How do you think Velvet flirts with Coco?
This is one of the funniest asks I ever got and im glad cause this is just gold. Like how does the Bun™️ woo her stupid bozo??
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I have my biased takes on what Coco and Velvet are like as characters, but to start off I wanna focus on what Vel brings to the table.
I think a lot of people have moe’d her down to a nervous/scaredy bunny girl and…that’s not her at all. She’s a real multilayered character who can and will kick your ass flat. She’s also…
- very very attentive to people
- excellent at memorizing things she sees and hears, and quickly at that
- very emotionally in tune with people, herself included
- insanely kind and helpful
- honest about her feelings and will voice her thoughts when ready
Also she’s a bunny like come on. Is baby. It’s impossible to not find her likable.
I can go on forever, but I think these are enough likable traits to work with.
Time to shift. Now we focus on what I think Coco likes in a person:
- Hot girls
- Complexity
- Someone true to their nature
- Some sense of honor
- Someone striving to learn and to better themselves
Hopefully it’s not lost here, but there’s some compatibility don’t you think? Velvet’s got some of those traits that Coco likes.
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So where’s the flirting? It’s coming I swear, I just needed the background info to help support the answers.
Bun bun flirts two ways: intentionally and unintentionally. The latter is usually what’s happening most often.
Her intentional flirting is what you would expect. Some cheeky words, being a playful tease in her actions like when she flashed her camera in After the Fall. I think she would 1000% take advantage of her physique and incredibly vast skillsets. She is totally totally showing off during training and sparring. Coco might hide her gaze under her glasses but that dumb bitch is so easy. So so easy…
Now her unintentional flirting is basically that Velvet is just doing her thing. She’s comfortable and loved by her team. With them she’s able to be herself and have fun, and that’s what coco loves most. Seeing Velvet thrive and not feel like she has to hide herself away from the world, and with it comes moments and actions that make Coco, much to her surprise, fall for Velvet.
I guess simply put, Velvet flirts by being her cheeky self around Coco, and her leader falls for her every time.
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ronance yearning hours
Mornings like this are becoming Nancy’s favourite thing, with the rising sun painting the room in golden light that always, always lands on Robin, who usually sleeps long past sunrise when she can. Nancy lets her; there’s nowhere for her to go anyway on this slow Saturday morning in Steve’s house, and the boys will only wake in an hour or so.
Nancy has taken to using that time to watch the picture of absolute serenity that is a sleeping Robin, with her cheek smushed into the pillow and her hair falling over her face in a way that never fails to make Nancy smile.
It also never fails to make her fingers twitch, itching to reach out and brush that hair behind her ear and see if her cheek is as smooth to the touch as it looks.
It gets stronger, this urge, with every slow Saturday morning that she wakes in the same bed as her. The journalist inside her wants to find a better word for it, a stronger one, to avoid repetition and ensure clarity. But all the words are big and carry implications for which Nancy is not yet ready.
She refuses to call it longing, this need inside her to touch and linger. She refuses to call it yearning, the way she looks forward to Friday nights at Steve’s with Robin and Eddie, or the way it fills her chest with excitement and giddiness just to think about sharing a bed and waking next to her and watching as all the things that overwhelm Robin on a daily basis are held off for at least another hour yet.
What’s in a word? she’ll scoff when it comes to interviews and articles and hours of agonising over sentence structure and synonyms.
But it’s on mornings like this that she realises that some words require bravery and tenderness rather than simple contemplation and calculation. Some words take time.
Beside her, Robin sighs quietly in her sleep, and Nancy shuffles closer. Because if she can’t be brave with words yet, not even with herself, she can at least be closer.
Using the momentum of a moment unguarded, her right hand comes up before she can stop it, finding a home on Robin’s cheek as she slowly, reverently brushes the hair out of her face and behind her ear. Her touch is light, fingertips ghosting over soft, warm skin — and feeling that softness upon her touch, she wonders if falling in love with Robin would be just as soft, just as gentle; just as warm.
Not a second later, Nancy pulls her hand away as if burned, her heart racing in her chest as if it were signalling her to run, you should be running, i’m racing like you’re running for your life before you’re caught and found out. Nancy balls her hand into a fist and scoots further back on the bed, feeling a heaviness inside her chest that has only been there for a few of these mornings. A fear. A panic.
Because terrible things happen when Nancy Wheeler wonders about love and touch and tenderness. And worse things still, because it’s not supposed to be like this. Not with Robin.
So she stays on her side of the bed, watching the sun dance along Robin’s skin, her hand still warm, the ghost touch of Robin’s soft cheek still present. And she watches, hand cradled to her chest to stop herself from reaching out again. She watches and wonders if maybe she should start using bigger words, because the pit in her chest is growing larger with every passing second and she needs something to fill it.
~*~
It happens again the next week. And the week after that. It seems like the first time broke something in Nancy, or maybe it came alive, but either way she can’t really stop reaching for Robin now. And her repertoire of words is growing with each Saturday morning, too. Longing, aching, yearning — they are classics. But there’s basking, too. Hoping, wishing, and imagining. God, does she imagine.
She imagines Robin’s lips turning up into a smile with Nancy’s hand on her cheek, she imagines her hand coming up to capture Nancy’s and just holding it. Or an image that makes her heart race again: kisses brushed to her knuckles. Or her lips.
She imagines, and she wishes, and she longs. But there’s also belonging. In fact, there’s a whole novel Nancy feels she could write in those early morning hours. A thousand pages dedicated to all the words that exist around Robin Buckley. Words that live inside Nancy; that part is important.
Four weeks have passed and the feelings have only grown stronger, developed more words that will forever remain between her and the morning sun. And Nancy can’t stop herself from trailing the back of her finger along smooth, warm skin, the touch too light to disturb the sleeping beauty.
Sleeping Beauty, who stills and stiffens minutely, but Nancy is too mesmerised to notice until it’s too late.
“You’ve gotta stop this,” Robin whispers, her voice hoarse from sleep, and Nancy’s heart leaps out of her chest in panic and embarrassment.
“Sorry,” she whispers, pulling her hand back toward her chest. She’ll explain. Robin had something on her face that Nancy brushed away, that’s all. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—
“Or I’ll fall madly in love with you if you don’t.”
Oh. Oh?
Oh.
Nancy swallows as her thesaurus dissolves and all words escape her. She blinks. Robin’s eyes are still closed but there’s a shadow of a smile on her lips, dimpling the skin that Nancy caressed just seconds ago.
There is the chance to just ignore that this ever happened, with Robin not looking at her, not making this moment real yet, on the brink of sleep and wakefulness. All she’ll have to do is wait. It’s the best chance she’s ever going to get, to forget about all this and get over it. Over her. Over whatever she has been building inside herself under the light of the rising sun over the past weeks.
All she’d have to do is remain still and silent and wait for Robin to fall back asleep.
But there was something about big words and bravery, and even though her thesaurus has left her and the thousand pages of things to feel, to say, to do, to think around Robin have torn themselves up because they were bleak and bland and not enough, Nancy feels brave on this particular morning.
Because the world hasn’t ended yet in all those weeks that she’s been thinking about Robin. In fact, the world has stopped ending since she started seeing Robin for who she is. And in a world where bravery is not about surviving, it is always about love.
And maybe that’s what she feels, maybe that’s what she wants, what she allows herself to want when she lays her hand on Robin’s cheek to caress the softest skin and gently comb back the strands of hair that are threatening to fall back over her face again. Her beautiful face that’s pulling up into a smile now — and Nancy is not imagining it. In fact, she’s smiling, too. She’s smiling so wide that a tiny little laugh bubbles past her lips.
Robin scoots closer, eyes squinting open now, as if to make sure this is real. As if she’s feeling the same. As if she meant it, what she said just now.
Nancy swallows thickly when Robin tucks her head under her chin, her body curling into Nancy’s, finding one of her hands to hold it. She still feels too raw, too vulnerable, and she wants to ask. Wants to be sure. Wants it to be real.
“Five more minutes,” Robin says, already on her way back to a deep sleep. “And then we’ll talk about this. I’ll tell you all about this girl I like. Think she might like me back. And she’s so warm.” She buries a little deeper into her side to chase that warmth that is now filling her whole body.
And Nancy gasps out a laugh this time, a tiny one, gentle and tender and all those words that are slowly coming back to her now that Robin is curled into her side and holding her hand. Her free hand comes up to comb through Robin’s hair in steady motions to lull her back into a slumber.
“Sleep,“ she breathes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Robin hums, cuddling impossibly closer, and Nancy feels herself drifting off again, too. With a smile on her face. For the first time in years.
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let’s talk about the Captain’s education for a second because we all know he’s a bit silly with what his position was (requiring the revolver… for the countryside… multiple times; immediate invasion the second France surrenders; perhaps disproportional order and expectations; and that’s not even mentioning the ‘job’ he has for himself as a Ghost and his interactions with them) but he’s also well spoken, enthusiastically informed and seeks out knowledge, and to get the role of Captain - albeit researching at home in Blighty - he must have had a pretty well-off life beforehand.
this is where all the headcanons about his father and family life comes in; we know his father was distant and uninvolved as was typical - even expected- in that era, but he probably handed down expectations (and trauma lbr). so, working backwards, the requirements for the Captain’s position were more meritocratic - Oxbridge or Durham educated at the very least (being ranked) OR experience.
he showed enthusiasm to get involved, we know he had previous experience (one day… the ceasefire) and training to get the rank, but we can only theorise that he was probably working in a similar field to his position. to get to Oxford/Cambridge he had to be at least middle/upper-middle class with family friends/acquaintance connections to Oxbridge, or even his father went to Oxbridge (Oxford is 30 ish miles away from Bledlow). I don’t think he’d find it hard to get in with a connection, being the studious and enthusiastic man he is on certain subjects. so he’s not just a nepo baby.
about his upbringing, we can assume a few things from where he was born - it’s been a conservative seat since 1924, and probably similar ruling when he was growing up there, it’s very white and middle class, very Church of England, but not very interesting… sensibly English village vibes/typical middle England. he probably didn’t get to experience much of it though, likely sent away for some of his schooling.
also basing him off of the men that made the limpet mine, we can use their histories to fill in a few gaps that make sense. they - Stuart Macrae (couldn’t find uni) or Cecil Vandepeer Clarke (Uni of London, dnf) - were both extensively involved in constructing and engineering, even with a military context. both of them were involved in WWI and the army interwar, so they were decorated and knowledgeable before they got into WWII… we do not know if the Captain was either of those things. we do not know his route into his role, but I think the university and research career route makes more sense for his character of overcompensating and paranoia.
but he’s not uninformed or underprepared for the work of Captain in this research base for HQ - he’s fucking clever and connects dots and can gather information - he’s uniformed and underprepared for the position of Captain. which is where Havers comes in.
and when Havers leaves, he compensates for that two-fold loss. and when he dies, he continues to fit the Captain position, informed by his father, the war, the expectations, the position, his education, but not by experience like Macrae and Clarke. he’s good at his job and work but he was born to be something else not quite within reach.
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crocomom theory is so funny. ridiculous enough to piss people off but backed by the fact that nothing in canon refutes it
and yet...also...the sadness of crocodile not knowing his own child is such a concept to me ??
Like..he could’ve given up his baby because he felt no love for it…or at least no attachment strong enough to warrant sacrificing his life plans. He agrees to carry the baby to term but gives it away before he could overthink his decision, telling dragon the child was his and his alone and therefore it was dragons choice on what to do next. For crocodile the choice was clear, the path was set, and he refused to play mother. it was only a blip in his plans until it all comes back at marineford.
or maybe he /did/ love their child but he feared for the baby’s safety...he trusted it with anyone but himself because his life was bound to bring trouble. Dragon was dangerous too but he was fighting for freedom and he claimed to have a plan so crocodile agreed blindly.
or maybe crocodile had the baby unwillingly taken from him. “for the greater good” sorta deal; doing things for the baby’s sake but not on crocodile’s terms. a rough goodbye and the assumption that he’d never know or meet his baby. perhaps he simply woke up and found his baby already gone, already taken “somewhere safer”, or lied to and told that the baby didn’t survive.
No matter the situation, he doesn’t let it take over his life. He accepts it and tells himself to move on. He never even gave the child a name; there’s nothing for him to grieve. Once Ivankov changes crocodile’s sex then it all becomes a part of the past; he could never be that baby’s mother and he pretends he never was in the first place
Until he learns the truth behind dragons name
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