four volumes of history on her desk. No.

There was a flower on her pillow, bright and colourful on the white of the sheets.

Ranunculus: You are radiant with charms.

Radha felt her breath grow short, the blow stronger this second time around, and she wondered if it was normal. She didn’t like this romance thing, she always felt like she was dancing without knowing the steps nor what he expected from her. This compliment thing… It left her uneasy and terribly, horribly seen.

Was it so bad, this insistence and being seen? Yes. But maybe… She didn’t mind being seen by Aisling, but Aisling had ways that were more delicate, and didn’t put a mirror in her face. This… A rational part in her calmly acknowledged that it was courtship, every animal did it. Birds flaunting coloured feathers to attract the female, hallas fighting for the same reason. Bonding gifts served the same purpose. Reproduction as the end goal. But this wasn’t that. She’s been clear that she wasn’t interested in that, she didn’t want children of her own, and she didn’t know if she would have ever been willing to try more intimacy than kisses. She never had the urge before, after all. He had been understanding and told her he didn’t mind it, he was happy with just whatever she had to give, and wouldn’t have asked for more.

It was the companionship, what she didn’t expect. It was the gratuitous appreciation of what she was, not what she could do, her qualities and skills. The way he listened to her and asked her opinion after long, long explanations, and seemed to value each and every of her words, remembered what she told and interpreted her ways for what they were, appreciated them. It was the smile he had just for her and the tender way his eyes would melt.

It was how her heart beat fast and how her mind could, if she tried, figure out the exact way he would have said “You are radiant with charms”, and how it made her horribly dizzy.

She prayed Aisling was in her room and was alone -she couldn’t face Cullen on this. Creators, asking one person was a lot.

Luckily, she was there and she was alone -made a weird face when Radha confessed she didn’t expect her to be, but was quick in changing the topic. In a way that told her that she didn’t want to talk about it, but still. They sat together on her bad, legs crossed, with all the curtains of the canopy drawn, it almost felt like an aravel: Radha spoke and Aisling listened with attention.

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” She asked in the end, an understanding smile on her face as she cupped her face to look at her in the eyes.

“What?”

“Falling.”

Radha glomped down. Was that it? Was it? All the fuss, all the chasing and sighing, all the novels and poetry, for this? For feeling dizzy and unsure? She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all, but something clicked true in her.

She nodded, feeling herself blushing madly.

“Yeah, I know, it’s shitty. Truly horrible.” Aisling agreed, moving forward and dragging her bust down to hug her shoulder, collecting the rogue against her frame. “It’s ok, tho. You can cut the game any time, there’s no obligation to answer. You already told him that you were shy, it’s ok. He won’t insist if you don’t want him to.”

Radha hummed, knowing she was right. It wasn’t anything serious, this game of theirs, anyway. The experiment had proven its point, she could call it out whenever she wanted.

And yet, that ranunculus…

“And- What if I wanted to?” She squeezed her eyes shut and drowned her face in the crook of Aisling’s neck.

Fingers started to thread in her hair, caressing and soothing, a kiss pressed on her cheek.

“Well, then. If you wanted to… You can be sincere about why you don’t want to reply. What about it?” Aisling asked. “Is there another flower for shyness?”

There was, they discovered after running all the way down to Radha’s room and the book. And checking also what Dandelion meant now because Aisling decided she may as well try it too, and “Cullen is definitely a dandelion”. She was very disappointed when she discovered that Dandelions meant “Rustic oracle” (“What does that even mean?? It makes no sense!” and Radha couldn’t but agree). But they found one for her as well, and it was with a sigh to get some courage, that she left it on his desk, very early in the morning.

Peony: Bashfulness, shame.

As embarrassing as it was, that was what she felt.

Waiting for an answer, after all, was still better than dreading answering in the first place. She had work to distract herself with and… Was that Cullen with a crown of dandelions on his head the one Varric and Sera were whistling at?

She had work to distract herself with.

The answer came soon enough, thankfully, and it calmed her down considerably.

A twig with leaves of white poplar: Time.

She smiled at it, relieved in her anxieties. The perfect answer, really, and she felt silly, now, for doubting him so. He gave her time, and time was what she needed. With a fuller heart and a calmer mind, and more faith in the future, she gently pressed one of the leaves in her notebook, as a keepsake, and went on with her day.

Her answer was a columbine: Foolishness.

She felt a little foolish for worrying so, truth to be told, and if sincerity paid off… Why not keeping up? Maybe it would have brought something else of good, while she tried to unwind the ball of yarn her feelings and thoughts got wound up into.

She had time, yes.

The next one was another leaf. One she knew fairly well, and which spoke thankfully more of him than on her.

Arbor Blessing: Unchanging friendship. Live for me.

Radha knew, turning the trail in her hand and rubbing the leaves between two fingers to release the balsamic perfume of them. Surely he meant just the first meaning of it. He was the first one to say she should pursue other interests and friendships that weren’t him. With a dedication she didn’t really understand.

That little slip tho… That little inattention, finding something with a meaning so contrary to whatever he ever told her.

Maybe he was equally bashful about this whole endeavour. Thinking of it, he always spoke of her and her qualities, what he saw in her. Never of what he himself was feeling more deeply than expressing friendship. Before this one. This one little slip that…

Maybe she was reading too much into it. But he was always so precise and careful, measuring his words with such attention, that Radha found hard to believe that he just read half the definition.

Weirdly enough, that little slip made her heart beat, but not with the anxiety of those days before. No. This time it was tenderness, and recognition.

If he was bashful too… Maybe she really had nothing to fear.

Maybe she already had fallen, and she didn’t realise she already landed.

Beside, her mother didn’t raise a quitter.

So, she marched to Aisling and asked her one last flower. This time, knowing perfectly well what she wanted.

The next morning, Solas found a thin vase on his desk, in a corner as if it had been always been there.

Inside, sprouting tall and proud, one single purple lily.

First emotion of love.

Radha, that evening, got back into her room to find not one flower, but a full bouquet. It was just one bloom, and it filled the room with a pleasant, sweet perfume.

Lily of the valley: Return of happiness.

She smiled wide, didn’t mind he entered her room without asking, and let her treacherous heart keep her awake for long, that evening.

Enjoying the sweet smell of lily of the valleys for the brief and precious moment while it lasted, and maybe understanding a little better why people gifted flowers.

Why Lavender meant Distrust, tho, she never understood.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solavellan #solasxlavellan #da fanfic #dai #writing petrel #radha lavellan #and look this is probably the first thing I can properly tag as solavellan!#(flower language means absolutely nothing to me either if you were asking)#(why lavender means distrust?? WHY??)#oh yeah she's ace #and definitely demiromantic

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