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usafphantom2 · 4 months

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Legendary Pilot Bob Pardo, Who Pushed A Damaged F-4 With His F-4 Over Vietnam, Has Died

December 20, 2023 Military Aviation

Bob Pardo

Bob Pardo in a 2017 photo by Senior Airman Ridge Shan. In the background, Pardo's Push in an artwork by S.W. Ferguson.

Bob Pardo passed away earlier this month at the age of 89. With his Phantom, he pushed a crippled F-4 outside the enemy airspace in one of the most heroic missions in the history of military aviation, known as “Pardo’s Push”.

“Pardo’s Push” is the name of an incredible maneuver carried out during the Air War over North Vietnam that, over the years, has become the symbol of heroism and a demonstration of courage and contempt for danger.

March 10, 1967.

Captain Bob Pardo is flying in an F-4C with Weapon Systems Officer 1st Lt Steve Wayne. Their wingman is the F-4C flown by Captain Earl Aman with Weapon Systems Officer 1st Lt Robert Houghton. The two Phantoms of the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing, based at Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base, Thailand, are assigned the task to attack a steel mill in North Vietnam north of the capital Hanoi.

During the approach to the target, both F-4 is hit multiple times by enemy’s anti-aircraft fire. The North Vietnamese flak causes significant damage to Capt. Aman’s aircraft whose fuel tank begins to leak fuel forcing the crew to abort the mission. While hit too, Pardo’s F-4 is able to continue its mission.

On their egress route, at 20,000 feet, Aman and Houghton determine that they do not have enough fuel to reach a tanker or Laos, where they could eject and avoid capture. Although his F-4 is still efficient and has enough fuel to reach a tanker, Pardo decides to remain with his wingman.

At a certain point, while still inside North Vietnamese airspace, Aman’s Phantom flames out. To save Aman and Houghton, Pardo decides to do something he believes no one has ever done before: he attempts to push the other F-4 to Laos.

Initially, Pardo tries to push the other F-4 by gently making contact with the drag chute compartment. However, turbulence interferes with the maneuver and after several failed attempts, Pardo opts for an extreme solution: he instructs Aman to lower his tailhook, then he positions his F-4 behind the other Phantom leaning his windscreen against the tailhook. The contact is made but the “solution” is quite unstable and, as a consequence of turbulence, Pardo needs to reposition his F-4 every 15 to 30 seconds. Nevertheless, the push works and rate of descent of Aman’s Phantom is considerably reduced.

As if the situation was not complicate enough, Pardo’s F-4 suffers an engine fire, forcing him to shut it down.

Try for a second to visualize the situation: a flame-out F-4 is somehow pushed by means of its tailhook by another F-4 powered by a single engine. In enemy airspace. Incredible.

Ezoic

Pardo pushes Aman’s F-4 for another 10 minutes until his Phantom runs out of fuel too. With both planes safely inside Laotian airspace, at an altitude of about 6,000 feet, the aircrews of both F-4s ejects (they will be rescued by SAR helicopters and evade capture).

Although he saved another aircrew, Pardo was initially reprimanded for not saving his own F-4. Until 1989, when the episode was re-examinated and both Pardo and Wayne were awarded the Silver Star.

Retired Air Force pilot Lt. Col. Bob Pardo poses in front of a static display model of an F-4 Phantom II, one of the many fighter aircraft he has flown, at Luke Air Force Base, Ariz., Dec. 12, 2017. (U.S. Air Force photo/Senior Airman Ridge Shan)

Pardo and Aman both continued serving and retired from the U.S. Air Force in the rank of lieutenant colonel. Years later, after learning that Aman had lost his voice and mobility because of Lou Gehrig’s disease, created the Earl Aman Foundation that raised enough money to buy Aman a voice synthesizer, a motorized wheelchair, and a computer. The foundation later contributed to raise funds to pay for a van, which Aman used for transportation until his death. In other words, Pardo never left his wingman behind, not even after retiring.

Ezoic

Noteworthy, as told by John L. Frisbee in his 1996 article for Air Force Magazine, Pardo’s push was not the first time a U.S. pilot pushed another jet out of enemy airspace: in 1952, during the Korean War, fighter ace Robbie Risner pushed his wingman out of North Korea in an F-86. However, pilots were ordered to refrain from attempting the hazardous maneuver again, and the episode had faded from memory and was almost completely unknown within the Air Force by the time Pardo and Wayne pushed Aman and Houghton outside of North Vietnam’s airspace.

Bob Pardo passed away aged 89, on Dec. 5, 2023. His courage and ingenuity, along with the legendary “Pardo’s Push“, will be remembered forever.

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@Aviationist via X

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obsessedwithceleste · 20 days

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Theodore Nott Headcanons

Dedicated to this lil request here 🫶🏽

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

It’s no secret that Theodore Nott had a rough childhood

Between witnessing his mother’s death at a young age and having a particularly ruthless father, Theo learned to be quietly reserved early on

1000% Theo is an introvert

Despite being seemingly closed off, he’s extremely observant and good at reading others and picking up on things quickly

While he may not be the best at deciphering his own emotions, he’s able to sort through others’ easily

This makes it easy for him to be rather manipulative because he knows what makes other’s tick and how to go straight for the jugular

He may be distant and off putting in the beginning, but once you get close, he’s a clingy bastard because he doesn’t let many people get close, so once you make it there he’ll basically hold you captive forever

He’s also stupid smart

(Canonically he’s able to re-create an illegal time turner after they were all destroyed in the department of mysteries so//)

And this makes his a bit of an arrogant asshole

Looks down on people he thinks aren’t as smart as him

He definitely thinks that he knows best and can have a “my way or the highway” type mindset

Probably has some type of gifted kid™️ trauma and a crippling fear of failure

Anyway, he’s super intelligent and witty and has the potential to do really well in classes

But he has a nasty habit off skiving off with Mattheo Riddle

Who happens to be his best friend along with Lorenzo Berkshire

A lot of people think Theo is the “mother” of the group, or at least the one with the most impulse control

They’re wrong

Theo is the one that Mattheo goes to with his dumbass ideas and Theo’s response is generally something along the lines of-

“Absolutely not you tosser. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it right”

Queue Mattheo’s initial plan- only methodically planned out to cause maximal emotional trauma for the Hogwarts population

Theo and Mattheo are also a chaotic duo on the quidditch pitch

Theo is a chaser

Making the quidditch team in his third year is one of the only times his father showed a hint of satisfaction with the boy

Being on the Slytherin quidditch team, he’s often labeled a preppy jock

And Mattheo does help him break out of his shell more

But he’s a nerdy lil book worm at heart and likes to be holed up in the library most days

Theo also has quite the reputation of being a ladies man with rumors about his escapades swarming the student body

But really they’re just that- rumors

Lorenzo is more of the openly flirtatious pretty boy, and Mattheo certainly knows how to make his way around which is perhaps why people think Theo would be the same way

But he isn’t one to really form physical attachments- emotional or not

He prefers to fly under the radar

He may have had a fling or two, but isn’t one to kiss and tell

He has a hard time entering a real relationship

Mostly because when he first realizes he’s caught feelings, he’s convinced he’s actually just ill and stays in bed pretending to be sick

But once he comes to terms with things, he’s one determined wizard

Makes sure everyone knows that you’re off limits (possibly before you know yourself)

Definitely goes to Enzo for advice on how to woo you

With varying degrees of success

King of subtle PDA (just enough to mark his territory)

Confident and secure in his relationship, but also still jealous as hell

Will hex the living shit out of someone for breathing at you the wrong way

Finds it amusing when you get jealous though

But will shut it the fuck down as soon as he picks up on you being actually upset (probably embarrassing whoever it is in the process)

Not always the best at communicating his feeling cause he’s emotionally constipated af

But tries because he knows he doesn’t want a relationship like his parent’s

Okayyy I think that’s all for now, but I have a feeling these will grow and evolve with time sooo- ongoing (?) idk

#slytherin boys #theodore nott #slytherin #harry potter universe #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott headcanons #theo nott headcanons

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cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 23 days

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Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is a Travel AU!

(293 words.)

There's only one thing worse than sitting next to an ex-boyfriend on a seven hour flight: when said ex-boyfriend has a crippling fear of flying.

For a while, Sirius wonders if Remus has changed, if he's okay with planes now. He still remembers sitting and comforting him through take off and landing, trying to make sure that he got some sleep to avoid feeling heavy patches of turbulence. As much as it would be nice to see him not on the brink of a panic attack for the first time in years, it would sadden him a little to have missed that much.

The moment the plane takes off, he realises that Remus isn't okay. His breath catches in his throat, both hands flying to the arm rests, gripping both of them so harshly that his knuckles turn white. Sirius watches carefully as Remus, headphones in and music probably blasting, shuts his eyes. He can't avoid the way his heart tugs for the anxiety that he knows Remus is feeling. He also knows exactly what he's going to do about it before he does it.

Resigned to his fate, he reaches out and carefully, purposefully, places his hand on top of Remus'. He half-expects Remus to pull away, but Remus actually flips his hand around and laces their fingers together, immediately squeezing Sirius' hand. Sirius can barely even feel the pain that comes with his hand being crushed when just the contact alone sends a jolt through his stomach.

Oh.

Fuck.

Maybe there is something worse than sitting with his ex-boyfriend for a seven hour flight. Having to sit with the revelation that he's still in love with him is definitely a lot worse.

This is going to be a long flight.

#i have no clue what this is #i think i like it though #wolfstar #sirius black #wolfstar oneshot #marauders #remus lupin #remus x sirius #young marauders #moony x padfoot #atyd marauders #marauders oneshot

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claymoresword · 1 month

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I Choose Her | Stand-Alone Series Chapter: 1

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Prompt: Hermione gets jealous as she catches you flirting with someone else, but it ends in a heartfelt exchange between the two of you.

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings: romilda vane gets rejected like canon, y/n & hermione are soulmates its confirmed, no plot just fluff

Note: a little something to tide you guys over while i work on the final chapter. hope you enjoy! <3

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character @aki-ham @brocoliisscared

You harshly shove the Hufflepuff seeker out of the way, he doesn't budge, not until you shoulder him again. This time it unsteadies his broom, in an effort to not lose his balance, he falls back, leaving you alone in pursuit of the Golden Snitch.

You manage to locate the snitch once more, the golden ball just a few paces out of reach, as you extend your hand, you can feel its wing fluttering violently against your fingertips As you attempt to grab it, the flying ball quickly changes course trying to evade you, but you still manage to follow closely behind.

"Come on." You mutter under your breath, you are so close, the ball is practically yours.

Coincidentally, a large gust of wind graces your flight path at just the right moment. You take full advantage of it, picking up a bit of momentum, just enough to trap the Golden Snitch in your grasp.

You then whisk yourself around on the broom to face the stands, stubbornly the Snitch tries to wriggle free, but you hold it firmly still.

A large roar erupts from the audience as you hold up your prize for all to see. They were cheering for you.

The sound is exhilarating, intoxicating. It makes you feel invisible– but there was only one person's cheer worth taking notice.

In a sea of Gryffindors, you find Hermione's gaze. Your grin widens, and she smiles right back at you.

Soon enough an involuntarily blush covers your cheeks, and you are forced to look away.

"Y/n has caught the Golden Snitch. Slytherin wins!"

═══════════════════════════════════════════

The celebration continues well into the evening in the Slytherin common room. Students from all houses fill the space, taking advantage of the unlimited amounts of liquor and butter beer available.

Crabbe and Blaise insist on parading you on their shoulders for the dozenth time tonight, it seems the more intoxicated they get, the harder they find the task of leaving you alone.

“Y/n!, Y/n!, Y/n!” The crowd continues to chant beneath you, and you can only allow yourself to enjoy the moment. Even though the incessant attention from everyone tonight was starting to peeve you slightly.

The only person you wanted to spend time with tonight is Hermione– yet she is nowhere to be found.

“Alright, put me down guys.” You raise your voice over the commotion, and your friends finally oblige, taking you off their shoulders, you let out a breath of relief once your feet touch flat ground.

“If you keep it up, Y/n, we'll win all the games this season.” Pansy claims, her voice closer to a shout.

You merely give her a nod, taking her words for a compliment and nothing more. Deliberately ignoring the sudden sense of crippling responsibility that's been set upon you.

You find yourself looking through the crowd once more, hoping to spot a familiar brown-eyed beauty.

Where is she?

You push through the sea of students, a few of them continue hurling praises at you and taking the opportunity to squeeze your shoulder as a version of acclamation.

By the time you reach the large window by the far side of the room, you are out of breath.

The spot you've escaped to is somewhat secluded, so you are given a chance to gain your bearings, as you silently observe the view of the black lake.

That is, until someone unwelcomed enters your space.

“You were amazing on the pitch today–” Romilda Vane says, standing an inch too close.

You catch a whiff of alcohol on her breath, and your effort to distance yourself fails as she merely sees it as an opportunity to step closer.

“Thanks, Romilda. I didn't realize you liked Quidditch.” You state dismissively, before scanning your surroundings again, for any indication of Hermione.

“I don't, not really..” She replies, and a bold hand on your shoulder snatches your attention once more.

“I like watching you though.” Romilda says, inching even closer, you watch as her gaze manages to find your lips for a moment.

Normally, you'd entertain such a blatant attempt at flirting, especially from someone so attractive– but tonight, you couldn't care less.

Hermione is the only girl you want complimenting you.

Romilda proceeds to brazenly caress your bicep, she gasps slightly after giving your firm muscle a squeeze.

“I bet you could easily lift me.” She remarks suggestively, and you let out a dismissive scoff, but this only urges her to continue eyeing you hungrily– a mere object she'd like to toy with.

“Perhaps we could find out–” You suggest, but immediately regret your effort in humoring her.

Romilda mistakes your words as an invitation. She leans in to meet your lips and you quickly swerve out of the way.

“Some other time.” You quip, subsequently catching sight of a familiar face in the distance You don't even bother letting Romilda down easily before chasing after her.

“Hermione!” You call out, but the Gryffindor is making it quickly through the crowd. It seemed shouting her name only motivated her to walk further away.

You finally catch up to her in the gallery, outside the common room, the door soon shuts behind you, and the two of you are left alone.

“Hey, slow down–” You say, finally grabbing hold of Hermione’s arm.

“Where are you going?” You ask, but when she turns to look at you, her hardened expression takes you aback.

“Are you alright?” Your ask of real concern is only met with an eye-roll. Hermione groans in frustration as she tries to wrench out of your hold.

“Let me go–” She asks sternly, and you do just that, but her demeanor continues to unnerve you. You could never bear it whenever she was upset with you.

Whatever it is, you plan to rectify it now.

“Hermione..” You coax gently, and the Gryffindor no longer makes the effort to walk away from you, instead she leans against the stone wall, her gaze fixed towards the ground.

You stuff your hands into your pockets as you made the conscious effort to not reach out for her again.

“You know you can talk to me– tell me what's wrong, darling. Was it something I did?” You try once more, and finally, she graces you with a lingering glance.

"Why are you with me? You could have any girl in the school.. anyone you wanted. So why me?” Hermione asks, the faint tremor in her voice breaks you, but you can't help the incredulous look that paints your features.

“Are you really asking me that?” You ask flippantly.

Your carelessness only makes visible tears well up in Hermione's eyes, and you immediately regret opening your mouth.

“Oh– no, I'm sorry. Come here.” You remark frantically, pulling Hermione closer by the waist, and she accepts your embrace.

“I'm sorry.” You repeat earnestly. She buries her face in the crook of your neck, despite herself.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you?” You mutter, as you take in the scent of her hair.

Hermione pulls back to look at you expectantly, and you don't fight the urge to hold her face in both your hands, leaning in to kiss her deeply.

“I think you're brilliant.” You admit as your lips remain less than an inch apart.

“Really?” Hermione breathes out, and you can only smile.

“Yes.” You claim before tilting your head to kiss her jaw. “Being with you.. it's like a dream.” You continue, relishing at the feeling of Hermione shifting closer to feel more of you.

“A dream I never want to wake from.” You utter directly into her ear, before placing a kiss against it.

Hermione shudders in delight, her hand slips up your chest to the collar of your shirt, she clutches it, at an effort to steady herself.

You proceed to kiss her neck, and amidst a series of soft moans, Hermione utters something far more incriminating.

“I love you..” She says breathlessly, almost too soft to be real.

You feel her tense up as you halted the string of kisses you were leaving upon her skin, trying to process what you just heard.

“What did you just say?” You ask, pulling away so you could trap Hermione's gaze.

The evident blush upon her cheeks only causes your grin to widen.

“Nothing, I–” Hermione stutters, and you decide to help refresh her memory.

“You love me?” You ask, hopeful that she wouldn't deny it.

“Yes. Maybe.. I don't know.” She averts her eyes, and you have to bite your lip to stop from smiling too wide.

“Well, that's a relief. because I think, maybe, I love you too.” You respond, tucking a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear, and this makes her look at you again.

“Wait– you do?” Hermione asks, her manner ever unassuming. She is perfect, and she loves you.

“I love you like a madman.” You admit plainly, and her chuckle causes your heart to flutter violently in your chest. “Sometimes it feels like I can hardly do anything else besides love you.”

Hermione's expression visibly softens at your admittance, she leans in to kiss you again, you gladly welcome the sensation of her tongue entering your mouth.

“You make me feel things that I don't even understand sometimes.. but I just know that, I seem to never want to be away from you.”

Hermione utters after separating her lips from your own, her hand moves to the nape of your neck, and the other runs through your hair.

“I feel the same.” You state, placing a chaste kiss against her cheek.

“So let us never part, my love.”

#hermione granger imagine #hermione x reader #slytherin au #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader

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aleksanderscult · 2 months

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Analyzing Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power

(I'm so sick and tired of seeing people use his "You are nothing now" words as a way to justify how he didn't love her that I decided to create a whole ass post about it.)

First of all, let's see what the powers of a Grisha mean to a Grisha, shall we?

For a Grisha her powers is the same thing as the oxygen is for all humans. The constant beat of a person's heart.

Indispensable.

And in a way it's implied that a Grisha cannot live without it. Just like birds can naturally fly, just like a fish can naturally swim. It's part of their nature, part of their body and soul.

Now let's see Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power.

The moment he saw Alina being unable to summon, he froze. At first he's in denial of what he sees.

How can a Grisha not being able to use her power? A power that is always there no matter what? A power that "feeds" them and keeps them healthy and alive.

We see Aleksander being in a state of shock as he tries to comprehend what is happening with her:

He had never seen anything like that. A Grisha losing her powers is unheard of. Impossible.

He tries again and again to summon her light and bring it to the surface. The fact that he can't feel it causes him panic and pain. In a way, he can't find her soul.

And the very fact that she also lost her collar and feter is impossible too. When a Grisha claims an amplifier, a connection is made that can't be broken.

Another fatal loss for Alina and a disastrous blow for Aleksander and his knowledge, since he knows more than anyone else how amplifiers work and how a Grisha's power work. All the hundreds of years he had spent watching and studying the ways of the Small Science and of power, have gone to waste right now as he tries to understand what is going on with the woman he loves.

His near immortality and rare powers always made him seek someone else to connect with. Someone to understand him and be on the same level as him.

People say that he never actually wanted Alina to be his equal. Well, based on his words and reaction here, I would say he wanted to.

Right now there's no pretense, no tricks or a façade. We see him "naked" and exposed showing us his terror of Alina's loss and despair for his fate. Of being alone forever.

"You were meant to be like me."

Aleksander wanted her strong and confident. Unafraid to rise above the others and to stand right beside him.

"You're nothing now."

I know it sounds cruel but it is true.

If a bird lost its ability to fly or a fish its ability to swim, would you call that normal? If a person stopped breathing or her heart stopped beating, would you call her alive and whole?

Alina lost the very essence of her being, her soul and identity. What happened to her was something completely unnatural and just wrong. Aleksander has lived for centuries and knows more about the Grisha than anyone else (except of course his mother) so he knows that what happened to her, has crippled her. She's not the Alina she was. And she's never gonna be.

It's not a statement of disgust, apathy or scorn. They're words of pain and mourning. Shock and anger.

It's a complete ruin for Alina.

A devastation and tragedy for the unfortunate Grisha that experiences it for the first time in their history. And an equal devastation and sorrow for the Grisha that watched it happen to the person he cared most about.

And it's actually funny how Aleksander seems to be the only person that was devastated for what happened to her.

Everyone else was:

"Alina lost her powers"

"Okay cool".

In a way you can say that it was proof of how he was the one that truly cared about her fate while the rest of her friends didn't seem to give two flying fucks.

The Darkling just gave up.

All he had fought for, all the patience he had mastered for years waiting for his equal to come, went to dust right in front of him.

In a way he committed suicide and just let Alina kill him.

Now if he didn't love her as some people say, why did he do these things after she lost her powers?:

1) Called her to his side and searched for her hand to hold it.

2) Smiled at her and stroked her tears.

3) Entrusted her with his last wish because he'd seen her kindness and believed in it.

4) Asked her to say his name one more time so he could hear it from her one last time. A name that he had probably never said to anyone else for centuries.

5) Begged her to not leave him alone while he died because loneliness frightened him.

I'm sorry but if I was dying, I wouldn't want anyone at my side but the people that I loved the most. And Aleksander wanted the same too.

There's no way he felt disgust or anger towards Alina even after she stabbed him. Whatever she did, he forgave. And whatever happened to her in the end didn't stop him from loving her and wanting her presence at his side until his own end.

(didn't really love her, my ass)

#the darkling #pro darkling #darklina #pro darklina #yes because when you smile at the person that stabbed you and wipe her tears then you must hate her #oh! and let's not forget how he wanted to see her the moment he got resurrected!#that man came back from the underworld and said “Where is she?! Where's my wife?!”#like daamnn calm down you lovesick fool #oof #aleksander morozova #pro aleksander morozova #alina starkov #alarkling #pro alarkling #ruin and rising #shadow and bone #grishaverse trilogy #grishaverse

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eee-lordy · 3 months

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Number 13 please? I love sickfics!

here is a short little sick/comfort blurb for ya 😍

"I don't feel so good."

───※ ·❆· ※───

Jacob was bounding across the tarmac, suitcases flying behind him. After one long movie shoot and a never ending press tour he was finally home.

You stood giddy, watching him step closer and closer to car you waited outside of. Ever since he left to film, Jacob phoned every day, dreaming up plans with you for when he landed home again. There were countless dinners and dates and trips he couldn't wait to make happen with you, and it was finally time.

"My love!" You called, when he was finally in ear shot. Jacob halted his luggage by the tires of your car and swept you into an embrace that sent your heart fluttering. You hugged him back and let him lift your feet off the ground and rushed to stand and face him when you registered his sniffles.

"Miss me that much?!" You cooed. Jacob's eyes were red and misty, and then he spoke.

"Well duh. But... I don't feel so good." The poor guys voice was worn and you could tell now that there was a pallor to his face.

"Oh babe, come on let's get you home." You pet his face and watched as he grumbled in frustration, still keeping a hold of you.

"But we have reservations tonight. I really want to take you out. It's been too long-" Jacob whined and sniffled.

"Hey, s'okay. We can still make up for lost time without big plans. Don't argue! Get in the car, you poor tired thing." With a nudge, you directed your boy to head to the passenger seat while you snatched his luggage before he could reach it.

///

That night you whipped up a cocktail of cold remedies, drew a bath that was probably too hot, and dotted on Jacob's every move.

"S'just a cold love, I'm not a cripple or something." Jacob laughed a stuffy chuckle as you presented him with a warm pair of joggers and an old concert tee.

"Even if you weren't sick I'd still be all over you silly. I've waited months to trail behind you like a lost puppy. Months!"

"God I'm so glad you're who I've got to come home too. Once I don't feel on the verge of constantly passing out, you're getting this treatment times a billion." Your sweet boy ended his declaration with a vicious cough.

He'd pushed himself so hard this last handleful if months, to get his film finished and promoted and get the hell home. It was no wonder he caught a little something at the tail end of his never ending adventure.

You saw Jacob off to bed, tucking yourself in at his side and insisting he save stories of his time away for the morning.

///

The next day you snuck to the kitchen to cook up a big breakfast, letting him sleep away the sick and relishing in the simple fact that he was home at long last.

When Jacob finally padded into the main living space he tried insisting he felt much better, beginning a speech about taking you on a date.

"Absolutely not." You waved off the offer and sat the tall guy down. Neither of you were going anywhere until the red left his eyes and the sniffles stopped entirely. You ordered takeaway and kept Jacob on a steady cup of hot hot tea.

After a day of lounging, he seemed almost back to normal. Though you were hesitant to offer, you said "If you're still this lively by tomorrow night, I'll go out with you."

"Swear?" Jacob rose a brow, grinning in anticipation. You held out a pinkie as if to promise. You weren't long up, cozy in bed with your beloved boy, another early night.

And then... you woke up coughing. Awe fuck.

You tried to play it off. Like a passing tickle in your throat. But soon you were sat up sniveling away, much to your dismay. All your racket woke up the man at your side. And he registered your condition right off.

Jacob let out a low chuckle of surprise, a smile growing wider as he sat up to reach out to you.

"Jacob Elordi are you excited that I'm sick?"

"Of course not." He responded, planting a firm kiss to your head. "But I am looking forward to taking as much care of you as you've taken care of me the past two days."

You cooed and cuddled closer to his side, feeling weaker now that the sickness was unavoidably addressed.

"Don't you dare move. It's my turn now, my love." Jacob smiled, locking those beautiful dark eyes on yours before getting up to follow in your footsteps. Cooking and cleaning and laying out your clothes so you didn't have to lift a finger.

You were bummed to miss another night out. But you were so damn glad Jacob didn't let a little sickness ruin the time the pair of you had been waiting to spend connecting again after so long.

───※ ·❆· ※───

#jacob elordi #jacob elordi x fem!reader #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi fanfic

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bowelfly · 2 months

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what are your favorite "wuxia-adjacent" kung fu movies?

hm okay so i started compiling a list but once it got to almost 50 films i realized that i was doing that thing again where i get too excited about recommending shit and go way overboard, plus i was starting to split hairs as to what counts as wuxia and i hate getting fussy about genre delimitations. so instead i'm going to just recommend three films that feel wuxia-adjacent to me and that i particularly love. in this case i'm thinking of movies that contain gravity-defying martial prowess and larger than life characters and stories, but aren't full-on Ti Lung in a big robe flying around on wires chopping up 500 dudes style wuxia--which obviously i also love but i'm sticking to the question's parameters here.

The 8 Diagram Pole Fighter - this and the next film were both directed and choreographed by Lau Kar-leung, who for my money is probably the greatest martial arts director of all time, or at least in very close competition with Yuen Woo-ping. the fights are great, every single character in this film is at an 11 on the intensity meter the whole time, and the final setpiece in this is one of the most insane things ever put to film.

Dirty Ho - most comedy in martial arts films is tolerable at best and excruciating more often than not. this has probably the best gag hit-rate of any kung fu comedy i've seen, and also has some of the all time greatest scenes of dudes having deadly martial arts duels while pretending to not fight, which is a favorite of mine. also like the last film this stars Gordon Liu who fucking rules.

Crippled Avengers - had to include a Venom Mob film in here. directed by Chang Cheh, the king of old school Shaw Bros gorefests, this one has a perfect mix of absurd bloody violence, superhuman stunts, and roiling homoerotic tension. i could just as easily recommend Five Element Ninjas which is also a classic Cheh/Venom Mob bloodbath but if i had to choose just one i'd have to go with this.

anyone who's into classic martial arts cinema is likely already very familiar with these films but while i considered going for some deeper cuts, these were the ones that really kickstarted my own journey into the glorious world of Shaw Bros martial arts films and are thus very close to my heart.

while i'm at it, i am going to include a bonus recommendation for what assuredly counts as just a straight up wuxia but it's an all-timer: Duel to the Death. at one point in this film there's a giant ninja that explodes into a bunch of regular sized ninjas. another time a guy's head gets cut off, delivers a monologue, and explodes. perfect film. i love movies.

#bfly talks movies #wuxia #long post #could have been so much longer though

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hatkuu · 6 months

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wow no one has mentioned this yet????? ig i’ll be the FREAK to do it: vamp!kylar will absolutely eat the hell out of u when u have ur period 🧛 he can probably smell when it’s approaching too and gets so excited. esp bc he gets so fixated on when ur ovulating so when he knows ur period is coming he’s like a fruit fly and starts rubbing his hands together all giddy like

- 🎀

oh my gosh yes. yes. i was too embarrassed to write about it but. period sex with ANY kylar constantly floats around my brain. vampire kylar would be sucking on his fingers like he'd just ate a drumstick from kfc. finger licking good HAHSJSJAK

afab reader, period sex, period mentions, reader wears a skirt, general creepy kylar stuff., kylar's weird scent kink thing is in this too...

drabble continued utc!

I think the first time you're having a period with your freakish vampire boyfriend around - he's visibly on edge. Kylar's gnawing at the palm of his hand while sitting next to you in the cafeteria, sweating as his other hand grips on the sleeve of his hoodie. You note that he is looking at everything and everyone except you.

You'll reach out to touch him, placing a reassuring hand on Kylar's shoulder.

"Are you okay, Kylar?"

Kylar flinches back like you've just burned him - eyes bulging out of his head as his hands quickly shield his face from view.

"Y-Yes! I-I'm fine! J-Just—"

He peeks at you through his fingers, pupils dilated until only a sliver of green remains.

"—I-It's just really hot i-in here."

You throw him a weird look, rolling your eyes as you stand up from the cafeteria table. You absolutely cannot deal with this shit right now. Being hit with wave after wave of crippling cramps, the last thing you needed was your boyfriend being noticeably disgusted with you. You shuffle awkwardy, trying not to cause yourself more pain as you stand. Does Kylar hate you now? Is he scared of you? Fuck, you don't know if your irritability is stemming from the slick, sticky blood feeling between your thighs or your boyfriend - lost in his own little world - ignoring you when you need him most.

A strangled, panicked sound escapes Kylar as you stand. The hand covering his face reaches outward, snatching your wrist with a disturbing amount of strength. You try to slip out of his grip - upset that now he wants to touch you - but he does not relinquish his hold no matter how much you tug against it. He exhales shakily, his nails dig into you - they've gotten long - really long.

"Y-You can't go— You can't."

You try to pull away with more force, spluttering with confusion as Kylar refutes your struggle with ease. He can't possibly be jealous - you've spent almost the entirety of this week with him - he's staring at you with this horrible, anguished expression. It's the last thing you want to see today. Your bottom lip twitches beneath your teeth, tears pricking your eyes in frustration.

"Kylar! Stop being so weird— What is wrong with you today?"

Your scuffle turn heads. You can feel so many eyes on you, looking at you and Kylar, laughing as they see Kylar's hand is latched onto your wrist. Only then do you notice the gaunt, sickly shade of his face. Heavy, darkened bags rest under his eyes. His lips are chapped too, more than they usually are. Speckled bits of dried blood rest in between the grooves of each crack. Kylar twitches, sweat slicking his choppily-cut fringe to his forehead. He looks ill. He tugs you closer, talking in a low tone that makes your stomach churn.

"You're— You're on your period."

What. The. Fuck.

You don't remember telling him it was that time of the month? How does he know—

"W-What? What does that have to do with anything?"

"J-Just— c-come with me—"

He breathes in shakily, composing himself as his eyes trail up your form, lingering far too long on the juncture between your shoulder and neck. He stands to meet your height, breathing heavily as you flood his senses with a scent that is so undeniably you. Sweet, but not too sweet. It makes his body buzz with a sickeningly fuzzy feeling. His mouth fills with sailva as you hold his gaze, scrutinizing him with your cutely furrowed brows and a jutted-out bottom lip.

"I-I need to tell you something."

You can see the desperation in his expression. His other hand shakes at his side, aching to latch onto you and never let go. Festering like a fresh wound, Kylar's carnal urges get the better of him. His other hand grabs your shoulder, pushing you closer towards his chest.

He smells different. Like dust, dirt and nothing all at once. He doesn't smell like garlic and pepper. Normally, you're assaulted with the scent of the plants - but strangely - it's gone entirely. You look up at Kylar, brows still furrowed in confusion because this is your boyfriend but... something is inherently wrong about him.

Kylar tugs you out of the cafeteria.

You don't struggle.

"I-I need to taste you—"

"H-Huh?"

Kylar pushes you into the dilapidated storage closet, slamming the door shut behind him as he grapples you against the wall, panting against your mouth.

"I haven't— You smell so good, a-and I just need this," He cuts himself off, snapping his gaze toward you incredulously from his position against you. He visibly shudders, twitching as he falls forward onto his knees, grounding himself between your thighs. He eagerly tugs your school skirt down, panting as he is met with your panties. "I-I need this. N-Need to feed f-from you— no one else."

"W-What! Kylar! We are in school right now! It'll be too messy a-and it'll get all over you-"

You choose to ignore your boyfriend's weird phrasing of eating you out. 'Feeding' from you is new.

His forehead rests heavy against your swollen uterus - you don't know what he's doing - until Kylar leans closer to your clothed pussy and begins sniffing you. Sniffing you - and moaning like he should have gotten between your thighs the moment you sat next to him in the cafeteria. You squeak, latching your hands in his hair in a pathetic attempt to steer him away from your bloodied thighs. Your tightened grip doesn't deter Kylar. He groans loudly, unashamed as he tilts into your touch, panting puffs of hot wet air against your skin.

"Y-Yes! Oh, y-you have to let me— you smell so perfect, j-just—ah—just let me taste you,"

He's so close, so close to snapping and just biting into the soft skin of your thighs. His eyes dart between your face and your clothed heat. His jaw is clenched tight, gnawing at the skin on the inside of his cheeks. Strained to the last thread of his patience, Kylar lets out a hoarse, weak sound. His fingernails jab painfully into your thighs, carnal desperation evident in each action. Despite this, he looks up to you, teary eyed from the struggle of holding himself back.

"P-Please."

You nod, loosening your grip in Kylar's hair as he practically vibrates with excitement. He tugs down your panties, eyeing the pad that sits at the seat of them as his tongue slides over his bottom lip hungrily. You whine as his fingers nestle themselves against your overly sensitive folds. Slick with blood and wetness, Kylar's fingers prod at your folds, eagerly pressing against the spots that make your knees weaken against his hold.

Kylar's tongue inches out to lave at the smeared blood across your inner thigh, moaning at the taste. He latches onto you, lips forming a tight seal against blood-slick skin, mixing red with clear saliva as Kylar's teeth brush against you. Two particularly sharp teeth nick your inner thigh and you tug his head backward as his fingers continue softly rubbing at your clit. He presses an apologetic kiss to the wound, affectionately licking at the punctures, careful not to let any of the blood spill onto your white school shirt.

"I-I knew it'd be good—" He gasps, his mouth and wet tongue making quick work of your other blood-smeared thigh. "Y-You're so—ah—so, so, delicious, my love."

You blush, opening your eyes to look down at your boyfriend. Kylar's still twitching with excitement, tongue hanging out in anticipation as he nears your pussy. You whine weakly, pulling on his hair as dull throbbing cramps torment your lower abdomen. Kylar smiles at you, eyes much brighter - looking far less ill than before, too. He pulls his fingers away, admiring the sticky sheen of blood that coats them before quickly popping the digits into his mouth and moaning at the taste. He pushes you backward against the wall of the closet, spreading your thighs wide enough for his head to fit snugly between them.

He licks a stripe against the seam of your folds, eagerly lapping up the blend of arousal and blood. Your hands weave in his hair, pushing his nose against your clit as Kylar laves at your pussy, humming as your thighs trap him against your heat. Kylar groans, savouring the sweet, metallic taste of you against his tongue. He pushes closer, nestling his nose against your clit just close enough that with each press of his tongue against your entrance you cry out in pleasure, hands tightening in his dark hair. Kylar fucks you with his tongue until you're sobbing, wrapping an arm around each thigh to hold you firm against his mouth.

He moans as you grind against his tongue, chasing your release that hums deep within your core. Your grinding stutters as the coil burns hot within your stomach, tightening until it snaps.

You cry out as you cum, squirming as Kylar continues to hold you against his face. He groans, lapping up your arousal as it seeps onto his tongue. Your thighs clench against his head, quivering as Kylar slows his licking into gentle, loving laves against your pussy. He smiles as your hands fall from his hair. Kylar presses a loving kiss to your pussy, inching upward to press a kiss against your bloated abdomen as well. Even though he just gave you the most intense orgasm of your life, he's still so intimate with each of his actions, no matter how lewd or messy.

He pulls up your panties, your skirt, and readjusts the rest of your clothes before fixing his own.

Kylar stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then licking up the blood collected on it. He looks undeniably better than before; gone is the sickly tone of his skin, the heavy bags under his eyes, and now his eyes hold a twinkle that doesn't falter. He helps you up with ease, pulling you into his chest and nuzzling into your neck.

"Thank you," He whispers, smiling against your neck, pressing soft, affectionate kisses to the damp skin. You return his embrace even as your legs still tremble from the onslaught of pleasure Kylar gave you. You feel better now. Your boyfriend isn't disgusted at you. Quite far from it, actually. So you'll ignore that his teeth are sharper, that his skin is as cold as a cadaver's, that you swear his eyes were red at one point. He's your boyfriend. His strange, newfound affliction for blood doesn't mean anything. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder, breathing in his new scent of dirt, dust and nothingness. He giggles at your newfound neediness, rubbing your back in a soothing motion.

"Let's do this again tonight, okay?"

#god can yall tell i got inspo from jennifers body #kylar #kylar the loner #dol #kylar x reader #dol kylar #degrees of lewdity #also ik jennifer isnt a vampire but... hnngg the scene where shes like 'i only eat *boys* needy' like AAAAAAA BARKBARKABRk #probs my fav girl-love movie (guys i write for girls too i probably should have said that)#hnng gf kylar who very obviously takes inspo from jennifers body and kills all the boys you have crushes on so she can have u to hersself..#anwyas guys more vampire kylar !!! thankyewww #kuuskylarposting

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ken-dom · 7 months

Text

Perfect Match

Holland March x afab!reader

1.5k words

Summary: Holland doesn't want your view of him to be tainted by what he still carries with him of his past; the wedding ring he wears around his neck as a symbol of his loyalty (and crippling guilt). You have a solution to help him through his first time in a long time.

Warnings/content: NSFW, angst and smut, size kink, (messy) cream pie, suit kink, hand jobs, alcohol mention, crying, comfort

Your hands dragged down Holland’s clothed chest, the air between you simmering with heat after every brief, passionate meeting of your lips.

A tear rolled down his cheek when you dragged over a hard lump beneath his shirt and your fingertips paused over it.

He held his breath. Perhaps he could get through this without broaching the topic. How? He wasn’t sure yet. But if he was really going to do it, share himself body and soul with you, there would come a time when you’d find out. And he imagined all too often that it would either ruin the mood, or upset him, or both. Probably both.

He’d feel guilty too, no doubt, betraying his wife like that. Only, she wasn’t his wife any more, was she? And he couldn’t bear the thought of that, but he craved companionship. The combination of longing like that, pining even, in two opposing directions made his heart, and his head, hurt. Especially after a few drinks.

Fuck. Why did his cheek feel wet?

Jesus, he was already crying after just a kiss. How pathetic could he get?

You removed your fingers from what you’d found hiding beneath his shirt and gently wiped his tears away with them instead. Holland flinched, dragged abruptly out of the black hole of his thoughts by your undying tenderness.

‘Hey, you know what I’ve always wanted?’ you soothed. That’s what he liked about you. He could be unashamedly himself in front of you and you never seemed to stop being… soft with him.

He couldn’t use actual words. Not unless he wanted to crack up and cry like a baby with you half naked and straddling him. Surely even you wouldn’t have the patience for that, he chastised himself. So instead he let out a quiet, ‘Hmm?’

‘I’ve always wanted to fuck a hot guy in a suit…’ your fingers toyed seductively with the lapels of his deep blue jacket, and you smirked at how it made him shift beneath you. ‘Wanna keep it on?’

Holland sucked in a shaky breath.

You knew he wasn’t ready to share that part of himself just yet, the part that couldn’t bear to take the ring off, who wanted you to see him when he finally showed you his body – not his past and his wife and his trauma – and you knew that if you stopped now, he might never be able to take this step. He needed it.

It was like you read his mind. And you still managed to make it sexy. God, you might just be his perfect match.

Holland bit his lip, and murmured, ‘I’ve always wanted to do that too.’

It wasn’t just the perfect distraction for him, it was also the truth. There was something exciting about the thought of you baring yourself to him while he was still fully dressed. It felt naughtier somehow. And safer. He felt safe with you.

You pulled his tie undone, placing it carefully to his chest, draped over him like a work of art, and as you stripped the last of your clothes from your body and dropped them to the floor, he impatiently unfastened his belt with a loud metallic clink and unbuttoned his fly, easing his cock out of the space he’d created.

You hummed delightedly as you immediately wrapped your fingers around his thick length, pumping slowly to relax him first, and his head fell back with a quiet, drawn out groan.

You’d done this before, of course, slipped your hand inside his trousers to bring him off while you desperately made out, and you thought he felt big, but Jesus… you never expected him to be quite so impressive. And you got the feeling he didn’t realise how big he was, which somehow only made him sexier.

‘I’m gonna ride you now, ok?’ you whispered, and Holland nodded and let out a vague noise of agreement, far too swept up in your touch to form a fully coherent sentence now.

When you slowly sunk down onto him, already well prepared from your earlier activities, his head shot back up and his fingers drove into the flesh of your bare hips as he cried out – a sound you’d only heard before when he’d been in pain. But this wasn’t pain, it was pleasure he’d forgotten.

‘Fuck, baby! Jesus! Oh… hmmnnngg…’

You’d not even moved your hips yet. You bit your lip. Holland was always very vocal, sometimes a little too vocal, but when he was like this? It was music to your ears.

You clenched around him, the sounds of his pleasure causing sparks of excitement in your core, and rocked your hips above him, holding his head to the crook of your neck, cradling him in your arms.

The fabric of his suit dragged against your flesh with a hint of burning as you moved, and at some point, his face ended up pressed to your chest, sloppily mouthing at a nipple as his fingers took care of the other, kneading and pinching in time with the way you bounced on him.

You looked down at him, this mess of a man, handsome beyond comprehension, beautiful mussed hair, and his body… as much as you’d daydreamed what he’d look like naked, he looked so goddamn good in a suit that this was undeniably better, even with a partially unbuttoned shirt, his tie hanging loose around his neck...

Little moans began to spill from your lips, his hips stuttered upwards; always one for ensuring your pleasure before his own, the sounds you were making drove him crazy despite the fact that you’d already cum three times tonight; once on his thigh, once on his fingers, and a final time on his tongue. Each time he wanted more, craved your moans and your satisfaction, and here you were finding it again, on his cock.

‘Baby… baby, I’m gonna… ugghhhnnn… oh fuck…’

Holland had never been one for holding off his orgasm. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and boy did you know about it.

Your own climax was so close, the sight of him desperately writhing beneath you, jaw dropped open and eyes squeezed shut as he found his release tipped you over the edge.

The way you clenched so rapidly around his pulsing cock caused his back to arch, and he came so hard inside you, spilling and spilling for what seemed an eternity until there was no more room and the rest dribbled out onto his suit pants with the final few thrusts, combining with your slick that had coated his cock (and his pants) so generously.

You collapsed onto him, laughing, and he laughed too. You loved it when he laughed. He could never stop that once he started, either.

‘Fuck, baby, that felt so good?!’ he exclaimed with a heaving breath.

You climbed off and laid beside him, propping yourself up to consider the mess you’d made.

His suit pants were ruined, unless he had a really fucking good (and discreet) dry cleaner, and his softening cock lay twitching through the fly. You considered tucking him back in, but you weren’t sure it was worth it. You couldn’t leave him to sleep in that mess. He'd somehow managed to get some on his jacket too.

‘Shall we take these off?’ you asked carefully, tugging at the pocket of his trousers.

He smiled at you. ‘Yeah.’

‘I don’t mind you know,’ you whispered, as you shifted down and shimmied the bottom half of his clothes off.

He bent his neck, tilting his chin down to watch you, voice strained from the angle. ‘Don’t mind what?’

‘That you still wear it. Your wedding ring. We don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to show me. It’s alright. You can keep your suit on forever if you need to, but I won’t judge you. Or mention it ever again.’

He dropped his head back, and with the subtle shaking coming from his ribcage, you knew he was crying again.

You disappeared for a moment only to return with a towel, wiping the copious amounts of his seed from his limp cock and thighs, and finally laid beside him again. He turned to you, really trying to sober before he spoke.

‘You know that was my first time in a really long time, right?’

‘I know.’

‘You felt so good.’ His voice cracked a little.

You didn’t answer. You knew the end of the sentence couldn’t be said out loud. You knew you’d feel different to his wife, and that it confused him that he liked it anyway. You knew somewhere deep down, no matter how good you’d made him feel, it was crippling him.

You slid an arm inside his suit jacket, around his waist, and made yourself comfortable, gazing into his pretty eyes.

‘You felt amazing too. And big! Jesus, Holland, I’m surprised you could fit.’

He smiled bashfully at you then, half asleep. ‘Yeah well you know what they said about guys with big dicks?’

You narrowed your eyes at him, unsure where this was going. Apparently, he was unsure too.

‘You know… they have… they have big… feet or whatever…’

And with that, he was fast asleep in your arms.

#not s f w 💀#holland march #holland march x reader #holland march x y/n #holland march x you #holland march smut #holland march fic #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x y/n #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling x you #ryan gosling fic #ryan goslkng smut #the nice guys #the nice guys 2016 #the nice guys fic #ken-dom writes

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thesunfyre4446 · 21 days

Note

These TB who make fun of Aegon's body after the dance are really pathetic. Their boss queen didn't even fought (I'm sure she would be dead on her first fight). And she was killed by a crippled, a crippled manage to claim what HeRs. That's pathetic.

that's what i love about aegon. say what you will about him, he fought with everything he had.

he was badly wounded, managed to recover, conquered dragonstone, killed rhaenyra, got back to KL and tidied up the mess rhaenyra left when she fled.

he never gave up & never expected people to do things for him. the antis love to talk about how he was badly wounded as proof that he's "a loser", my dudes- it's literally a testament to his bravery. he could've sent aemond & daeron and remain in KL. rhaenyra was very comfortable sending her jace to battle while she sat in dragonstone doing nothing.

and the funny thing is, even team black characters call rhaenyra out for her cowardness.

"When word reached Dragonstone that Princess Rhaenys had fallen, angry words were exchanged between the queen and Lord Velaryon, who blamed her for his wife’s death. “It should have been you,” the Sea Snake shouted at Her Grace. “Staunton sent to you, yet you left it to my wife to answer and forbade your sons to join her.” For all the castle knew that the princes Jace and Joff had been eager to fly with Princess Rhaenys to Rook’s Rest with their own dragons."

#hotd #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen ii #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti team black stans #pro team green #team green

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leoniestarlee · 3 months

Text

Illyrian Assassin (2)

Pairing: Azriel x OC Aurora

Word Count: 2.8k

Warning: past trauma, slow burn

(1)

Rain pelts down like tiny rocks against my skin as the heat surges up from the muddy ground, releasing small steams across Windhaven. Cramps like punches thrown by an Illyrian male attack my gut, bringing me down to my knees beside a training ring that was once filled with grunts and groans, now silenced. Tears brim my eyes from the pain and black dots cloud my vision as my head spins.

What the damn hell is happening to me?

"Rory, get up," Cassian hissed, strong hands gripping my shoulders as my head hangs low. "Come on. I need to get you away from here."

I grunt, lifting my head up as a few tears stream down my face. My eyes lock with concern-filled ones as he stares down at me. Another cramp takes my breath away and I hunch over, nearly landing face-first into the mud, if Cassian didn't have a grip on me.

"Something's wrong," I said through clenched teeth. It was then I felt a rush of liquid leaves my body, damping my pants. The iron smell of blood quickly came after it, filling my nose and making my body consume with horror as I realized.

"Shit," Cassian cursed, letting go of me and taking up a fighting stance in front of me.

I lift my head up, deep breaths rocking through my body as I notice the eyes of every Illyrian around us, staring right at me. A shudder goes through my body, followed by a low growl behind me. Shoving away the pain of the cramps, I spare a glance over my shoulder to see Azriel standing behind me, an Illyrian blade in hand as he sends warning growls to a few Illyrians who dare a closer step to me.

This was it. The moment I'll get my wings clipped and have my flying through the sky privilege stripped from me.

"No one touches her," Cassian warns. Even for his size and age, he sounds terrifying.

"You want her, then you have to get through us!" Rhysand shouted with his voice powering across the whole camp while walking toward us with determination on his face.

Another cramp collides against my stomach, and I have to throw my hand out in front of me to stop myself from falling into the mud.

No, no, no. This can't be happening. Not here. Not now.

"It's her first bleed," Lord Vevin's voice rumbled toward me. "You boys know what is to happen to her now."

"No," I breathed, lifting my head to stare into our Lords cold eyes. "You put a hand on me, and I swear to take it from you." I keep my eyes locked with his as I slowly rise to my feet, the pain threatening to knock me back down. "If you cripple me, I'll spend the rest of my immortal life, hunting down everyone within this camp."

A fire flared to life in his eyes as Rhysand stepped up to my side, not a weapon in his hands, unlike Azriel who is closer to my back now. Cassian snarls, his body shielding me from the threats of the other Illyrians we know—waiting for the command.

"It's a tradition," Lord Vevin reminded us, taking another step forward. "None of you can stop us."

And then it happened. Cassian connected his fist with the first Illyrian's face, bones breaking under his fist. Azriel, behind me, his grunts fill my ears as the sound of steel clashing with steel follows after him. Rhysand pushes me behind him, the rumble of his heir powers shuddering the ground as a handful of Illyrians near him turn into mists of blood and silver.

"Rhys!" I called out to him, knowing he's rarely used his power and he barely has any control of it.

But he doesn't listen. Instead, he starts hand-to-hand combat like Cassian and Azriel. I look around, my brown pants darker now from both the rain and my blood. A battle yell sounds from in front of me and I look up in time to see an Illyrian, many years older than me, strike. I barely manage to miss his fist thrown toward my face.

My body moves before my brain barks at it too. I dodge the fist, a groan slipping from my lips at the sharp pain in my stomach, but I gain my footing and throw back a punch that connects with his ribs.

It could've been an hour or merely a few minutes filled with this. Azriel fighting with steel. Cassian fighting with his fists. Rhysand fighting with part of his magic. And me, fighting with blood soaking my legs.

Until Rhysand was the first to go down, Illyrians holding him against the mud as the rain continued to pour down. Then it was Azriel, a sword against his throat to hold him back. With neither Rhys nor Azriel at my back, it left me exposed and unharmed. It didn't take long for me to get taken down and pressed into the mud.

"Aurora!" Azriel's shout of wrath shook the mountain, shook the rain. And Cassian, who looked toward me for a second. Only a second of being unfocused and he was put down, face pressed into the mud.

I thrashed, clawed, and screamed in anger as four Illyrians had to use all their strength just to hold me down and flip me onto my stomach. Tears and rain mixed on my face, dripping into the reeking mud as I struggled and struggled.

"Don't touch my wings!" I roared at the rough grips against my wings, as they extend my wings, as I hear a sword being unsheathed.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Rhysand yelled, the sound of mud squelching under him laced with his voice.

"I'll kill you all if you do this—"

But the scream that clawed out of my throat cut Azriel off as I felt a sharp pain slice through one of the tendons on my left wing. The pain so unbearable, that it felt like a fire erupted against my wings, my back, my arms, my whole body. My screams only got louder with each passing heartbeat, drowning out Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand as they roared.

My eyes flew open as I gasped for air, darkness greeting me from the night sky outside. My head spun, the memories fresh against my body as I sat up and ran a hand over the ridged scars on my back.

It was only a memory. A memory turned into a nightmare.

I dropped my hands to my lap, fresh tears still covering my cheeks as I took in shaky breaths in an attempt to calm down my racing heart. It'd been months since my last nightmare, and it wasn't as bad as this one. It didn't feel as real as this one. Part of me swore I was back there for a moment.

The breeze from outside licked up my sweat-covered nightgown and I turned around, looking out my window to see the silver freckles across the night sky above me. I'm not back there. I'm here, in my room, in my bed, in Velaris.

"Thank the Mother they aren't sleeping in here tonight," I whispered to myself, my voice raw as I threw my blanket off me.

I kicked my feet over the edge of the bed, staring at the wooden floor as I took in another deep breath, reminding myself I was safe before I stood up and opened my wardrobe. My dark green bag called for me at the bottom of my wardrobe and yanked it out, with a few spare clothes, throwing them on my bed behind me.

My feet were light and quiet against the floors as I made my way out of my room and over to the door across the hall from me. Thankfully, it didn't creak as I pushed it open and peeked my head in to see Willa and Daisy peacefully asleep on their own beds, both of them hugging a plush toy.

The door pushed open further as I made my way in, being as quiet as I could while I went through their wardrobe, pulling out Willa's brown fur coat and Daisy's white one.

Since coming to Velaris, I'd still have nightmares of Windhaven that would keep me up for the rest of the night. Which is why I'd usually leave with the girls to go find my friend who always comforted me in these moments.

I tried to be as quick and swift as I could as I slipped Daisy into long, warmer pants and then a warm shirt. I did the same with Willa, nearly touching her wings a few times since they're bigger than Daisy's. But once they're dressed, I sneaked back over to my room with their spare clothes and then I stripped out of my nightgown, replacing it with brown long pants and a green sweater.

I hurried to pack my bag before slipping into my coat and boots. My bag hung tight to my body, gentle against my back, as I pulled it on.

The moon continued to shine into my room through my open windows as I closed my door behind me, going back into my sister's room. I slipped their boots on their small feet and then put their coats on them.

Willa groaned as I leaned down, wrapping my arm around her securely and then pressing her close to my body as I stood back up. Her head rested against my shoulder, her plush toy hugged close to her.

"I don't want to train," she mumbled in her sleep, making me hold back a snort as I leaned down and did the same with Daisy.

By the time I'd made it out of my apartment, the both of them still asleep in my arms with their heads on either shoulder, it's started to lightly snow along the streets with only the faelights above me to light up the roads. A few house lights were on, illuminating Fae walking around their houses, no doubt awake just for the beautiful sky our home offered us.

I made sure to keep my girls close to my body heat, so they stayed warm. Any fae on their porches or walking along the path, offered me small smiles that I returned, until finally I pushed open the little gate that separated the townhouse and the street.

I adjusted Daisy in my arm before my cold knuckles rasped against the wooden door. My breath clouded in front of my face as I let out a relief exhale at the sight of the door opening moments later, greeting me to warmth and the golden hair of Mor.

"Rory?" she groggily questioned, her eyes scanning my face and then the girls in either of my arms. "Are you okay? Come in." She opened the door more, stepping aside to allow me in.

I gave her an apologetic smile, stepping into the wood and marble antechamber as she closed the door behind me.

"Sorry for coming over so late," I apologized, following her into the foyer as she pulled the black robe around her body. "It's another one of those nights."

"Don't apologize," she was quick to say, leading me past the two flanked rooms: on the left was a sitting room with a black marble fireplace and elegant furniture. On the right was a dining room with a long, cherrywood table. "I told you that you can come here anytime you want," she added, leading me up the oak staircase to the second floor. "Did you walk here or winnow?"

I thanked the Cauldron for giving me strength as I made it up the last step, not tired yet from carrying the girls. "I didn't want to winnow and risk waking up the girls in fright," I answered her, following her into the spare room that was usually for me and my sisters when we stayed here.

"It's so cold out there, Rory," she softly said. "You'll be lucky if you don't get sick, especially in that thin coat."

I walked over to the bed big enough for four and she pulled back the blanket for me. "I know, but as long as their warm, then I'm happy," I said to her, putting Willa down first before walking around to the other side of the bed.

"Your health matters too," she said, almost scolding me as I held back a smile and placed down Daisy. "Since you're here now, do you want hot coco or wine?"

This time I did laugh, pulling off Daisy's coat. "Tonight is a both type of night." I pulled off Willa's and then left them at the end of the bed as I pulled the blanket over the sleeping girls.

Mor was already watching me with a small smile as I turned around and faced her. "You're a good sister, Aurora."

I gave her a smile, shrugging off the bag. "I try."

"I'll go get the wine and coco and meet you on the couch," she told me before leaving the room.

Once the door closed behind her, I took off the thin coat and walked into the connected bathing room, splashing water onto my face to clear my mind. From up here, I could hear Mor speak to someone quietly before I headed downstairs. The fireplace was roaring as I walked into the sitting room, Mor on the couch with a blanket snuggled up to her body and a wine glass in hand.

"I've sent Cerridwen to the House of Wind to inform Cass and Az that you girls are here," Mor informed me, holding out a second glass of wine to me.

I thanked her, taking it as I sat down beside her, and she threw the blanket over me. "Before I left the apartment, Willa mumbled in her sleep that she doesn't want to train," I told Mor, smiling into my wine.

She barked a laugh, her golden hair swaying around her as the heat from the fireplace warmed up the room. "He's going to scare that girl away."

I sipped my wine, the rich flavor perfect against my tastebuds. "I'm waiting for the day she hands him his ass."

"She's defiantly got a fire in her," Mor mused, nodding her head. "If memory serves me correctly," she drawled, "you were just like her when I first met you."

"Don't remind me of that memory," I groaned, dropping my head back against the couch as she laughed.

"You were ready to throttle me six feet under," she started. "If Rhysand didn't stop you and tell you I'm his cousin, then I'm positive you would've ran me straight out of that camp with a few broken bones."

I sat back up, furrowing my brows at her. "To be fair, I just thought you were trying to sleep with all three of them and I didn't want to watch my brothers fight each other."

"Well, you do have a point, even though I'd never fucking sleep with my cousin." She shuddered with disgust, and I mirrored the expression. "But now look at us—sipping wine in the middle of the night together."

I laughed, swirling around the wine in my glass. "I'm actually surprised we got along after that day—became close friends even."

"Speaking of friends, what's got you here in the middle of the night," she carefully asked me.

I brought the glass to my lips, tilting my head back to ease the memories as I finished the rest of my glass in one gulp. "Another nightmare from my first bleeding," I informed her, putting the glass down near my feet. "It was worse this time...I thought I was back there, getting my wings clipped."

"Oh, Rory," she quietly said, placing a hand on my arm. "You'll never go back there, I promise."

I looked at her, into her eyes full of kindness and promise. "But what of my sisters? I know Cassian trains Willa and will start training Dase soon, but if the Illyrians come looking, they'll take back my sisters."

Anger flashed through her eyes as she gripped my arm tighter. Not anger at me. Anger at my people. "They'll never, and I mean never, get their hands on those girls, Rory." I nodded, playing with the hem of the blanket. "The moment you three were left without parents, they became your children. Not that camp. Not anyone else. And the day they even try to take those girls back, I promise it will be Cassian, Az, Amren, and me they have to go through first. Plus, I know that out of all of us, you'll slaughter every Illyrian before they can get within five feet of your sisters."

"You're right about that," I mused. "I've already killed one camp Lord without any effort and that was just for my wings."

"Exactly. The wrath you'll let out to protect those girls will be felt across this world."

"Yeah," I agreed with her, leaning my head against her shoulder. "I hope Willa and Daisy will get along with Rhys when he comes home."

Mor tensed against my body but leaned her head against mine. "So do I."

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icedragonlizard · 1 month

Text

I'm probably going to be obliterated for this, but I'm bold enough.

I think it eventually deserves to be said, anyways.

Consider this the follow-up to a post I wrote a few days ago.

For clarification, I'm not at all trying to say that the whole Mecha Knight thing in Planet Robobot wasn't messed up. Overall, it was messed up. Yes, what Susie did to Meta Knight was indeed quite bad.

But it's very clear that the Kirby fandom has absolutely blatant double standards when it comes to this sort of thing.

While it's understandable to find enjoyment in milking angst out of such an incident, I believe that people exaggerate Mecha Knight.

Some people love to go on about how Meta Knight suffers from horrible medical trauma after Planet Robobot. About how much he hates Susie's guts, will never ever forgive her, and wants her to die. About how this was basically the worst thing to ever happen to him.

But if I'm being honest, I don't think Mecha Knight was that much different from all the times that King Dedede has been possessed.

Where's all the talk about Dedede being traumatized from all his possession incidents? Hello?!?!? Do people just act like he's not that traumatized or that he easily toughs out his possession incidents while Meta Knight was just messed up so darn bad by being a robot?

Actually, I have seen people talk about Dedede being traumatized by Dark Matter, but it's absolutely nothing like talk about Mecha Knight. Still double standards.

To be fair, I can somewhat understand the big discrepancy of how Mecha Knight is treated compared to Dedede's possessions. After all, Meta Knight is quite literally the Kirby's fandom blorbo (aside from Magolor, I guess) and turning someone into a robot against their will can very much indeed be a lot more nerve-striking in comparison.

But was Mecha Knight really truly so much worse than Dedede's possessions? Does it really deserve to be treated like it's such an unfathomable, unspeakable, harrowing tragedy... compared to Dedede's incidents being treated like they're no big deal at all?

... In my opinion, no.

Meta Knight shook off roboticization pretty quickly after the second Mecha Knight fight. He's then quick to get on top of the Halberd while the rest of his crew gets it up and flying. Funny how it's that instead of him just sitting there crippled and helpless after the robot armor breaks off of him. I dunno about you guys, but he looks fine!

While I myself do imagine that he'd certainly have been somewhat messed up and traumatized by being a robot, and while I do imagine he would be mad at Susie over it for a while, I sincerely don't agree to the extent of how some people depict it. It didn't ruin his life like some people think. It hurt him, but not ruin him. He's been through bad stuff before. If you ask me, it's more like a "regular Tuesday" for him instead of being the absolute total life-ruining experience for him. He's been able to heal from the incident and is doing just fine.

And for the record, I don't buy into the "Meta Knight hates Susie SO MUCH and wants her dead" headcanon. I don't necessarily headcanon them being friends, and I think he was initially angry at her, but his anger at her slowly fades in my opinion.

Can we please not overlook some of Dedede's possession incidents? Let's not pretend that Taranza is an innocent little guy and that he hasn't hurt Dedede before. Although I believe that being used like a puppet by Taranza was far from Dedede's worst possession incident.

I like to imagine that Dedede suffered from true traumatization from 2 out of the 3 times he's been possessed by Dark Matter, as well as the time he's been possessed by Fecto Forgo during Forgotten Land.

He's been able to heal and get better, but it did hurt him at first.

Dark Matter lowkey turned his stomach into a set of jaws, and then formed a giant unnerving eyeball onto his stomach. That had to hurt, methinks. It also wouldn't help if one were to interpret that Dark Matter was preying on Dedede's flaws, making him easy to possess.

When Dedede was possessed by Fecto Forgo, he was ordered to hurt his own waddle dees. He couldn't have felt good about that afterwards, especially with how much he's shown to care about his waddle dees to the point he goes out of his way to save one singular waddle dee from the stampeding Beast Pack after he's been freed.

In my opinion, if Meta Knight has been messed up by Susie, then I think that there's no way Dedede hasn't been a little messed up one way or another by the Dark Matter and Fecto Forgo possessions as well. While I certainly believe he's been able to heal and overcome them, I think he was hurt over them initially after they were over. For me, it's basically the same of how Meta Knight had a phase of being traumatized by what Susie did to him until he's come around to heal.

I prefer to think that the incidents are similar instead of just "OMMGG poor meta knight was screwed up so darn bad, and dedede's possessions weren't really a big deal, they were much much less bad."

And I don't at all call for anyone to hate on Taranza, Dark Matter, Fecto Forgo, Yin Yarn or anyone else that has possessed Dedede. They don't deserve that, in my opinion. Just like how I think Susie is honestly not deserving of the level of hate she's received for Mecha Knight.

Was Mecha Knight a messed up incident? Yes. But let's not pretend that some of Dedede's possessions weren't messed up as well. Mecha Knight is certainly more nerve-striking... but from an objective standpoint, it's not significantly worse. And I think Dedede has overall faced more trauma than Meta Knight has, since the former has been possessed much more times. Sorry, but I don't think one robot incident outweighs multiple possession incidents. I just don't.

HAL doesn't at all appear to treat Mecha Knight like it's so much worse than all of the times that King Dedede has been possessed.

Oh wow, this is getting a bit long, but yeah that's basically it. I just felt like it needed to be said that it's almost absurd that Meta Knight being turned into a robot once is all it takes for the fandom to metaphorically riot on the streets while ignoring Dedede's possession incidents.

I'm well aware that I might be playing with fire while writing this. But I'm bold. I'm gonna brace myself for however some people react to this. Not sure if it'll get to the point where I'll be forced to delete this.

The double standards in this fandom gets on my nerves.

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warnersister · 10 months

Text

Talking with your mouth shut.

König x Reader

Call of Duty x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, death, sniping, family deaths, mutism

Reader Callsign: Tasmanian ‘Devil’

(Not my gif)

When you first joined the 141 the group were all warned. Your last mission had been gruelling and painful and as a result of your trauma, you no longer spoke. This didn’t hinder your work, when they asked over the radio to check you were still okay they’d receive a moment of static or another type of noise you’d allow yourself to make, half of the time it was you knocking in morse code to confirm. When soap had asked if you’d speak to tell them if you were truly in danger, you’d just given an affirmative nod.

You spoke with your eyes. That’s what Konig had noticed. You always joined in the conversations just not with your tongue. At least that’s what he told himself when he found himself staring at you for long enough that you noticed and offered him a quizzical look with one eyebrow raised.

Konig was enamoured by you from the moment you walked through that door. And you may think that he refused to admit it - the love he held for you. But no, it was one of the very few pleasures he allowed himself. His austere and stern position towards himself simply melts away when you are near.

It wasn’t difficult to fall in love with you. Not at all. With the way your belt tightened your camos to your waist, and your black t-shirt hugging your body in all the right places, stance upright and rigid, muscles prominent enough to poke through your clothes, enough to make himself rut into his hand a lot more nights than he cared to admit. But what really enthralled him, were your eyes.

You were sleeping off the last mission when Ghost and Konig were talking about you. Ghost said your eyes scared him. “When she looks at me there’s just nothing. It’s like she’s dead behind ‘em. I wanna ask what happened, y’know?” He asked and Konig had nodded. “But then again I think that if I do ask she will drop dead.”

That’s not the look you gave him. Not at all. Every time you looked up at him they were bright and full of emotion. They could shine happily or burn with anger or roll sarcastically, but some of the time when you didn’t know he was looking, they’d be full of something he could relate to. They were full of pain and tears.

He knew you were crippled with pain. A weight heavy at your shoulders other than your gun. But like Ghost, he would never ask. If you wanted to ‘talk’ then you would. And if you never did he didn’t mind. He understood enough.

From day dot you had naturally gravitated towards Konig. The first person to never be surprised when you looked up at him and noticed his height, simply giving him a passive once-over and moving on. New mission? You were on his left. Spare time? Winning him at cards. Free night? Laid next to him looking at the stars while he pointed out constellation to you. You were always there and he was always here, ready for when you were ready to open your heart to him that he had done for you.

Tasmanian Devil was what they had named you, Devil for short. The small beasts had the same temperament that you held behind your eyes, they have a reputation for flying into a rage when threatened by a predator, fighting for a mate, or defending a meal - exactly what your bursts of rage represent. Konig liked to call you his little devil. He could tell you smiled under your mask when he said that, the only time you would.

This new mission contained teams of two. “Konig and Devil, we’ll send you to the north building, best sniping position for the house.” Konig said something and you gave a thumbs up before you turned to go get ready.

And here you were, laid on your stomachs side by side, snipers in hand and looking for the enemy target - a captain and his comrades. What they had failed to mention was that his comrades were his family. Wife and two children. A boy and a girl. The boy looked no older than eight, and his sister four. You inhaled sharply and exhaled a shaky breath, lowering your weapon. Konig lowered his slightly and turned to you, watching your eyes swell with salty tears, your eyeblack beginning to run. He had to admit, you looked gorgeous. But now wasn’t the time for that. He raised his mic so nosy ears couldn’t listen and he reached his left hand out to grab your hip and draw comforting shapes along it with his thumb. You buried your head into his neck, eyes shut tight so he couldn’t see them.

He raised his gun, grasped your waist tightly and took four shots then silence as he dropped his gun and used both hands to pull you into an embrace. He manoeuvred you to be sat in his lap and cradling you like a baby. Lowering his mic again, he spoke. “Devil got the shot. My weapon wasn’t required, over.” A voice returned. “Roger confirmation, wait at point Charlie as surveillance until further instruction. Well done Devil. Over.” “Roger, out.” Then his mic was returned above his helmet. You looked up at him, pain and questioning behind those tired eyes of yours. “Every good solider must struggle. I’ve got you meine liebe. I understand.” A loud and broken sob emitted from your throat as the first sound he had ever heard you make. He understood. He knew why you were in pain. Konig knows.

He pecked your forehead comfortingly through both of your masks as he allowed you to cry and calm down, and he loved the way you clawed at his chest and grabbed him like you needed him. Like a damsel in distress.

He never spoke of it when you got back to base and nor did your eyes. But you definitely got closer. Sometimes he liked to think that was the day you opened yourself up to him to let him love you. But those sometimes he also realised that was just his subconscious playing tricks on him.

It was loud in your head, looking at the Mountain Man. Oh how you wanted to tell him how much pain you were in, and how much he soothed it. How much you loved him. You wanted to scream it from the rooftops but your voice would not allow. Instead pleading at him with wide and desperate eyes hoping that someday he may recognise your expression and require your feelings. If only he knew.

Then the dreaded day came for Konig. The day that you would all return home to your families. The day that you would probably run into your lovers arms and leave him behind. The day the intoxicating dream he was living in would come crashing down and his heart would shatter into a million pieces. The chatter was loud on the plane, men excitedly talking about their families and their homes yet the two of you remained silent. Your hand slowly crept over to his and rested atop of his clenched fist which instantly relaxed when he felt your warming touch. His hand turned over and threaded his fingers with his own, thumb doing labs back and forth over your knuckle. He could allow himself to live in paradise just a bit longer.

Ghost shook hands with you all and exclaimed a ‘see you soon!’ as he walked over to a couple of elders and embraced the woman tightly. And slowly, everyone bid their farewells until Konig was all alone. But where did you go? He couldn’t remember seeing you leave. But then again, he was better off not having to see the man you loved. He turned to leave himself, when he stopped in his tracks. There you were, sat on a bench alone with your arms crossed and an unreadable expression covered by tears in your eyes. He slowly made his way over to you, sitting down and about to say something before you interjected.

“They are all dead, Konig.” You spoke in a small and raspy voice from lack of usage. “I’m waiting for my family to pick me up and I know they’re not coming.” His heart twanged with pain in his chest but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, too entranced by the sweet sound of you. But it hurt him how much he related. “They shot every one of them and I was the one who found them. The worst part is it was my partner who killed them.” You said with a sniff, the image you walked home into relaying in your mind. He listened to you talk, just listened. Soaking up every minute he could have hearing your siren song. “I give my life for my country and it gives me nothing back. I am alone, Konig.”

“You have me, mein liebling. You will always have me.” You were quiet again, looking up into his faithful eyes and realised what you had been missing all along. Slowly, you reached for your balaclava and pulled it up and over your head until it fell into the seat beside you. Konig couldn’t believe what he was seeing. You were beautiful. He couldn’t believe that after all this time the woman he was in love with was so gorgeous. He mirrored your actions with a shaky arm, pulling his mask off and placing it in a similar place to yours. He was waiting for your horror, a scoff from your lips, disgust in your eyes. But instead, the softened as you looked at his face, a small smile growing as you did a quick once over, hand slowly reaching out to trace a scar on his jaw as he leaned into your hand, the touch-starved man yearning for affection. He reached his hands out to your face. “You have always got me, my little devil.” And he kissed you sweetly, tongues tying as you spoke through your minds, a voice finally restored to a broken broken marionette. You realised that with Konig, you would always be okay.

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