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qqueenofhades · 2 months

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What do you think of the movement to vote "uncommitted" in the primary? Personally I think it's a good idea as a protest vote, while not "allowing Trump to win" since it's, ya know, the primary. You're voting for "the Democrat you want to be the candidate for president" not who you actually want to be president. Most of the arguments I've seen against it seem to forget primaries exist...

Well, since you came to me and presumably do want my honest opinion on this topic, I'll share it with you. However, this will also be very blunt and candid, including some things which I haven't yet said in the 4+ months since the whole Israel/Hamas situation kicked off, and therefore also frustrated. This frustration should not be read as/taken as being directed at you personally, but since you're the conduit for this question, that's just something I want to highlight.

So. Why should you vote for Biden in the primary, and not "uncommitted" or whatever else?

First of all, what I desperately want to ask all these self-righteous VOTE UNCOMMITTED IN THE PRIMARY TO SEND BIDEN A MESSAGE types is: what exactly the fuck do you want this message to be, and what action do you expect Biden will take as a result? Is this actually based on an expectation of what he can/and or will actually do, or is it just a froth of misguided Online Leftist "rah rah this Bad Thing Happening Is All Biden's Fault," as we also notably went through when Roe was overturned by the Trump-stacked SCOTUS selected precisely for the purpose of overturning Roe? My god, the amount of bad "THIS IS BIDEN/THE DEMOCRATS' FAULT" posts that appeared, and are still circulating on the particularly idiotic corners of this site. Nothing could ever be Trump/the Republicans' fault in that case; it was the same old same old "DEMOCRATS DON'T CARE ENOUGH TO STOP THIS!!!" puerile fantasy. That's what we are getting now with Israel/Hamas. This isn't Hamas's fault for attacking Israel on October 7 (god forbid; the online left loves Hamas) and it isn't even the state of Israel and Netanyahu's fault for responding with full-scale genocide on Gaza. Or it is, somehow, but not so much that Biden personally couldn't magically reach in and stop it "if he really wanted to." I'm sick and fucking tired of this bullshit sixth-grade bad-faith disingenuous approach to playing Super Moral Social Justice Yahtzee and refusing to acknowledge the thousands of complex factors at play, especially when it involves blaming literally anyone other than Biden, personally (just like the Trump cultists, for whom "IT'S BIDEN'Z FAULT" is the beginning and end of their political theory, just like the Online Leftists). I'm sure this will get me called a genocide apologist by the Very Smart Moral Twitter Thinker types, but I don't think "Biden has failed to magically single-handedly solve this crisis, which stems from one of the most major and long-running issues in post-WWII and indeed pre-WWII world history, in four months" is actually a good reason to vote against him.

Likewise: withholding your vote might make more sense as a strategy if Biden was still only blindly supporting Israel and refusing to do anything to pressure them, which is demonstrably untrue. I know it's hard for some of these people to actually read the news and/or anything outside their ultra-curated Twitter feed, but it's been well-reported and well-documented that he is. If the US was directly involved in the bombing campaign on Gaza, sure, tell Biden that you will vote uncommitted to increase pressure on him to pull out. None of that is actually true, and the "information" about Biden's action in re: Gaza on both Twitter and Tumblr is basically just entirely malicious lies. So again: what message are you sending when you decide to be all precious and announce you're not voting for him? You don't want him to pressure Israel? You're willing to blow this up entirely and increase the media nonsense about BIDEN WEAK DEMOCRATS DIVIDED and give Trump an opening to exploit? You really want to announce to the Trump/Putin/Netanyahu axis of evil that their anti-Biden propaganda is working (since all three of them are working as hard as they fucking can to get Biden out of office, and as someone who opposes all three of them, I think this is a good idea to vote for Biden!) and they need to hammer harder on this wedge issue? Because that's all your oh-so-moral Uncommitted vote is doing. It's not a protest. It's not leverage. It is the withdrawing of leverage. If you want Biden in office so he can be pressured to listen to you and take action that you agree with, you will vote for him. Yes, in the primary. Yes, when it's not directly against Trump.

You want a ceasefire, you say? GREAT! WE ALL WANT A CEASEFIRE AND/OR ACTUAL PEACE AND RECOGNITION OF A PALESTINIAN STATE! That's in fact why you should be busting your fucking ass to make sure Biden gets re-elected, and to give him a strong show of support in the primary. Biden is the only candidate with a credible long-term (and like, baseline functional sane adult) plan for Gaza. Biden is the one who has been pressuring Netanyahu in every single contact to tone it down and stop acting like an insane murderous maniac and therefore torching any remains of sympathy for the attack Israel suffered in October. Biden is the one who has his entire diplomatic team working on high-level contacts with the Israeli government and the Hamas representatives via Qatar, while sufficiently threatening Iran to back down from frothing at the mouth to destroy Israel (once again, just like the rest of the antisemitic western left). Biden is the one who is pushing for this not to be World War III, and yet we get Baby's First Social Justice Activist screaming at him for being GENOCIDE JOE and blaming him personally for not, as I keep putting it, shapeshifting into Netanyahu's body and making this stop. "He should publicly call for a ceasefire!" Or, and this is just a suggestion, he should DO HIS FUCKING JOB and continue to work on serious problems that don't have instant socially media marketable catchphrases and won't come with instant gratification. Also, please tell me how you plan to get both Hamas and Israel to accept the same terms for a ceasefire, abide by it, and do exactly what Big Daddy Biden told them, because you, the dedicated anti-western anti-imperialist, think that's the best course of action?

Like. I mean. As vice president and now as president, Biden is actually one of the least foreign-intervention-happy leaders the US has ever had. He was originally against the Abbottabad raid to take out Osama bin Laden in 2011; he wound down the overseas drone assassination program (at which the Online Leftists screamed bloody murder at Obama, ignored in Trump, and then refused to give Biden any credit for ending) to almost nothing, he pulled the US out of Afghanistan, and even though he's been supporting Ukraine in its fight against Russia, he's also been extremely slow and cautious (in my opinion, too slow and cautious) at giving them all the military hardware they need, even before this latest blockade of aid in the House by Putin's favorite little bitch Mike Johnson. He has already presided over a historic shift in US policy toward Israel, in terms of conditioning the use of lethal aid, imposing reporting requirements, starting to criticize them publicly, and calling for the recognition of a Palestinian state and more humanitarian aid to get into Gaza. Yet in the Online Leftists' mind, because he is not personally out there Captain America-ing away the Israeli bombs and/or calling for Israel to be totally destroyed "from the river to the sea" as the Tumblr activists are fond of using no matter how often Jews ask them to stop, there is nothing he's actually doing! GENOCIDE JOE!!!!! Like, I thought the anti-western anti-American crowd thought all overseas American influence was evil (but all overseas Russian and/or Chinese influence is fine). When Biden actually doesn't recklessly intervene in foreign conflicts like Kennedy/Johnson/Nixon/Reagan/Bush 1/Bush 2/pretty much every American president in the latter half of the twentieth century, you'd think that would get him plaudits? NAH.

"Biden should stop selling Israel weapons without Congressional approval!" Okay, sure, he should. Which he did one time, and he also repeatedly promised to veto and/or not pass any only-Israel aid package that didn't also help Ukraine and Taiwan. He's also not beholden to the frothing antisemitic Online Leftists position that Israel should just lie down and let all of its citizens be killed and its state wiped from existence. Like. We also remember that Jewish voters exist in America, right? And that Jewish lives are something which are repeatedly and demonstrably under threat in the rest of the world, including from Hamas and the Houthis (who are genuinely terrible people and the western left's warm embrace of them as principled anti-Israel actors is all we need to know about their inherent brainrot and moral vacancy). We know that maybe going full masks-off antisemite (which Biden isn't going to do anyway, for any number of reasons) isn't the greatest plan and nothing to which you should be conditioning your vote? Likewise, please tell me how you plan to make Congress (especially the GOP-led clown car House) "do what Biden wants," since you're still beholden to that being the be-all-and-end-all of moral action? Or how you account for Congress at all, and not just think The President is An Almighty King?

Aside from all this, I am sick to my fucking back teeth of the Precious Moral Princesses (gender neutral) who have spent four years lying about everything Biden has done. We had the personally blaming him for Roe ending (he could unilaterally overturn SCOTUS if he really wanted!) We had the endless bashing about student debt, only to ignore him actually making the most major effort to forgive student debt in all the post-Reagan years. We have had a complete ignoring and/or distortion of his domestic policy accomplishments, which are some of the most momentous since FDR and LBJ. We have had an utter ignoring, revision, and downplaying of the damage Trump did in one term and how very much worse his second would be. We have had to endure "WELL YOU CAN'T ASK ME TO VOTE FOR BIDEN" at every single second for every single thing, because this is such a terrible onerous thing to ask them to lift one single fucking finger to give us some more time to come up with a better solution. And yet, as astutely pointed out by one of my anons yesterday, they utterly don't care whether the obvious outcome of this action is to help Trump get back into power. Apparently that's not a moral reach too far, but straining their delicate tender moral sensibilities to fucking do the goddamn bare minimum to help us out -- both in America and around the world -- no, no. We can't have that.

Like. These people allegedly want a ceasefire, and they want it to come about by asking literally nothing more of them then posting snide anti-Biden diatribes on social media. That's the extent of the effort they're willing to put in. They can't even trouble themselves to take the first step of voting for people who want to address this crisis in a constructive way. So yeah, I have a hard time believing this is anything deeply felt in regard to opposing genocide, and just wants what makes them look morally superior. Also: I don't care if your feelings are genuinely pure and strong and you obviously oppose what's happening in Gaza (we all do!) and want it to end. In that case, why the fuck aren't you throwing your support (yes! Even in the primary!) behind the one guy who's actually working to fix it and not just posting empty platitudes on Twitter? It likewise does not excuse you from the harmful consequences of your rhetoric and actions, if you decide that the best way to act on your deep-seated and genuine desire to stop the genocide is just to blindly bash Biden all day every day. Not voting for Biden in the primary does not excuse the fact that this election is against Trump and everything horrible that he represents, and that we are in this situation largely because the online left has learned literally fucking nothing from 2016 and is eager to do it all over again. Not voting for Biden in the primary does not give you a special Gold Star Moral Activist sticker announcing that you were too virtuous to engage in the process now, but if you're sufficiently placated, you maybe will do it in November. Miss me with that bullshit. I've spent eight years pleading with people to help us fix this mess, by -- yes! engaging with the flawed process that makes partial changes!!! -- and all I hear is that same fucking nonsense. That is a large part of why this response is so steamed.

Anyway. In short, I don't think voting "uncommitted" is a good idea, I think it only helps Trump in the short and long term, I think it protests nothing, I think it represents the same old tired anti-voting schlock that I have had more than fucking enough of, and I don't endorse it by any means. However, you will see that while I can strongly and unequivocally give you my opinion that it is a bad idea, I cannot actually reach through the screen, take control of your body, and force you to obey me one way or the other. So maybe, just maybe, Biden can't do the same with Netanyahu. Weird.

#everentropy #ask #politics for ts #vote and get off my lawn #israel hamas war

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jointherebellion215 · 1 month

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Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly.

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?”

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands.

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.” You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.”

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely.

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her.

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her.

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd.

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you.

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile….

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.”

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over.

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love”

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base.

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred.

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

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batmanschmatman · 3 months

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It’s interesting to me to see how many people have been saying they feel like [character’s] death was too sudden or too early, and while I agree from a writing standpoint we didn’t exactly have a lot of time with him and they COULD have framed the show differently to give us more, I also think it’s sort of The Point that his death is sudden and kind of out of nowhere.

The air war was incredibly fucking brutal. I’m not saying it was more or less so than what the BOB or TP guys went through because they’re all awful, but it’s a well accepted part of the WWII experience that anything to do with flying planes might have seemed glamorous and cool but was actually terrifying and had a sort of uniquely horrible flavor to it when it came to facing the death of your friends.

(And this isn’t even getting into the stuff happening on the ground when cities became viable targets, but that’s for a different post.)

When Hoobler dies, the guys are there, they see it happen, they can try to help him, and then they know after a point that he’s dying. They can sit with the body afterward and take his stuff to send back to his family. Even in the more fast paced deaths like Rob Oswalt, Sledge and the others can look at his body and have a moment - however brief! - to say goodbye. There’s often no mystery of what happened, you’ve seen the wounds and know they’re dead. And you also HAVE to push it down because you’re being shot at and need to keep yourself alive.

All of that is real important in the grief/mourning process. Guys in the 100th usually didn’t have that unless someone on your bomber died. You’d go up with your friends, you’d see their planes get hit, there’s nothing you can do besides watch for chutes and hope they survive to be taken prisoner. And then you come back, and your friends are gone, there’s no body to bury or sit with or touch. Their stuff is all still in the barracks like nothing happened. Sometimes you’re not even immediately sure if they are dead or not! You don’t know who those chutes belonged to, or if they made it safely to the ground instead of dying on impact or immediately being caught by the Germans and executed. But your friends are gone and you were powerless to do anything to help them.

And then you get to do it all over again knowing it’s going to happen to other friends or to you and there’s basically nothing you can do about it. How do you cope with that? What does it do to you to feel like your friends just literally vanished into thin air even though the last time you saw them, they were healthy and young and alive? And then new guys replace them, and you have to decide if you want to make friends with them or close yourself off, because these guys are going to die too.

(Oh, and if a member of your crew got badly wounded? You could have HOURS before you got back to base, and you have some first aid training but you’re not a surgeon, you don’t have plasma or whole blood to give a guy to help keep him alive until you make it back. So another horrible traumatic thing you get to deal with. Wounds that could’ve been treatable if you’d been at Carentan or Guadalcanal could be fatal.)

I’m not saying this show is a masterpiece in storytelling by any means, but… You’re supposed to feel shocked and angry and robbed of the chance to get to know these guys? Because that’s literally how their friends felt. It’s a point Miller makes a lot in the book, and a really vital part to understanding why being in the AAF (or other air forces) was such a meat grinder physically and psychologically for these guys.

#masters of the air #masters of the air spoilers #history stuff

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ruby-winchester24 · 11 months

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Craig Tucker headcanons!

{sfw+nsfw} {fem reader}

when you first met Craig your freshman year of high school you were put off by his “i don’t give a fuck” demeanor

but after getting to know him, you found out he was just a sweet kid with many walls

when you first started dating it came as a surprise to the school, that Craig wasn’t fully gay

Tweek was hurt at first to see his past lover move on but he decided to move on also

he is extremely territorial of you, he hates when other men try to talk to you

during football games he can’t stop staring at you on the sidelines in your cheerleading uniform

for homecoming week you wore his jersey for there homecoming game and he was smitten

pda is sometimes okay, he likes to hold your hand out waist when you walk

he is a secret admirer, even when you are dating he will sit there and admire your beauty

writes love notes to you for every month anniversary

since stripe passed away you guys got a new guinea pig and named him spot

his love language is physical touch, he loves holding you close

is super big on cuddles, every time you hang out there is a cuddle sesh

says i love you in the first month because he is smitten with you

plays with your hair

the first time you ever saw him cry is when you had your first fight,

it scared you at first because you have never seen him so vulnerable

“the reason why i am upset is because they don’t have good intentions, they want to use you!”

“your the only person i love, i would give you the whole world if i could”

comforting him was a little bit of a struggle because you didn’t know how

when you cry it’s the same for him

he doesn’t know how to respond to your emotions

ok Fridays you and Craig’s gang hang out at Tolkien’s house because he rich, and they have a pool

you and Jimmy are besties 👯

he loves when he lays on your chest so you run your hands through his hair

is actually a very extroverted person when you get to know him better

6’3, fucker is tall

when he kisses you he holds your head with both of his hands on each side of your head

always updates you on what’s happening when your not in class together

“dude Cartman just swung at Kyle”

“ wtf why💀”

“because remember how we have a presentation about WWII?”

“yeah..?”

“well Cartmans presentation was about hitler being right about jews and shit like that and obvi pissed kyle off and he just swung out of nowhere and it was great”

“damn i wish i had history with you guys😭”

late night drives are very common for you, it’s when you can be alone and talk about anything

always kisses your neck or forehead

when you are stressed he will rub your back until you fall asleep

he loves movies and makes you watch them with him

is you do any activities, he is always there with a smile on your face watching your every move

for valentine’s day he gets you a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers and a poem he wrote for you

he sells vapes for easy money

gives you free ones if you want any

his family really likes you

his mom always tells you stories of when he was young, and you guys always gossip🤭

his dad thinks your a good match for his son

Tricia really likes you and asks to hang out with you guys all the time

Craig usually says no😞

your name for him in his phone is “Mrs Tucker🫶🏼”

will always listen to what you have to say he is more of a listener then anything

when he gives you a sweater of his or a stuffed animal, he sprays his cologne on it

he loves when you wear his hat he thinks it looks so cute on you

always tells you how beautiful you look, it is an everyday occurrence

he sees you being together for a long time in the future but he doesn’t want to say anything to jinx it

he really likes eye contact, it feels so sensual to him

tells you all about his hyper fixations, aka all the space facts he knows

always asks if you ate today

is extremely good at reading people and knows exactly when your upset

“hun what is wrong?”

“nothing is”

“yes, something made you upset your shoulders got tense”

“you know me too well”

his parents are pretty layed back so they let you have sleepovers

once his dad flipped you off and it scared the shit out of you because you thought you did something wrong

almost all the photos you have together, Craig’s flipping off the camera🤦🏽‍♀️

he really likes to lift it helps relieve stress

he has a photo of you in his car, locker, phone case and room

you made a scrapbook of all the things you have done together, it contains dried flowers, the love notes he gives you, pictures of you guys and special dates

he def listens to R&B

always play fights with you, he usually body slams you on the bed

when you facetime him he always puts spot on the phone so he can say hi to his mom

you babysit Tricia whenever his parents are away and Craig is busy

she loves you though so it’s always a win win

if you ever ask Craig to be in a Tiktok with you it always takes you begging him for 19 straight minutes

when he snaps you it’s always a photo of him doing this face 😐

he loves the simple things in life like taking a walk or a picnic with you

calls you Mrs Tucker in front of his friends

if anyone tries to flirt with you he will go psycho

he will rip that guy a new one and swing, and yes it’s happened before

he hums or taps his finger to a beat when concentrating

he loves music and has a collection of vinyl records

sometimes he will put on his Frank Sinatra vinyl and you guys will slow dance

NSFW!!

he is a dom 100%

low key a sadist, he is also very kinky (it’s always the quite ones)

he loves to see you a wimpering mess begging to be touched by him

his favorite is edging

to see you so excited about your release but then being able to take it away makes him feral

6’5 inches but he is pretty girthy

he loves toys, especially paddles

brat tamer all the way

if you have been bad he will bend you over his knee and make you count and say thank you after each spank

he is not lacking muscle, god no, his arms are very defined and he has a great v line and soft abs

is very rough during sex usually

if he is in a very romantic mood it will be slow and passionate

he loves to mark you up, especially on your thighs

loves degrading you,

“god your such a slut”

“you stupid whore, you like it when i fuck you senseless, yeah?”

“be quite slut, you don’t want to be punished, huh?”

loves face fucking

his favorite position is doggy style because he can pull your hair and arch your back

is very into bondage and always practices on you

when he does he makes sure to be careful the first time to make sure it’s safe, if he hurt you he would never forgive himself

nipple clamps are also one of his favorites and gags

he loves to see you tied up, a submissive mess, begging to cum

his favorite part about you is your boobs and stomach

loves to be called sir or daddy

when you first did he swore he almost died because of how hard he came

really likes to go raw, he loves how it feels and really likes to cum on your face

when you suck him off he holds your head so he can be in control

loves to give you head, usually overstimulates you on purpose

“p-please sir i c-can’t anymore!”

“yes you can, i need to taste you again”

aftercare is usually really sweet

he usually apologizes if he went to far or said something that hurt your feelings

will get you water and ibuprofen incase your sore

he will get you all cleaned up and dress you

holds you in his arms with a grip of steel

kisses your forehead and your lips

i really enjoyed writing this, and i’m always open to requests i love writing for you guys. i hope you enjoyed this❤️

#south park #sp craig #craig tucker #south park craig #craig x reader #south park headcanons #south park x reader #craig tucker x reader #craig tucker x you

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 year

Text

Rocking The Boat - Tom Bennett

He's such a chaotic douchebag...I love him (could i come up with a more cringey title lmao)

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), slight misogyny, war wounds, inaccurate WWII terms, smoking (ew, but he makes it look hot), angst, enemies(?) to lovers, pining, Tom being a menace to society (and insecure), fingering, unprotected sex (no rubbers on a battleship, I'm afraid)

(caught in) 4K Words🤙🏻

~~~~~~~~~~

Being the only female on a heavy cruiser of hundreds of men, it had its hardships.

Your parents begged you not to join the Navy, but you couldn’t just sit at home doing nothing while the Nazis killed and tortured their way through Europe. You had to do something.

Of course there wasn’t much you could do on the front lines being a woman and all, but you could help heal any man that was on your side of the war. That’s how you ended up on the Exeter as a nurse, Lord knows they needed as many as they could get.

It was strange being ogled and desired by all the men, but you knew they must have not seen a woman in a long time. You found that some men would even get injured on purpose just to see you, some you even had to beat off with a stick like a rabid dog. And there were times you regretted your decision, but you felt it would be worth it in the long run. You finally felt like you had a purpose and you felt good knowing you were on the right side of the war. But the one thing, well, person, that really got on your nerves was Tom.

Tom was different, in a way that he managed to get on your nerves more than others. Somehow. Just something about his attitude and how he went about his life on the ship. It’s like he didn’t even want to be there, just wanting to stir up trouble. He picked so many fights, he was actually one of the first to come to see you for that exact reason when you boarded the ship.

He seemed shocked to see a woman on the ship, but also intrigued. Mostly intrigued.

He had a busted lip and bloody knuckles and you had a hard time keeping in your disapproval for the infighting. “Problem, miss?” Tom spoke up, a smirk already playing at his lips as he watched you clean up his wounds intently.

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes. “No problem here, sir. Just find it a bit counterproductive to pick a fight with someone on the same side as you.”

“Counterproductive.” He scoffed, curling his top lip in a sneer. “Then maybe that bloke should’ve kept his mouth shut about my canary.”

“You picked a fight just because of a bird?”

“Maybe.”

After that day, Tom kept coming back, not even because of the fights sometimes. Most of the time he liked to see what you were up to, knowing damn well you were always busy helping other sailors with their injuries or illnesses. He didn’t care about that, he only wanted to distract and annoy you. And it almost always worked. Maybe it was because you were a woman and he saw you as an easy target, someone to toy with other than his fellow sailors. There were more than a few times he had you flustered, and it bothered you to no end, mostly because he was actually affecting you.

“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this, hm?” Tom teased, leaning against the counter you were working at.

You shrugged. “Just doing my part, like the rest of you.”

“My sister went off to sing for the men, to liven their spirits and the like. What about you? You gonna liven up my spirits too? Although, you don’t necessarily have to sing to do that.” He smirked, but that only made you scoff, attempting to fight off an oncoming blush to your cheeks.

“Your charm won’t work on me, Mr. Bennett.”

He smiled, almost genuinely. “Oh, so you think I’m charming?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you know damn well that you are.”

It was like this almost everyday, always around the same time. He must’ve been on a break or something at those times because it was like clockwork. You started to get excited whenever that specific time came around because you knew that meant that handsome bastard would be coming to annoy you in his special way. It gave you something to think about other than gruesome wounds you had to treat sometimes, or the fact that there was always a possibility that you could die.

But just before you could get in your own head about that, in the corner of your eye, you saw Tom leaning against the doorframe to your nurse’s office. “You just going to stand there all day, sailor?” You teased as you cleaned some of your equipment.

Tom shrugged with a smirk, smoking a cigarette as he watched you. “I wish. I’ve got a nice view.”

“Thank you for your prompt visit, Mr. Bennett. Now leave me be, I have to make sure I’m not distracted whenever another sailor comes in.”

“You do know that some of the men are getting hurt on purpose just to see you, right?”

“Maybe.” He hummed in disapproval, but you only smirked. “It’s not like you don’t do the exact same thing, Mr. Bennett. You are an arsehole but I never took you for a hypocrite.”

Tom scowled. “Yeah, well, I’m not like any one of these bastards. They think they actually have a chance with you when they clearly don’t.”

“Oh, and you think you do?” You cross your arms with a scowl resembling his.

“I know I do.” He replied, making you scoff in annoyance. “I see the way you look at me. How you look me up and down, how you can barely keep eye contact with me.” You freeze in place when Tom takes a few steps closer to you, feeling his body heat radiate off of him and onto you. “How your body tenses up when I get close.” You quickly look away from him with a frown, but he places his fingers underneath your chin and gently forces you to look back at him. “There’s no need to feel ashamed, miss. Your body knows what it wants…what it needs.” You allow your eyes to slowly shut as Tom leans in, feeling his breath on your lips. “See how your body responds to me when I’m not even doing anything?” He chuckled lowly.

You lightly gasped as Tom pulled away suddenly, the warmth of his body and hands leaving too soon. “What?”

Tom smirked proudly as he went to walk out of your office. “Have to go perform my sailor duties, miss.” He said with a wink.

You exhaled shakily as you were left entirely flustered, a deep scowl coming to your face as he did that to you and just left like that. He was only toying with you, that bastard. Ha, well, you’re not likely to fall for that again. No way.

Turns out, you didn’t have to worry about Tom flustering you again because after that day, you never saw him. He was avoiding you, for some reason. You didn’t think you would ever understand him. He was sending you so many mixed signals and it was confusing the hell out of you. You did find him incredibly attractive, but his personality left something to be desired. You didn’t think you could actually be with a person like him, but you couldn’t possibly know what the future held.

It was only a week later before Tom visited you again. It was at a late hour, when most of the crew would be asleep. But you were up late, studying a book of rare illnesses just in case, you always found you’d rather be safe than sorry. You were so buried in the pages you didn’t even notice Tom staring at you, the smell of his cigarette alerting you that you weren’t alone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, Mr. Bennett?” You asked, only glancing up at him for half a second.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He entered your office, closing the door behind him, taking a seat on your desk.

“Do you have an injury that needs tending to, Mr. Bennett?”

“No.”

“Then would you kindly leave my office?” You stood up from your seat, marking your place in the book and putting it back on a shelf behind you.

You could hear the man let out a short chuckle from behind you. “Giving me the cold shoulder, eh?”

You frowned as you turned back around to face him, the sight of him resting one leg on your desk with flicking his cigarette ash in a pile on your once clean table surface irking you. “If my memory serves me correctly, it’s you who’s been giving me cold shoulders this past week?” You snarked, but that only made him smirk, which annoyed you even further.

“Been keeping track, have ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “I suggest you leave, Mr. Bennett. Sleep. You need your rest. Who knows, maybe we’ll be bombed tomorrow and you’ll be too sleepy to defend yourself.”

“That a threat, miss?”

“Like I said, just a suggestion. Nothing more.”

Tom put out the end of his cigarette on the desk, standing up and stepping closer to you as you stepped back, only to find yourself against the wall with nowhere to go. He looked you up and down with his signature smirk. “So, it’s not an order then?” You flinched when Tom ran his pointer finger along your jawline, his expression softening slightly. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Not unless you ask.” You exhaled shakily as he gently lifted up your chin, his breath on your lips making your eyelids droop. “Just say the word, and I’ll go.”

“Is that what you want?” You whispered. “To run away, like last time? You gonna run away from me, Tom?”

Tom’s expression hardened at your words before closing the gap between each other's lips, kissing you rough and hard, not even giving you enough time to gasp at the sudden action. You felt lightheaded and weightless as he pulled you to him by your hips, kissing you with a bruising force that made you wince. He pulled away briefly to look into your eyes, almost hoping to see some semblance of hatred or fear in them, but he only found a dark lust, definitely resembling his.

You were breathless as he turned you around and pushed you up against your desk, helping you sit up on the wooden surface. He drove his knee in between your legs, forcing them apart and promptly maneuvering his hand up your skirt and into your undergarments. You gasped loudly as he found your clit, rubbing harsh circles as he sloppily kissed down your neck. He inserted two of his long fingers inside you as he frantically undid the buttons on your top, almost breaking some off. He roughly tore down your brassiere, groaning at the sight of your breasts finally coming free. You whined and squirmed as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace, not stopping even when he went to unbutton his trousers, but you helped him with that, almost just as desperate to feel him inside you as he was.

Without warning, he removed his fingers only to immediately replace them with his cock. He filled you to the brim in one fluid motion, the two of you moaning loudly in unison. He rested his forehead against yours, each other’s panting breaths intermingling as he stilled inside you, allowing you a moment to relax before he started thrusting languidly. You could feel every inch of him as he stretched you out, over and over again with each rut of his hips. He kept an intense eye contact with you, studying your face every time he bottomed out, committing to memory every pleasurable facial expression you made any time he hit that special spot inside of you, making sure to angle his hips that way each time.

It was almost too much, the eye contact. You tried to look away briefly a couple times, but he kept you looking at him with a firm grip on your jaw, so firm it was painful. But his cock was making you feel so good you had to focus on the pain to really feel it. “Fuck…” Tom moaned, picking up the pace, the desk squeaking loudly every time he thrusted harshly, all your writing utensils and other miscellaneous items falling over on the floor that you’d have to pick up later. He brought his hand down to rub his thumb on your throbbing clit, his eyebrows furrowing tightly as you moaned his name. “Yeah, that’s it. Keep clenching around me. Soak my cock with that pretty pussy of yours.”

His heavy accented words went straight to your core, adding to the already all-consuming buildup of pleasure in your body. Tears came to your eyes as he sped up his ministrations, his thumb on your clit and his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt. “Oh god, ‘m gonna come.” You whimpered breathlessly, unable to catch your breath, almost feeling like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Tom groaned loudly as he felt you pulse around him, finding your release and digging your nails into his shoulders as you rode it out on his cock. He watched as you arched your back and your head thrown back in pleasure, spasming around him with little to no care for how you might’ve looked in this state of euphoria. This sight is what finally pushed him over the edge along with you, thrusting into you as fast as possible until he pulled out just in time to shoot him cum all over your pussy, watching the milky white liquid dripping down into your wet folds and creating a small puddle underneath you on the desk. It was a fucking Renaissance painting, more beautiful than whatever Da Vinci or Michelangelo could ever paint.

It was a moment of pure exhausted bliss, bathing in the afterglow and feeling like nothing could touch either of you. But that all came to an end once Tom saw the loving smile on your face, leaning forwards to kiss him, but only to be disappointed when he turned his face so you could only kiss his cheek. “Tom?” Your sweet voice seemed to bring him back to the real world. He blinked in shock, quickly avoiding eye contact and stuffing himself back into his pants, making a break for the door before you could say another word, leaving you flustered and confused once again.

What went wrong? Did he think you were bad at sex? You hadn’t gotten any complaints before. Maybe he thought he was bad at sex? But no, he was too arrogant and full of himself to think he was bad at anything. Maybe he was just toying with you as he had done before, but you didn’t think he’d take it that far. You felt empty, not just physically, you had given a piece of yourself to Tom now and he didn’t even seem to appreciate it. He left you with an aching heart and his cum between your legs.

He didn’t know why he did it. His first instinct was to run. That’s what he does now, run away from everything. From his father, his sister, his jail time, his home. Now you. Why must he run from everything in his life? Even from someone as good as you? Maybe that’s why, because you were. Good. And Tom? He knew he didn’t deserve you, but that didn’t make him want you any less. He has always been selfish, he knew that. He was selfish to take you, give you a false sense of hope that he cared for you and wanted you any more than a quick fuck. He didn’t really care for you, right? That’s what he told himself. That’s what he told himself every time he saw you, as you worked or cared for the injured crew with that sweet smile on your face. That’s what he told himself whenever he felt a pang of anger and jealousy whenever you would show any other man attention. That’s what he told himself when he touched himself to the thought of you. That’s what he told himself when he felt the need to hold you in his arms after he ravaged you that night.

Tom briefly saw the hurt look in your eyes as he ran from you, slapping himself once he reached his quarters. Idiot, he told himself, idiot, idiot, idiot. He told you himself that he wasn’t going to hurt you, and yet…

You didn’t talk to him at all after that. You saw him throughout the ship every day, but the look on your face told him to stay the fuck away whenever he made eye contact with you. He wanted to talk to you, but he wasn’t that stupid that he’d willingly go into the lion’s den. Though, he knew he’d have to face your wrath eventually. He thought he’d give it a couple weeks, to let you calm down so you didn’t knee him in the balls, though, he knew he would deserve it. But unfortunately, he was never given that chance.

Everyone on the ship froze as the sirens went off, the lights turning red as they were alerted that their other ships had been sunk by the enemies. They were determined that they weren’t going to be next. Tom saw you run about, gathering your med kit and making sure to go wherever you were needed as all hell broke loose. Your face looked calm, driven. He found himself admiring you in that moment as he felt his chest freeze up in a panic, but beneath the surface you were feeling the exact same thing. You both made eye contact with each other for a second, but that’s all the time that was needed to express to each other what you each wanted to say aloud: Be safe.

Tom tried to focus all his attention on loading the cannons to fire back at the enemy, until a blast shook the entire ship. He heard screams, and felt a sudden heat from above. Tom looked up, and as the ceiling filled with fire, he had one singular thought as he felt the flames travel down quickly: you.

Even when he was knocked out from the blast, the first thought when he came to was about you, if you were okay. Where had you been during the blasts? Were you hurt? Were you dead? He tried not to think about it as he cut off the circulation to one of his fellow crewmates. “We’re gonna need a medic down here, sir!” He shouted up to one of his officers.

“The medics are in worse shape, blown to bits or wishing they were at the moment.”

Tom froze, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Ignoring the howling screams of the man who had lost an arm, he stood up and faced his officer. “What about Miss L/n?” He asked lowly, only to get no response. He scowled, surprisingly himself and his commanding officer as he shoved the man against the wall, getting right up in his face. “What about Y/n?!” He yelled, making the man flinch.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” He pleaded, ripping Tom’s hands away from where they held on tightly to his uniform. He let him, unmoving, frozen in shock and dread. He closed his eyes. Please, don’t be dead…please, don’t be dead…

After he helped the injured he found or anything else he was ordered to do, he quickly made his way down to where the injured people were and he was praying the whole walk there that you’d be there helping other people and not the one being helped. He never saw your dead body, so that was a good sign.

He took a deep breath as he pushed open the door to the injured wing.

A wave of pure relief washed over Tom’s whole body as he saw you resting in a cot, a large bandage over your arm and neck. He could see the faintest burn marks traveling up past the white cloth. You didn’t look well, but you were alive and awake. He almost chose not to disturb you, he was afraid you’d yell at him to leave as soon as you laid eyes on him. But he needed to talk to you, at least once, just to make sure you were okay. Even just to receive your cold shoulder.

“You’ve seen better days.” He teased cautiously as he approached you, also relieved that you didn’t look at him in disgust like you had once before. He could take a breath, finally.

A pang of fear and panic washed over you as you saw him, looking him up and down, wincing at his ash, dust, and blood covered skin. “So have you, sailor.” You smiled weakly, a chuckle escaping your throat before it sent you into a fit of coughs, waving him off as his expression turned into worry. “I’m alright, just some burns. Nothing I can’t handle.”

He hesitated. “I’m…glad.”

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Oh, so you care about me now, huh?”

Tom nodded with a frown, knowing he must’ve deserved that. “I shouldn’t have run away that night. You have every right to be angry with me. I know that. I was just…scared.”

“Scared?” You questioned, and he nodded once more. “Of what? Me?”

“Yes.” He whispered. “And of me. That night, I felt…” He could barely get the words out, it was so foreign to him to be vulnerable. But if he wanted to keep you in any capacity, he’d have to get over himself. “I felt something I’ve never felt before.”

“Coming?” You joked halfheartedly, your chest blooming with warmth as he chuckled in annoyance, showing his adorable crooked smile.

“No.” He huffed in amusement, struggling to keep eye contact with you, your gaze so intense and never wavering from him. “Look, I…” He sighed, “I’m not the type to…fall for someone. That’s not me, that’s never been me, and yet…”

“And yet?” You asked hopefully.

Tom rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna make me say it, are you?” He smiled as you giggled. “I have. I’ve fallen, despite my best efforts. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t promise I won’t do it again. I can’t promise to be a good partner, can’t even promise to remember your birthday or bring you flowers every day or anything of the sort, or even to stay alive during this bloody war. But I do want you. I do.” He leaned in close, his lips next to your ear. “And it’s not just because your pussy’s the finest thing I’ve ever felt.” He whispered, causing you to smack his chest as he laughed, happy to see that he could still make you blush like a teenage schoolgirl. “Do you believe me?”

You sighed, causing him to frown, his eyes stared up at you like a kicked puppy. “You did hurt me, Tom. I didn’t understand. And even being hurt…I do.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. “What’re you saying?”

You smirked softly. “You’re gonna make me say it, huh?” You chuckled. “I believe you, Tom. And I do want you. Though, I also can’t promise I’ll be a good partner either.”

Tom smiled as he shook his head. “I’ll have you in any way that I can.” He almost leaned in to kiss you but stopped himself. “I’d absolutely devour you right now but I don’t think everyone here would take too kindly to that. Plus, I want you all to myself.”

“And I’d rather not irritate my burns.” You added, pulling at the ends of the bandage on your arm.

Tom settled beside you, sitting on the edge of your small cot, holding your hand in his. “Well, let’s win this bloody war, and then maybe we can live out the rest of our days on a farm with eleven goats or something.” Tom chuckled, kissing your knuckles.

You giggled. “Yeah, let’s win this war.”

~~~~~~~~~~

i demand more Tom fics pretty please🥺

#world on fire #world on fire bbc #tom bennett #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x fem!reader #tom bennett x f!reader #tom bennett smut #ewan mitchell

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smytherines · 1 month

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Fuck it, here's an Agent Mega dissertation

Alright since I have such elaborate headcanon for my beloved precious Owen Carvour, I guess I should do it for Agent Curt Mega too. Sigh.

So, going off of the last big one, if Owen is born in 1928, then I'm gonna say Curt was born in 1930. I'm forever won to the Texan agent mega headcanon, but I think it's safe to say that Mrs. Mega is not from Texas, probably more like New York or I've seen people say New Jersey.

We know nothing about Agent Mega's dad, but I imagine he was kind of a loser and low level con artist and moved his pregnant wife down to Texas to do scams around the bustling oil industry, and then soon after Curt was born a scam collapsed and he ran off. It's either that or an Aladdin 3 situation where he was secretly a spy the whole time and had to go into hiding.

So we've got mama Mega, raising a VERY hyperactive (read: ADHD) little boy on her own, in a place where she doesn't have any support, and he just becomes her entire world. But she has to work a lot, so Curt becomes used to taking care of himself, and most importantly- keeping himself busy so he doesn't lose it.

In this headcanon Curt would only be 15 when WWII ends- not old enough to fight, but definitely old enough to have personally known a lot of kids from his hometown who come home in caskets. I just truly think of WWII as a formative experience for both these guys. For Curt it just feeds into that inferiority complex.

Now anybody who has ADHD knows that you already spend a lot of your life feeling inadequate, feeling self-conscious about not being able to be the person other people want you to be (*especially* if you're queer). You get defensive, especially when criticized. You also get restless.

I headcanon Curt as growing up in Abilene, Texas, mostly because I have a friend who grew up there and I've visited and the vibe is right.

I don't know if anybody has ever seen The Last Picture Show, but its a film set in small town Texas in 1951-1952 (so a little late for our timeline but still) and it's (more or less) about two high school seniors essentially trying to escape this suffocatingly small, dying town before they become doomed to spend their lives trapped there.

That's definitely what I think about Agent Mega too- this gay, ADHD teenage boy climbing the walls of this little town, never being able to fully be himself. But he's got a lot of energy (and more than a little anger) to burn off, so he does sports. It's Texas, so football for sure. Maybe wrestling too. Perhaps wrestling is even where he has his gay come to jesus moment.

And when he isn't doing sports, he's home, alone (mama Mega is working so hard), out back drinking a beer (or two, or three) and teaching himself how to shoot. I think he becomes hyperfixated on becoming an expert marksman, because with all of this shit he cannot control, all the stuff he is supposed to be but isn't, this is one area where it feels like he has the power here.

What starts off as "kid drinking beer to feel cool and rebellious" starts to morph into a lifetime dependence on alcohol. Substance use is a big issue for a lot of ADHDers for the same reason I think it would be for Curt- it calms him down. It eases that constant restlessness in his bones. It softens the edges of other people's criticisms of him. It makes him care a bit less what others think about him.

In a vicious cycle, he drinks to avoid feeling those big feelings (especially as a man, especially as a gay man, especially as a gay man in Texas), but the drinking leads to more criticism, which leads to more drinking to numb the emotional response to that criticism.

But his hyperfixation on learning to shoot pays off. Let's say he becomes a junior state champion trapshooter (did I look up trapshooting competitions from the 1940s? yes I did). He's good, especially when he hits the sweet spot of drinking just enough to calm his ass down but not so much that he's useless. Maybe this is how he comes to the attention of the A.S.S.

And he fully believes that these skills he cultivated, the ability to hit hard and run fast and shoot accurately, his ability to escape when it doesn't feel remotely possible, is why many years later he just kinda rolls his eyes at Owen for insisting that they do things carefully and methodically. Careful didn't get him out of small town Texas. Careful didn't get him the exciting non-stop life he has now, a life where he *almost* gets to be himself a lot of the time.

When Owen "dies," and its Curt's fault, he naturally turns to drinking to numb that pain. But its a lot of pain, so it takes a lot of alcohol to kill it.

I'm sure I could go on, but as always I have rambled a lot here so I'm just gonna leave it.

#spies are forever #agent curt mega #saf headcanon #SAFtistic

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moonah-rose · 4 months

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This was what I originally thought was going to happen as I was watching the exorcist scene. Had planned to write this as a fic but don't think I've got the energy.

Everything is the same up until the exorcism. Only when Alison gets down there, she sees the ghosts all stood in front of the Vicar, frozen as he speaks. They shout at her that they can't move. Alison tries to tell him to stop but Betty encourages it to continue. Alison slaps the Bible out of his hands but its too late - a bright light shines down on the ghosts, blinding Alison for a few seconds, then when she opens her eyes they're gone.

Panicking, she begins running around the house, calling their names, begging them to show themselves so she knows they're OK. But nothing. Eventually Betty finds her collapsed in tears. She asks why she could be upset and Alison explodes at her about how she had no right to do that, how the ghosts were her family and she's just sent them away. Betty is shocked and then feels awful once the truth settles but also berates Alison for not being honest. Mike finds Alison and holds her, telling his mum it's best she goes.

Alison doesn't sleep all night, having waited for the ghosts to come back if they could. The next morning Mike suggests they take a walk with Mia. They walk towards the lake and a bereft Alison is promising Mia she's going to hear all about her aunts and uncles who loved her so much. Like how sweet Auntie Kitty was, how naughty Uncle Julian was-

"And how handsome Uncle Thomas was?"

And Alison replies: "Yes how handsome Uncle Thom..."

She pauses. Then turns her head.

The ghosts are stood there, on the other side of the fence, smiling at her. She screams in shock and relief and Mike is confused but also relieved once Alison confirms they're all there and all safe. She asks what happened and they say they saw the same light but then woke up outside the grounds.

And now they can't get back in.

The exorcism didn't make them get sucked off; it banished them from the grounds. Alison asks if that means they're stuck in Maddox's place now. But Cap has already done a run and found he could go farther then Maddox. There doesn't seem to be any boundaries for them anymore.

Kitty begs Alison to call the Vicar back so he can undo it. Julian suggests perhaps a Satanic priest might be better. Alison hesitates and then asks; "Is that what you guys really want? You're free now. You can go wherever."

That hasn't really sank in for them, they're more concerned with being separated from Alison. But Alison tells them she's not interested in staying in the house either; not without them. If they're gone then she and Mike might as well take the golf resorts offer and buy a new place - once which the ghosts are more than happy to visit. However; they're also free to go where they want in the world, without restrictions.

It takes some sorting out as Alison sells the place and the guys stay on Maddox's land for the meanwhile until the moving vans are there. But this time as they drive out, the car and van stops, Alison beeps the horn once they exit the gates and all the ghosts pile in to either the backseat of the car or the van. Then they drive off together.

Cut to a few Christmas' later, the now loaded Coopers are setting the table and the ghosts start to arrive but in different orders. Alison welcomes them back happily, Mia can't see them anymore but she still waves to them when her mum says they're there. As they sit, Alison asks what they've all been up to in their various travels - except for Julian, the others aren't able to call or text her. Fanny finally snuck onto a luxury cruise but didn't seem as good as the Titanic. Thomas went to Venice to see if much had changed ("still nice"). Cap has been visiting WWII memorials and trying to find information on Havers. Pat visits his grandson. Humphrey has visited Paris. Kitty had discovered nightclubbing in London and joined in many hen parties. Julian goes to the House of Commons to watch Rachel speak out (he also does other stuff not suitable for Mia's ears). Robin says he went to the moon - everyone gasps- but he's only joking, he went to NASA but wasn't stupid enough to try to climb aboard any launched satellites- maybe next manned mission though.

Alison reminds them that they're all free to stay over Christmas as long as they want, but they say how they wouldn't impose for too long as they wouldn't want to be too in the way - though there are spare rooms for them to share when they need. They are all happy to spend time with the Coopers, coming back whenever they can, but always promising to spend Christmas together.

#this isnt a My Idea Is Better thing #but i just really want the ghosts to not be trapped anymore #especially my robin #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts spoilers #a christmas gift

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mastersoftheair · 2 months

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"Masters of the Air detail: Part 2-Dave Littleton

"[...] Dave is a lifelong WWII aviation enthusiast who has worked on a lot of other films in the past. He has a passion for the B-17 that goes back to his childhood. So much so that he has built a super accurate cockpit, from scratch over 20+ years, using a lot of original parts and equipment. The rest he made by hand. He brought his cockpit to the studio, and it was wonderful for sure.

"Dave worked pre-production, hand in hand with BGI, the company that made a lot, if not most, of the B-17 props and the two full-size aircraft. He gave them the drawings, photos and answered their questions. I think he was instrumental in the success of so many aspects of MOTA.

"I was asked to come over to teach the aircrew how to look like they could pilot, navigate, drop bombs, shoot guns, radio work etc., which ended up being a lot more than that. Dave let us use his cockpit for the flight training and top turret gunner/engineer duties.

"The pilots and engineers went through initial training in Dave’s cockpit and then we would rehearse for the specific scenes.

"I thought that some of the actors might have had some sort of prior knowledge of flying from gaming or flight simulators, but this was not the case. None of them had any concept of flying which was perfectly okay. I had to sit them down in a chair and teach them the very basics of the flight controls and how they are used. Grabbing an imaginary control wheel and had their feet on imaginary rudder pedals. Making sure they used the rudders first and then aileron as you would in a heavy tail wheel aircraft.

"We then progressed into Dave’s cockpit to teach them the myriad of engine controls and their basic function. Later when we had a specific scene, we would go through the procedures whether it be takeoff, landing, engine shutdown etc. Just having them know where to look on the panel for power changes, checklist, formation flying etc. worked out well. The “kids” did a fantastic job and it shows in the episodes.

"The biggest item to try and get across to the actors was being a cohesive flight crew. Remember that the original guys had been flying together for a while and that was an important aspect of their training for the filming. There is nothing sweeter than flying with someone for a while where you get to know each other and anticipate what the other needs before he asks for it. We trained the pilot, copilot and engineer together for takeoff so the pilot would be pushing the throttles with the copilot backing him up, doing the fine tuning, and the engineer in between them doing his part too. The copilot or flight engineer reaching down for the prop controls during power changes as this would differ from one flight crew to another. Same with running the checklist as the engineer and even crew in the back are participating over the interphone. And these details made the final cut and it looked great. Okay, I may be biased…

"Dave’s cockpit was so very helpful for the training because it was on the floor and was easily accessible. The main cockpit used for filming was on a gimbal 20 feet in the air! With Dave’s cockpit, I could lean in from a side window and instruct with all three crew in place. The various directors could also come up to each side and see and direct how they wanted the scene to go. It would give them ideas on camera angles to set up.

"The other aspect of Dave’s wonderful cockpit was its authenticity and detail. He used so many original parts that it is as accurate as could possibly be. Dave wanted it used as much as possible but frankly was a bit shy about this. Not having ever been known for being shy, I really wanted it used for as many close ups as possible and pushed for this. As a result, you can see Dave’s awesome detailed handiwork in MOTA especially in the close-up scenes showing the magneto switches, electrical, primer use and so much more.

"Dave and I were basically the only two on set who had extensive knowledge of WWII aviation and B-17 information. We were constantly being asked questions and were helping lots of different departments. He and I split up the advising since there were several units filming at the same time. We were both out in the field to start mostly at Abingdon where the full size BGI aircraft were. When the volume or studio started ramping up, I stayed there training and rehearsing while Dave continued the field work. We were trying our best to keep things realistic and authentic, but we were spread really thin.

"Dave took off a lot of time from his day job to do this project, as did I, but with the production over runs, COVID etc. he had to go back to work and sadly missed the last few months of filming. We sure missed Dave, especially out in the field, although he was always available by phone and still helped out as much as he could..." - (Taigh Ramey on Facebook)

#if y'all would prefer the huge chunk of text under a 'read more' lmk!#masters of the air #hbo war #behind the scenes #crew #david shields #austin butler #nate mann #callum turner #elliott ross #louis greatorex #anthony boyle #jonas moore #long post

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bizarrequazar · 10 months

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Zhang Zhehan, 813, and Zhang Sanjian FAQ

I’ve been thinking for a while that I should make this as a starting place for people just learning about the situation. Please let me know if you have any corrections or anything you would like me to add.

1. What happened to Zhang Zhehan? / What is 813?

On August 13. 2021, a photo was spread by online water armies of Zhang Zhehan in front of cherry blossoms from a trip he had taken to Japan in 2018. This was accompanied by claims that he had been there to visit the Yasukuni Shrine—a politically controversial shrine which honors WWII war criminals—and that he held right-wing anti-Chinese sentiments. This photo was later joined by others, all either photoshopped or with falsified context, “backing up” these accusations along with further claims slandering him and his family.

In the days following, Zhang Zhehan lost all of his endorsements, had all of his past works taken down, had all of his social media shut down, and was boycotted by the private association CAPA without the chance to defend himself. His name and image were also later banned from social media, he was used as a negative example in schools and on exams, and his name is blocked from registration on some social media sites and certain devices. He and his family have been subject to intense harassment including death threats.

All of the accusations against him have been shown to be false and he is currently pursuing legal action, but he is still unable to speak or appear publicly in any capacity.

Further reading: - Talking points pamphlet - Wiki page

2. Who was behind 813?

The boycott was issued by the China Association of Performing Arts (CAPA), a private industry association that at the time held sway (but no official authority) over many social media and streaming companies. CAPA is heavily suspected of being the ones who orchestrated the entire incident and related events, see point 4 below.

2.5. Was Gong Jun behind 813?

No, he had no motive whatsoever, was still a small name in the industry at the time, has no industry sway, had his most popular show taken down because of 813, and was targeted by similar attacks in the months after. If he had not stayed quiet about 813, Gong Jun very easily could have been taken down by it as well. Please see point 7 below if you have this belief because of Zhang Sanjian / zhangzhehan_super3, and if you have this belief because of the Twitter account Justice for Zhang Zhehan please know that she is an idiot.

3. Was 813 caused by censorship / homophobia / the Chinese government?

No. There is no evidence for 813 having anything to do with censorship, it was perpetuated by private venture capitalism. The Chinese government had no known involvement—CAPA has no government affiliation, and both the NRTA and MCT confirmed after inquiry that they had nothing to do with Zhang Zhehan’s cancellation. Quite the opposite, it was said by Li Xuezheng that government officials were in attendance during the interview between him and Zhang Zhehan released 2022-01-01.

4. Why Zhang Zhehan? / What was the motive behind 813?

The exact reason is not known for sure, but it is heavily suspected that he turned down an exclusive endorsement deal with one of CAPA’s subsidiaries around March / April 2021. CAPA took this as a slight and, because he was heavily in the public eye at the time, they decided to make him an example of what they could do to people who refused to play their game.

Other smaller parties who participated in 813 were driven by industry competition, private capital, mob mentality, and/or because they’re shitheads who found it fun.

Further reading: Lead-up to 813

5. Does the lack of news about Zhang Zhehan mean he’s given up / he’s lost his case?

Absolutely not, and quite the opposite in fact. Avoiding the public eye is the best thing Zhang Zhehan can do to avoid media frenzy and the potential skewing of the narrative that that could cause. Due to the length of time it has been since 813, whatever Zhang Zhehan first does when he becomes public again is guaranteed to cause a stir, and therefore he has to be very careful about not saying anything publicly until he and his case are at a favourable point to do so.

Further reading: - Question about the length of the case - Breakdown of the legal process in relation to Zhang Zhehan’s case

6. Could Zhang Zhehan pursue a career internationally instead?

Until his name is cleared, no.

Zhang Zhehan did not have enough international recognition prior to 813 to realistically build a career overseas, and he has not shown fluency in any language other than Mandarin with which to do so. Even if he did pursue this, until his name is cleared he will always be associated with 813 and would struggle to find success with how he would be viewed by Chinese diaspora.

As well, given the nationalistic nature of 813, seeking a career overseas would communicate guilt and/or giving up on his case.

7. Is Zhang Sanjian / the zhangzhehan_super3 Instagram account / the person releasing new songs Zhang Zhehan?

No. There is overwhelming evidence that Zhang Sanjian etc. is a scam using Zhang Zhehan’s name and image, utilizing photoshopping, deepfakes, and impersonators.

The people behind this have known professional connections to CAPA, and the activities the scam has engaged in have consistently been aimed at further damaging his image. The Zhang Sanjian persona is characterized as having given up on clearing his name, being degrading and rude to both his fans and former costars, and giving up on his career in China to pursue international fame (see point 6 above). Practically every action made by the persona and related parties go completely against Zhang Zhehan’s character and/or make no logical sense for someone in his position.

Further reading: - Timeline of the IG’s early activity - Deepfake breakdown - Collected information about the Bangkok concerts - Wiki page for the IG account

8. Why doesn’t Zhang Zhehan speak out against Zhang Sanjian?

See point 5 above. It is likely that part of the original aim of Zhang Sanjian was specifically to try to bait him into saying something against it. The scam has been trying very hard to control the public narrative via buying public screens, commissioning tabloid articles, releasing a ridiculous number of songs and artificially raising hit counts on these, etc.

9. Why go through so much effort to erase Zhang Zhehan / continue the Zhang Sanjian scam?

For CAPA, Zhang Zhehan winning his case and overturning his boycott will heavily diminish their industry influence (not to mention jail time, hopefully). It could, in the best case scenario, even lead to the complete disbandment of the company under Chinese anti-monopoly legislation. (see the first point under [this post])

For the smaller players involved in the scam specifically, the motive is by and large personal financial gain. Many are known to be in debt / have been in debt but are suddenly now making lavish purchases (Sophie for example), some are known professional con men (Peter), and some are seeking other personal goals such as trying to get famous themselves (Lexus), to promote their own businesses (the Chens and the gym bros), or even for sexual gratification (Hewitt).

As well, it’s important to keep in mind the financial scale of the extremely lucrative Chinese entertainment industry. The amount that has been spent on 813 and everything since is barely anything in the grand scheme of things.

Further Resources: - Zhang Zhehan wiki - Masterlist of my posts about Zhang Zhehan - My ZZH info tag

#Zhang Zhehan #Zhang Sanjian #813 #Word of Honor #Shan He Ling #zzh info

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wendynerdwrites · 4 months

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If I didn't think Somerton was a scumbag before...

According to Gita Jackson, one of his biggest plaguarism targets, he's done exactly nothing to reach out to them or other victims. According to Kat, Hbomb's editor/researcher, he has not reached out to them about contributing to the fund. You'd think if fixing his mess was his main priority, he'd have done THAT before making a video.

This twit spent years stealing, launching harassment campaigns against his critics, dolling out misinformation that targetted women, lesbians, transmascs, NB's, WWII soldiers, Bisexuals, Asexuals and SURVIVORS OF THE GODDAMN AIDS EPIDEMIC while fetishizing Nazis and blowing smoke up the ass of a CEO scumbag. Oh, and setting himself up as a representative of the queer community despite going out of his way to shit all over about 85% of it.

How do we think the victims of his plagairism and harassment felt? Their mental health probably suffered severely when they got trashed and labeled as bigots when they tried to defend themselves and their work.

There is no way Somerton did not know he hurt people when he took active measures to do so.

He did not take active measures to actually fix things. He couldn't even be assed to provide a link to HBomb's fund for his victims in his video description.

He should not hurt himself. No one ever should. And I dont want to see harm come to him. Just earned comeuppence. DEATH or self harm doesn't fall into that category. I wish him a full recovery.

But aside from that, I also wish for all of his ill gotten gains to go to all he has hurt. I wish for him to leave the internet permanently. I wish for him to never be allowed into the fields of media study or entertainment again and be laughed out of the room if he ever tries again. I wish for an investigation into his "film studio."

The fact that he opened his so called apology talking about his self-harm/su*cide is sheer manipulation. He minimized his actions throughout his so called apology, blamed his misinformation and bigotry on his partner, and put his patreon up again. and anyone who buys that "It's so you can unsubscribe!" line is a moron. All he has to do to make sure people who hate him now arent charged is to shut it down completely. But instead, he makes his ex-fans do the work for him. And we know why.

The man's first priorities in his so called quest to make it right isn't to reach out to his victims, help with their funding, or even raise awareness of the funds for them. It was to film himself downplaying and making excuses for his actions and to reactivate his Patreon.

If that doesn't tell you who he is, I don't know what to tell you.

#james somerton #plagiarism #youtuber apologies #lgbtqia #scumbags #hbomberguy #suicide mention #self harm cw

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mean-scarlet-deceiver · 4 months

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Hc for Edwards coaches? Its weird to me that we know nothing about them

Oh, there’s a short answer to this: Edward doesn’t have a dedicated set of coaches.

(But I'm gonna make this a long answer, because I can’t help myself)

He’s not in Thomas or Duck’s position for much of canon. The ‘Locals’ we see him taking would have coaches drawn from the main line common pool. There are two push-pull trains for the bulk of Brendam line stopping traffic but, obviously, Edward doesn’t handle them.

He probably could have a dedicated long-term set of coaches for the Tidmouth-Brendam fast but, well, here’s the thing. One, those twice daily trains are not exclusively his because he’s very ready to offer them to a visitor who shows any interest (if they’re capable — Edward did learn something from the affair of Thomas and his trucks lol).

But there’s also the matter that, after a while with a steady rake on the Tidmouth-Brendam route, Edward is awfully prone to arranging for some other set of coaches that he notices is under-utilised getting to take over the job in turn.

Given his own experience out of service, he’s very sensitive to that sort of thing. It makes him great at managing coaching stock on the Wellsworth and Suddery section as a whole. They have a bit of an excess coaches, including a good many survivors from the N.W.R.’s earliest days (some of these survived because Edward discreetly hoarded them during the worst days of the Depression... and then helpfully procured them in good working order when WWII hit... and sometimes hid them again, in the early days of nationalisation, until things settled down...), and they’re kept around to deal with special charters and periods of higher traffic. Edward’s very good at keeping an eye on their maintenance and matchmaking temporary/visiting/new engines with coaches that they will work well with (and mediating, on the rare occasion when it’s a mismatch).

As a result of all this, coaches in his sphere have great affection and respect for Edward — but, over the years, he has at times had a “To know what we want, you do need to sometimes Ask Us and then Actually Listen” problem.

Not everyone wants to wake up early every possible day and push themselves a little behind their limits forever and ever and ever. Most vintage coaches do not actually secretly pine for a turn on the Brendam fast, with its sprint down a fifth of a main line and the sharp turn onto the branch combining to make your vacuum start to really tear into you if you have to do it too often. Thanks for thinking of us, but some of us are perfectly content only working three months out of the year. No, we don’t feel this way because we’re depressed, the problem is not that we’ve been neglected and given up, because we haven’t a problem and this isn’t actually about you, dear. (Edward, with his engine brain: '... impossible!...') Sometimes there is a set of coaches that are actually amenable to being retired (!) and Edward has had to learn to, y’know, accept that, rather than try to “fix” things. (He has so many resources these days to fix these things! It’s never been easier to fix these things! It’s ever so much easier to fix things than coming to grips with others having different ideas about (im)mortality than you do…!)

#chatter #ttte edward #ttte coaches #i could have just invented like 5 names and been done with it but that's not how i roll lol #so i hope this is okay

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andyeddieeee · 2 months

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What Your Favorite Pacific Character Says About You (based on personal experience)

Sledge- Type 1: You’re learning to find joy and beauty in everything you do and see. You’ve lived most of your life as a cynic, but you’re learning how to have hope. U got this brother

Type 2: Horny Joe Mazzello superfan and 80s fanatic. Put down your iPad that has queen‘s rock in rio pulled up on YouTube and go outside.

Snafu- OKAYYY WE GET IT you think he’s hot!! stop being so horny on the internet!! You also have AWFUL taste in men, but GREAT taste in music. You were probably raised Southern and smoke a LOT of pot.

Burgie- You either have a savior complex or ur fav BoB character was Shifty.

Sydney- You describe your type in men as “golden retriever” and tend to have relationships that all of your friends are jealous of. You also more than likely have a hyper-feminine aesthetic and a weird thing for Robert Irwin.

Basilone- You probably have a thing for firefighters, but not cops, and like to stalk gym rats on instagram. You like your men beefy and a little stupid.

Lena- You’re either a lesbian or you were just really happy to see a woman with a real personality in wwii media.

Leckie- You REALLY liked lord of the flies and great gatsby in high school are more than likely one of those cinephiles who prioritizes look and aesthetic over plot. You also have a journal that you take VERY seriously.

Hoosier- You just want someone to boss ur ass around. Don’t think I don’t see it. We all do.

Chuckler- You’re just kind of normal. Like there’s nothing really wrong with you, you just have common sense and a somewhat stable sense of self.

Runner- I literally don’t even know how to describe Runner fans. They’re kind of jacks of all trades, but also they just kinda keep to themselves? Y’all r an enigma.

De L’Eau- You listen exclusively to sad bisexual girl music and talk about your “babygirls” that are just grown men with mental illnesses.

Ack-Ack- Daddy issues.

Hillbilly- Daddy issues but somehow more complicated.

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nancynancydrewdrewdrew · 1 month

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Noisette is Bad at Making Treasure Hunts

I'm really not sure if Noisette actually wanted anyone to find her treasure, or if she still harbored a ton of resentment and fear towards the city and wanted to clear her conscious before death by making it appear that she had done the work to ensure it would be found without actually making it possible for someone to do so. If she really wanted the stained glass to be returned, she could have just written in her will "the stained glass is in xyz, please give it back the following places:"

Instead, if her goal really was to have someone find the hidden stained glass after she died (as she states in the game in her final letter) she was bad at following through on her goals. The fact that Nancy was able to do so is due to so many contrived coincidences that would completely make it impossible for her treasure to be found in the real world. To find her treasure you need:

a) access to her moulin. This is in IMO her stupidest move in the whole game, she was director of public works (or something like that) and instead of trusting the moulin to the city when she died she did nothing and let it go to auction to a private buyer. Literally the only person in the entire game who gives a shit about her and the treasure (Lynn Manrique) can't do anything to find it bc Noisette didn't ensure that the treasure would be accessible to the public

okay, so maybe she intended for whoever purchased the moulin to find her treasure. Nope! because...

(Okay, I have a lot of thoughts here and this ended up being really long so the rest is under the cut!)

b) you would also need access to another completely private residence, Hans's old apartment. Nancy is lucky that Dieter still lives there and he works in the fashion industry, which coincidentally the owner of the moulin is in. But what are the odds of that?? Also, it states in the game that Hans went to Germany after the war and never returned to Paris. So did he just hang on to an empty apartment that whole time or did Dieter randomly end up in the same apartment as his grandpa? Paris was fine with a German soldier occupying an apartment during the war and never wanted to re-allocate it afterwards?

okay, so there's someone that has access to the moulin and Hans's apartment, they can find the treasure, right? Nope!

c) you need a very specific mechanic key to open the panel in the apartment wall. A key that for some reason only Hans had? She never spoke to him again after the war, so I'm assuming in order to hide her diary afterwards she had her own key, but that's not a part of the treasure hunt or clues at all. Nancy got Hans's key out of pure coincidence, so how was someone else supposed to open the panel? okay, someone living there managed to open the panel, maybe some construction workers discovered it during renovations. So can they find the treasure? No! d) The panel is locked, and you need to 1. know that the hazelnut symbol refers to Noisette and 2. know her life story to the point that you'd know her life fell to shit in 1945. if you weren't connected to the mystery, good luck!

So you made it in the panel, you have her diary, and you have the paper with the eyes. That doesn't help at all unless you...

e) know what Noisette's last words were! If that was an important clue, why not write it down somewhere??

also...

f) YOU NEED A FRENCH RESISTANCE WWII DECODER. Noisette was said to have died recently when the game came out in 2006. You're telling me that in the sixty years between the end of the war and her death she never once noticed that no one has one of those just lying around? She couldn't have changed that step or at least hidden "ma cherie" in one of the lock boxes? In the game we get incredibly lucky that we just randomly stumble on one, and even in that case it's known to be so rare that we need to jump through hoops to get it.

That's all well and good, but there's more! g) you need to be able bodied enough to use ladders, swim through tunnels, and more. And you also have to be willing to break the law and go into restricted areas of the catacombs, AND swim through flooded areas?? of the catacombs?? where they have dead bodies?? who would do that?? h) once you do that, you need to have a working knowledge of the metro system, otherwise you need to go back and do it all twice. And that's assuming that there are no line changes or renames in the time between making the puzzle and someone finding it! You also have to hope that no one has made any changes to the art in the park in that timeframe

Okay it took a while but you found the treasure!!

I) Now you're locked in so you better hope you know how to use the code she likes to get out, otherwise you're stuck there forever and you're dead. If you didn't pick up a random code book while visiting the park, sorry!

This ended up quite long, but my overall point is that it would be completely asinine to assume anyone would be able to discover the treasure. Even Nancy finding it was contingent on a ton of random coincidences and deus ex machinas that would be unreplicable in the real world. I love the puzzles and the vibes of this game but the I hate the plot and after writing this I'm realizing how much I really hate Noisette as a person lol

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #her interactive #clue crew #danger by design

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f1tyreslightmyfyre · 6 months

Text

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 3

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 3 Warnings: Language; stalker behavior; abduction; vampire thrall; WWII references to Hitler and Nazi regime; non-graphic violence, murder and death

2023

A tall man stands before you in the parking garage with sandy blonde hair, broad shoulders and a lean, tapered waist that shouldn’t be so distracting in such a risky situation. He braces one hand against his hip and the other hangs at his side as he offers a small smile. “Hello.” He says your name, and all of your survival instincts go on high alert.

Your heart hammers as adrenaline lights you up. “Wha… who are you?” You freeze in place, gripping your laptop bag to swing it in self-defense if needed. “H-how do you know my name?”

“My name is Max, and Charles told me.” His mouth pulls to a tight, closed-mouth smile as if indulging a small child. “And, really, nothing more should be said right now. And certainly not here.”

“O-okay.” You force a hard swallow. “Um, then… I’ll just be on my way.” You motion towards your car behind him, but he takes a step forward with a tense shake of his head.

“I’m afraid you can’t do that. Or, at least, not yet.” He says, taking another step forward, and you instinctively step back. “There are some things that you’re better off understanding first.”

“I-I don’t need to understand anything.” You stammer, taking another backwards step but it’s no match for his forward advance. “I haven’t done anything, and if you so much as fucking touch me, I’ll scream and bring the security guard running.”

He sighs in vague annoyance, but hardly looks deterred. “Well, we could have done this the easy way – believe me when I say that I’m here for your protection, that I don’t want to see you hurt – but I guess we’ll just have to do it the hard way.”

He lunges forward with a burst of impossible speed, holding your gaze captive with his own. His ice blue eyes glow like twin stars, and you’re helpless to look away. Waves of warmth and security roll through you, and… why exactly were you trying to get away from him? Especially as the comforting weight of his palm cups your jaw and his fingers caress your cheek. You want to melt into him, to never be without him, to always have him like this.

“That’s it,” he rumbles gently, stroking your cheek. “Now that we’ve made up from our fight, give me a hug for the camera…”

Your arms wrap around him without a second thought, and fuck… the solid, firm build of him sends your blood racing.

“That’s my girl.” He praises through the fog in your ears, pressing his lips against your other cheek. “Now, shall we get on with our date night? Loop your arm around my waist now, come on, and how about a smile…?”

He draws back and you're helpless not to drown under his lovely gaze as he shifts to your side. Your arm lands around the lean line of his waist as a smile brightens your face, and really… what’s so bad about this?

Your footsteps match his as you both draw up to your car and he guides you into the passenger seat. A whimper passes your lips as the lean strength of his body withdraws, and you try to reach out for him as he closes the door.

“No, schatje.” He says gently as he folds your hand back in your lap. “I’ll just be a minute.”

The door closes, and you can’t breathe as he circles around the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat. It’s only as his hand envelops yours that the weight lifts from your chest and you stare at him, helpless to look anywhere else.

You barely hear the sound of the engine ignition or see the passing city lights as he cuts through the night. You don’t even know where you are as he finally brings the car to a stop. But again, the distance between you as he walks over to the passenger side of the car lances anxiety through you until his hand reconnects with yours – and you never want to be without him. How could you? Why would you?

“Come on,” he whispers carefully as your feet move against a smooth surface – concrete, you think. A driveway. “This way…” He coos as he guides you forward and you cling to him, uncaring about anything else.

He pushes a large door open and golden light floods your vision. You can just make out white and cream blurs that might be furniture, but when you’re in his arms like this, who cares about furniture?

“Charles!” Max calls out loudly, and you press your ear tight against his chest as if to drown out the loud noise. “Charles, get down here!”

His strong arm disappears from around your waist and you're gently coaxed to sit on something soft and cushy. But you only have eyes for him as he starts to draw back, and you reach out for him as another voice echoes in your foggy brain.

“Mon dieu…” The voice is pure astonishment. “Max, what the hell is this? What is she-”

“George found her.”

“Fucking hell… and you had to bring her here for that?”

“You put her in danger and you need to get her out of it.”

“Seb would say that we should just drain her and be done with it.”

“And it may yet come to that, but with Xavi’s death, we might need her.”

“… Fine.” A long sigh follows, and another man moves into your vision. He’s… vaguely familiar, like a shadow from a distant dream, but he’s not the one you want..

Your hands reach out, feebly searching for what you know you’ll surely die without.

“Good lord, Max.” The man in front of you sighs again. “You didn’t have to go so hard on her.”

“I barely used my thrall… that’s all her, mate.”

“Then, get her out of it. Now.”

That same strong, comforting hand finds your jaw, and you reconnect with those gorgeous glacial eyes. All feels so right with the world and nothing could possibly –

“As you were.” Max commands, and the fog lifts.

You gasp as you come back to yourself, overloaded by too many realizations at once.

For one, the home you’re in is cavernous and opulent – for fuck’s sake, it's a mansion… if not a palace.

For two, Charles Leclerc, III, crouches down in front of you, dressed in grey joggers and a white t-shirt, looking far too relaxed despite the annoyed set of his handsome face.

For three, Max from the parking garage stands next to him with a terrifyingly neutral expression on his face.

“Where… what the fuck just happened? How did I get here? And…” your mouth goes dry and words choke in your throat. “Why am I here? I-I don’t know anything about what happened to Padros -”

“It’s alright,” Charles cuts off your rambling. “You’re not in danger, at least not from us.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I suppose you would say that.”

The corner of Charles’ mouth lifts. “And if I really did intend to hurt you, a comment like that could earn you a backhand across the cheek.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

The wicked lift of Charles’ mouth grows. “I don’t need to strike you to pacify you.”

A terrifying mix of vulnerability and arousal curdles in your blood. You’re suddenly all too aware of these intimidating men before you, and you’re still entirely too discomforted that you can’t recall anything about how you got here. To this… mansion with these two handsome – gorgeous, really – men staring down at you, oozing all confidence and power.

Dammit, this is not the time for your kinky side to take hold.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your unease and regain some modicum of control despite how powerless you feel. “Okay… but why am I here?”

Charles blinks back at you. “I’m given to understand that you know George Russell.”

Indignation furrows your brow. “And just how is that any of your business?”

“I’m told that it’s my fault he contacted you.”

The wrinkled set of your brow deepens. “You’re ‘given to understand’, you’re ‘told’… do you not do anything for yourself?”

Max snorts a breathless laugh. “You know, she has a point, mate.”

Nothing in the handsome lines of Charles’ face changes despite the hint of a smirk coming to his face. “I’ve known Max for quite a long time, and you wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t true.” He shifts his weight, bracing a forearm against a knee. “Has George told you anything?”

You arch an incredulous brow. “Anything about what…? Just what the fuck is going on here?” Frustration tightens your voice as your hand clenches in your lap. “He’s nobody, alright? George hasn’t told me anything! He’s never mentioned either of you. He’s just some new guy at work –"

“How new?” Charles’ tone is disconcertingly calm.

“A couple of weeks, he said.”

“And when did you first meet him?”

“The night….” A chill races down your spine as your mind catches up to your adrenaline-fueled instincts. “I was leaving work just after our meeting, just after I had met you…”

Charles’ eyes brighten as the connection is made. “And where did you meet George? Behind the secured access points of your building?”

“No…” A shiver creeps along your skin. “In the parking garage… and then again, in the main lobby…”

Max shakes his head with a scoff. “It’s easy enough to walk around a vehicle barrier or into an open lobby during business hours.”

The realizations mix with the memory of your search for George in your company’s chat program. And after hearing Charles say George’s full name tonight, you hadn’t misheard, nor had you misspelled ‘Russell’ so poorly. Your mouth goes dry at the implication as your stomach sours.

But the last thing you want to do is admit that Charles is right. That this man, whose - lacky? Minion? Bodyguard? Max? – abducted you to his house, is actually telling the truth.

Charles blinks and gives his head a gentle shake. “For that and all of this, I do apologize. I didn’t intend to put you in such danger.”

You fix Charles with a hard stare. “But what about Xavier? If he had met with you instead of me, would George have contacted him, too?”

An enigmatic expression comes to Charles’ face. “I’m afraid those are questions for another time. This is about George, not Xavi.”

“But they’re connected, aren’t they?” You try to seek the answer in Charles’ face. “They have to be.”

The muscles of Charles’ jaw tighten. “If George contacts you again, don’t engage with him. Don’t help him. And paramount for your own safety, never look him in the eyes.”

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous. And makes no sense.” Another frustrated sigh escapes you. “Nothing happens from looking someone in the eyes. We’re not wolves, for fuck’s sake.”

Max sighs. “It’s not aggression that you need to worry about from him. Hypnosis is far more dangerous.”

“Hypnosis?” You glare up at Max as creeping realization overtakes you. “Is that how I got here...?” You feel stupid for even asking the question, but very little about this entire conversation makes sense. “You…” your gaze trails back to Charles. “Max hypnotized me…?”

The corner of Charles’ mouth edges up, revealing the gleam of white teeth. “You probably shouldn’t make direct eye contact with him, either,” he chuckles with a suggestive undertone. “Unless you want to, of course. Plenty of people do.”

You recoil at the implication, leaning back against the chair as Charles’ gentle laugh continues.

Max sighs with thinly veiled annoyance. “Come on, Charles. Don’t play with your food.”

The words rot in your gut and you dart wide eyes up to Max. All your instincts urge you to fight for escape – to flee for your life – but you have precious few options. Especially as Charles leans closer and his eyes darken above his attempt at a calming smile.

“He’s only joking. You needn’t be so frightened, cara mia.” He coos gently as his gaze runs over your face and down your neck with a sudden, startling hunger. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

“Well, what do you expect?” You hiss, grabbing the chair armrests as if that would save you. “You hypnotize me, you fucking kidnap me –”

Charles pushes to his feet. “Technically speaking, that was all Max. He had no direction from me to do so, but I’m glad that he did bring you here.” He shakes his head as he braces a hand on his hip and looks at Max. “This development is an unfortunate wrinkle. Surprising, even.”

Max nods shortly. “They’ve never come this close.”

Charles hums in quiet agreement. “That’s something we should look into. But first,” he turns back to you with a quick glance. “Take her home. Put her to bed.”

“And the rest…?”

Charles steps around him, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder that borders on overly intimate. “I trust you.”

You push up from the chair, heart pounding as you seize the moment and start to run. But faster than you can breathe, a strong, solid arm hooks around your waist. You collide with the broad plane of Max's chest, and he isn’t even breathing hard as his chilly fingers find your jaw. Fuck, just why is his skin so cold? “Please…" you whimper. “Please don’t –"

“I know, schatje.” Max says softly as he tips your face up towards his and you glimpse those ice blue eyes. “Right here, that’s it.” He praises as your gazes lock. “Just like that…”

The world turns warm and fuzzy, and calmness suffuses you. Your muscles relax from the tension and relief surges through you. Tears sting your eyes and roll down your cheeks as you all but dissolve into the only source of comfort and protection that you need.

Max holds you close as you desperately cling to him. “I know, I know,” he says with a slight edge of irritation, and he guides your unsteady feet. “But like Charles said, you don’t need to be frightened of us. After all, this is just a dream. Just a dream.”

The words resound in your brain.

Just a dream.

1943

Nightfall in the Netherlands continues to yield its secrets. Each German-occupied country possesses scars of the looting conquerors and Charles’ keen nose for the hunt continues to surprise both him and Seb.

And he’s not just referring to the acrid smoke in the air.

“Fucking bombers.” Charles grouses. “Can they not tell the difference between a factory and a museum?”

“I imagine it’s difficult.” Seb muses as dirt crunches against the cobblestone beneath their feet. “Mortals’ vision is already so limited and from that high altitude, moving at those speeds.” He tilts his head up to the hazy sky in assessment. “How could you accurately tell one building from another?”

“Factories have chimneys and black smoke.”

“Not all of them do. Textile miles don’t… at least,” Seb pauses as he frowns. “Well, they didn’t use to. But maybe they do now… the Industrial Revolution was a fascinating thing to witness, but far too much smoke to tell one factory from the next in the city centers. Even for one such as myself.”

Charles quirks a wry grin. “You surprise me, Seb. For a man of reason and organization, you should have nothing against the Industrial Revolution.”

Seb shrugs a shoulder. “Progress always comes with a cost. The ages teach us that, if nothing else. Exploration comes with rampant disease. Colonization comes with inherent subjugation. Industrialization comes with unjust squalor. And technology comes with mass destruction.”

Charles hums in quiet consideration. “Is that what you saw during the Great War?” He has heard about the terrors of trench warfare and gas bombs, but he has no basis for comparison. Hell, even as an immortal, he barely has a stomach for the current war.

“Yes.” Seb’s voice holds the heavy weight of unwanted memory as they round a corner onto a side street. “Mercifully, the horrors unleashed by that war are yet to be repeated on this battlefield.”

Charles heaves a sigh – not that he needs to breathe anymore, but it’s oddly habitual. “Do you suppose there’s any hope that mankind will ever stop inventing ways to kill one another?”

A wry smirk cracks Seb’s face as he glances over in this darkness. “You don’t really want my –”

A muffled groan and grunts in German slice through their conversation. Charles’ gaze snaps to the street ahead, senses on full alert as shadows take shape in his sharp vision. A man lies on the ground, feebly trying to curl into himself despite the cordon of soldiers kicking and beating him from all sides. It still doesn’t make sense to Charles that the Netherlands has remained a neutral nation in the war even after being invaded and suffering Nazi occupation.

Seb sighs sadly. “Have they no basic decency?”

“For someone out past curfew, that looks more merciful than an interrogation chamber.” Charles replies. Even though they only roam the streets and countryside at night, whispers of the Dutch Resistance surround them – a thin thread of hope that still manages to hold the country together.

“Well, we won’t let that happen, either.” Seb says as he turns a confirming glance on Charles. “Shall we?”

Charles nods in helpless agreement. “I am a little hungry.”

They move together, swift as shadows and just as silent, just as deadly. Bones snap, blood warms their bellies, and screams die before they can begin. It never takes them long, and this time is no exception. It comes easier to Charles now – acting with aggression against the aggressors – but it’s still not his natural inclination.

Licking the blood from his lips, he glances down at the young man still curled up on the ground. His breathing comes in ragged, uneven draws – his chest rattles, even. The smell of rich, hot, dark blood permeates the air even above the scents of the dead soldiers, and the young man’s face is bruised and bloodied to match his expression of agony.

“H-h-help...” The words are just barely audible and laden with great effort.

Seb sighs with regret. “We’re not able to save you.”

Bright blue eyes flash beneath swollen eyelids, full of pain and fear. “No-o… please. I –” The Dutchman’s voice chokes off on a gurgling cough and blood flows past his lips.

Charles’ heart breaks as he stares down at the dying man. “I was wrong. There’s nothing merciful about this.” He crouches down and gently cups the man’s strong jawline, stroking his thumb over an angry cut, trying to impart any comfort that he can. Beneath the injuries and blood, the man is undeniably handsome with a strong, sturdy build. Maybe that’s why he’s still alive now. He’s a fighter… and maybe… just maybe that’s why he risked being outside after curfew.

The Dutchman’s breathing turns faint and wheezing, and Charles knows the window is closing. “I want to help him.” He says, turning to glance up at Seb.

Seb’s brows furrow curiously. “You want to help him…? Help him as in…"

Unease pits in Charles’ gut. “Turn him. Like you turned me.”

“He’s practically a dead man – you can smell it.” Seb shakes his head. “Mortals die all the time… you’ve seen it before.”

“And I haven’t asked to save a single one of the countless many that I have witnessed. I’m just asking…” he trails off, glancing back down, unable to explain why he’s so drawn to this man. “I’m just asking about this one.”

“You are still so young -”

“And I’ve gotten better with my thrall, with my control – even my finesse. I’m learning to let go of my ‘mortal construct’ as you call it, and now I’m asking you – will you help me with this?”

Seb folds his arms across his chest in silent contemplation as the Dutchman’s weak breathing wheezes between them. “Where do you think this will go, Charles? If you turn him, then what?”

Charles’ lip curls in a frustrated sneer. “Did you ask yourself that question before you ambushed me in the woods? Tell me, where did you think it would go with me, hmm?” He fixes Seb with a hard stare. “Or was I really just too pretty for you to resist?”

A tense moment hangs in the air before Seb drops his arms to his side. “We’ll have to guide him – you’ll have to teach him.”

Relief sparks in Charles’ chest. “Yes… yes, I can do that. And I will.” He turns back to the Dutchman, trailing down to the slope of his neck. His pulse weakly flutters beneath Charles’ fingertips, and Charles hopes he’s not too late.

Seb kneels beside him, curling his hand over the back of Charles’ as they gently trace over the main artery together. “Just there,” Seb whispers as Charles leans down, inhaling the Dutchman’s scent deep into his lungs as his lips buss the tender skin.

Charles’ fangs pierce the skin, and a delicious coppery tang rushes over his tongue as Seb softly continues. “And, now… just listen for the heart to stop.”

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