#Mutual Blackbird

[nocternalrandomness]

A 1929 Mutual Aircraft Blackbird biplane on static display at Yanks Air Museum, Chino airfield, California

This aircraft was designed in 1929 by Giuseppe Bellanca for the Mutual Aircraft Company. The Blackbird was built by Mutual at their factory in Kansas City, Missouri and first flew later that year. Although the sole aircraft N87M successfully completed some long-distance flights, no further production was undertaken.

The Blackbird flew successfully for 18 months before being damaged in a crash on landing near Kansas City on return from New York on 13 April 1931. The aircraft was stored in a barn until it was rediscovered in early 1995. It was restored by the San Diego Air & Space Museum at Gillespie Field, later displayed at the Yanks Air Museum, at Chino Airport in Chino, California. N87M is currently displayed at the Gig Harbor Antique Airplane Museum, Gig Harbor, Washington.

[flowers-for-my-old-bones]

[doodleduck]

oooooooh what kinda bird do you think ctommy would be? (i like to think of him as a mockingbird)

AUGH mocking bird cTommy is so good. But I have to pick blue jay. It just fits him so well

[jolluxstrait]

MIX 1

Paring: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: fluff, reader has hair but no other physical descriptions, mutual pining?, can be read as whatever gender desired, no use of y/n

a/n: first fic iv written in several years, feels good to write again. Based off of a prompt, see below. enjoy!!

[They're stuck on a road trip, and she's singing her heart out, while he pretends to hate it, but when she falls asleep, he quietly turns her playlist back on]

—

When Charles Xavier called you and Logan into his office, you had no idea what would come of it. He proceeded to explain that there was a special mission for just the two of you; going up into southern Canada to scout a possible Brotherhood hideout. When Charles offered the Blackbird to you both to use for said mission, you lept at the idea. However, Logan was quick to dismiss it.

“Yeah, no, not happening. The last time I was in that death trap Scott damn near got us all killed.”

You shoot him an annoyed glare, despite knowing that he's right. Scott Summers is good at many things, but piloting that jet is not one of them.

“Yeah, but Scott won't be flying it so there's nothing to worry about!”

You chime in, sounding hopeful that this will somehow convince Logan. In all truth, you don't want to spend any more time with the brooding man than you absolutely have to. The trip in the Blackbird would take around five hours in total. Five hours is not ideal, but doable. 

“I don't care, I'm not getting back into that thing. I'll drive us.”

His voice is stern and serious as he speaks, his tone making it clear that he's not backing down. You let out a huff of annoyance at his stubborn attitude, internally grumbling to yourself over spending the next ten hours in Logan's old beat up truck.  It's not that you didn't like Logan, quite the opposite, actually. But you knew, deep down, that the two of you would never work out. He was too much of a loner to ever even consider letting someone get close enough to love him and you didn't think that you could handle the rejection from him anyway. So you buried your feelings away in the farthest corner of your mind and committed yourself to just being friends with the grumpy man.

—

The two of you have been on the road for the past three hours. It's been a long and painfully quiet trip so far, the only saving grace being the soft sounds of the radio, humming quiet country tunes that float around the cab of the truck. It's the reason you're still sane, honestly. You stare out the window, head resting in your hand as your elbow is propped up on the side of the door. The scenery has been nothing but tall trees and empty roads since crossing over the Canadian border. 

Logan taps his fingers gently against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song that's currently playing. The sound is an ever present reminder of the silence between you two. To your surprise, Logan is the first to break the ice. 

“You're not fallin’ asleep over there, are ya?”

His voice is gruff as he speaks, a hint of curiosity in it. He continues to keep most of his attention on the road, only glancing over when you respond. 

“No, just watching the trees go by..”

Logan nods his head at your answer, knowing he would be doing the same thing if he wasn't driving. 

“You can change the station if ya want.”

You perk up at his offer. It's not that you didn't like country music, more that it wasn't your favorite. And honestly, after the last three hours, you were kind of tired of it. You take him up on his offer, shifting your gaze from the tree-filled scenery to the truck's radio, clicking through the stations, pausing on a few only to change it a couple minutes later. 

“There's nothing good on right now.. do you mind if we listen to a CD? I figured I'd bring some since you insisted on driving.” 

Despite your genuine question, your tone was a bit pointed, still slightly annoyed at him for wanting to drive instead of fly.

“Sure darlin, whatever ya want.”

Logan gives you a simple shrug, gesturing to the CD player. Even though he was acting very nonchalant about it, he was genuinely curious about what you liked to listen to. He was also hoping that the change in music would give him a much needed distraction to how focused he was on you in the passenger seat. Every rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, every subtle movement of your body as you shift to get comfortable, the way your scent lingers in the air like smog as it completely takes over the original smell of cigars and leather that usually permeates the cab. It was incredibly distracting and he found himself stealing glances at you every couple minutes. 

You rustle through your bag for a moment, soon pulling a small CD case from it, taking a few moments to flip through the thin plastic sleeves until finally settling on a plain gray CD with the words “MIX 1” written on the top in black ink. With a smile, you pop the CD into the truck's CD player. A couple seconds of silence falls over the inside of the cab before an upbeat punk rock song rings out through the speakers. Logan doesn't try to hide his surprise, looking at you with wide eyes and a raised eyebrow. 

“This really the type of music you like?” 

“Yeah, what's wrong with it?”

You glance over at Logan, narrowing your eyes at him. Of course he wouldn't be into the same music as you. All this time on this round, dirt filled planet and he never bothered to broaden his music taste, only sticking to what he knew, what was familiar.

“It's damn noisy is what's wrong with it.”

It's a simple and straightforward answer, exactly what you would expect out of him. He wrinkles his nose as the next song plays, another similar sounding tune from the same genre.

“Yeah well, you said I could listen to whatever I wanted, so you're stuck with it.”  

You roll your eyes at him as you start singing along to the second song. You run through the whole CD, getting more into the music with each passing song. Logan, despite keeping up his annoyed facade at your singing and choice of music, is absolutely enamored with you. He steals glances at you every so often, watching as you smile while you get lost in the music, his heart rate increasing at the sight. He takes in every moment of you like this, carefree and having fun, committing it to memory.

Logan knows he shouldn't feel this way about you. He shouldn't want to spend time with you as often as he does, shouldn't want to reach out and grab your hand or brush a stray strand of hair from your face, or find any excuse to touch you. Yet, the urge to do so is ever present. He knows that there's no way that you can feel the same way for him that he does about you. He's not sure if he could even bring himself to let you in, not wanting to taint you with the darkness and trauma he keeps bottled up inside. So he pretends to be indifferent towards you, to always keep you at an arm's length away for your own safety. He subtly shakes his head, pushing his meandering thoughts to the back of his mind as he forces himself to focus on the road. You let out a soft sigh as the CD pops halfway out of the player, signifying that it has reached the end. Logan doesn't move to push it back into the player, keeping his gaze on the road ahead of him. You take that as a sign that he's had enough. 

“Alright.” You say, settling back against the leather passenger seat. “It's your turn to pick the music.”

Logan glances down at the radio, reaching up without a word to click the button a few times as he searches through the stations. Finally, he settles back on the old country station. You let out a soft chuckle, not at all surprised that this is what he decided. After about thirty minutes of the quiet music, Logan sneaks himself a glance at you, raising his eyebrows when he sees you asleep in the seat next to him. A small smile tugs on the corners of his lips at the sight of your gentle breathing. He can't help but notice how calm and peaceful you look in this moment, a stark difference from earlier when you were singing your heart out to your music.

Without thinking, he reaches his hand over to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He pauses as his fingers are mere inches from the strand, hesitating for a moment before finally giving in and gently moving it out of the way of your face. His touch is featherlite, making sure not to disturb you in any way. Logan takes one more good look at you before turning his attention back to the road. As the radio station starts to fizzle out of range, he brings his hand up to change it, noticing your CD still sticking out of the player. With a soft push, he watches as the CD slides back into the slot, the same upbeat punk rock song playing moments later. He turns down the volume a bit so as not to wake you, tapping his fingers to the rhythm of each song on the steering wheel as he lets the CD play. It's still noisy, but knowing that you like it, and the images from you singing your heart out to it earlier are making Logan see the genre in a whole new light. 

[livinglycan]

☽ ~ The sand shifts beneath your paws and the scent of salt fills your nostrils ~ 𓃥

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ "𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍, 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍" ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Ello!! You can call me Theo, Ari, or Feng! I'm transmasc and my pronouns are He/It/That + any dog or (were)wolf related neos! I'm (feralromantic) aroallo, MLM/Gay, wolfdog freak, and objectum.

Feralromantic and wolfdog freak are both coins termed by me!

I am a werewolf. This is not a kintype, I am physically a werewolf. I’ll still post under the werewolfkin tags because I feel like werewolfkin can relate to my experience. I am a therian and otherkin but stuff relating to that can be found on my main blog, @confused-canid where I interact from. I appreciate the use of tone tags for me!

This blog is for me posting about me being a werewolf, or werewolf related things! This could be my selfships, art writings, etc.! My tags are: #Running with the wolves🐺 - Talking with my mutuals! #Howling at the moon🌕 - Original posts that are text! #Weird little claw marks✏️ - My art! This will usually be paired with text so it will be tagged as #Howling at the moon🌕 and as #Weird little claw marks✏️! #yapping back🌙 - Responding to asks! #Tasty posts🦴 - reblogs relating to this blog but not therian related or my own (usually used for posts I’m saving for later), #Rabies🥩 - Gore, animal death, angry stuff, and other things that make me hungry, #Home🌲 - Heart-home (Vancouver island) stuff, #Mother🏹🦌 - Artemis worship related things, #Little wolf🐾 - Agere posts (rbs and original ones

Theriotypes:

~Harlequin great Dane

~Bottlenose dolphin

~Western coyote (unsure what type but one that lives in or near Kansas, prairie dwelling)

~Leopard seal

~ Rocky mountain Bighorn sheep

Kintypes:

~Merfolk

~Two legged dragon

~Marble fox Kitsune

Others:

~Equidae clado hearted

~Changeling holothere

~ Lemon shork (Kaiju paradise)

~ Like slime pup (Kaiju paradise)

~ Nightcrawler (Kaiju paradise)

~ Chocolate sprinklekit (Kaiju paradise)

~ Lockheed SR-71 blackbird

DNI: Basic DNI criteria+, NSFW blog, make a lot of nsfw posts about werewolves, Radqueer, RCTA, Proship or any variants of it, Demonizes cluster B disorders or delusions/are an ableist, Zionist/pro Israel (Get tf off my blog. Seriously. Like, leave right now. I will maul you.), antikin, fakeclaimer, anti researched self diagnoses, pro Trump, pro Biden (Trump is bad and so is Joe. He is directly funding the genocide against Palestine.), anti ACAB, Pro contact for harmful paras (People w/ big 3 and other harmful (if acted on) paras can interact but don’t go against the rest of my DNI. I hope you can recover, I'm proud of you. You can do this.), anti atypical dysphoria, or are here to debate me about my identity.

Anyways, bye creatures!

Last updated July Fith 2024

I live in the central daylight timezone / CT, in case you want to talk

a lot of this was just to show off these dividers

^silly little werewolf gif collage ^^

[assortedseaglass]

We Have This Hope - III

Osferth x Lady-in-Waiting

[Masterlist]

Story Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Mentions of Violence, Strong Language, Religious Guilt, Smut

Notes: Barely proofed. Will do later. Hope you enjoy my loves. H x

Aefry and Osferth’s mutual fascination continued over the week and, much to Aefry’s delight, she was provided with plenty of chances to see him, for wherever Aethelflaed went, Uhtred seemed to follow. What’s more, wherever Aethelflaed and Uhtred went, so too did her ladies and his band of warriors. 

Following their fleeting meeting after mass, Aefry had glimpsed Osferth on her way back from the meadows just beyond the keep’s edge. She’d spent the day there with her book of psalms and her pages of drawings. Butterflies, plants, the skies above her and the ripple of the Itchen river. Wrapped in a shawl and sat beneath the old oak that guarded the grassland, Aefry was content to draw, read and daydream. Of her parents, of life beyond the keep, of warriors, of the boy with rough-shorn hair and worried eyes…

The day was drawing in when she made her way back to the warmth of the keep, the grey sky purpling as the sun descended below the trees. A brisk coolness settled on her cheeks, and she felt them turn red. These transitory days of autumn, like those of spring, brought a promise of something on the horizon that only the birds above them could see. In a life so still and, though she was grateful of her position, monotonous, Aefry found the quiet adventure in them thrilling. She thrilled too when, against the darkening sky, a white horse gleamed. Walking slowly, it’s head bobbing with each step, it looked like a spectre. Her cheeks burned all the hotter when she saw the man leading the horse to the stables. 

Head downcast like that of his steed, he too seemed aglow in the twilight. Pale skin smooth as clay, his breath taking flight against the cold air. With his shoulders slumped, Aefry saw not the shy yet brave warrior monk she had become so intrigued by those last days, but a boy. Somehow, despite his quiet courage, he seemed defeated. Not once had he looked up to see his progress towards the stable, glancing only at his feet as they shuffled across the hard earth. He was missing the gentle sunset, had not stopped to look in the direction of the blackbird singing in the hedgerow, not noticed how she stood at the edge of the field, watching. She had to know what troubled him. Spurred on by that desire, any decorum left Aefry as she hurried forward. 

At the rustle of leaves underfoot nearby, Osferth glanced up. Catching each other’s eyes, they both abruptly stood still. Osferth, hand at his sword, gawked at her. Aefry wobbled on the spot, having been caught rushing towards him. The white horse huffed and a great cloud of its breath rose into the sky. 

The look that lingered between them was a second longer than proper, and Aefry became once more a young lady of propriety. Smiling gently, she moved slowly towards Osferth. He glanced quickly at the white horse, patting its thick neck as if finding something to do. Not even Uhtred or the King stirred this much nervousness in him. 

“Forgive me, Sir-” 

“Osferth,” he corrected. Aefry was relieved to see a small smile curve his lips. 

“Osferth,” she whispered his name. To say it aloud, with no title, seemed indecent. “I am on my way back to my mistress, but when I saw you-” Aefry teetered on the precipice of this confession. Did it reveal too much? “Forgive me. I thought you looked sad.” 

Osferth looked straight at her then, and the hand that rubbed the horse’s neck fell to his side. “Not sad, my Lady, just defeated.” 

“Defeated?” She took a step closer to him, eager to know what caused the good man’s disappointment.

Osferth saw the worried crease of her brow and hurried to reassure her.

“Finan, he has been teaching me to spar. ‘Properly,’ he says.” It was as though the moon had risen early. All at once, Aefry saw the purple blooming under his eyes and the small grazes to his cheeks. When he held out his hands, dropping the reins of his horse to reveal the smattering of bruises across his knuckles, she gasped and took hold of them. 

How intoxicating it was, this woman’s worry for him. Excitement, rapidly followed by shame, overcame Osferth and with all the effort he could muster he took his hands back from her. How wanton, to crave more of it. 

“Wait, please,” Aefry said, turning in the direction she arrived from. Osferth watched her reach the edge of the meadow and crouch by a green mat of vegetation. In the low light, it was as if watching someone ascend from deep water. As she walked back to him, a handful of green clutched in her hand, she slowly came back into focus. Osferth shuffled from foot to foot and swallowed, looking quickly back to the horse. Blinking quickly, he saw the outline of her inside his eyelids. The ripple of her long hair, the sturdy footsteps towards him, her silhouette growing ever closer as her hips swayed side to side beneath the modest tunic she wore. He knew at once he would recount the image of her walking slowly towards him in the twilight. That night, in all likelihood. Osferth blushed and bowed his head. His boots were caked in mud, no doubt his tunic torn and much the same. He flattened the hair on his forehead and, shame yet again welling up inside him, hastily dropped his arm. 

“I acknowledge my sin to you, and hide not my inequity-”

“Pardon?” Aefry had begun tearing the leaves in her hand as she stopped before Osferth.

“I-er, she is-she is restless,” Osferth gestured to the horse.

Even with his head bowed, his body stooping to appear small, he towered over her. Aefry came eye level with his leather cuirass, and the cross the rested there. A good man indeed. Funny, Aefry thought, that she found the holy men of the keep so pious they bordered on arrogance, boring to the point of inertia, or else more sinful than those they preached to. Power, she supposed, was the currency of man, and there was plenty for those who had taken holy orders under the command of the King. In Osferth, however, the presence of the cross at his chest calmed her, for she had seen the truth that he was a good man. Ruled not by power, but by his kindness and conscience. A true man of God. He was still shuffling uncomfortably at her side.

“Well then,” Aefry said with a gentle smile. “We best get you both inside.” Her twinkling eyes met his and Osferth’s heart drummed unsteadily in his chest. She turned on her heel and made her way towards the stables. With the click of his teeth, Osferth and his steed followed eagerly in her wake.

The closer they drew to the dimly lit stable, the clearer the voices within it became. That is to say, one voice. The two men inside barely noticed as Aefry pushed open the door and slipped inside. Instead, it was the sound of horse hooves on the dampened ground that told the men they were no longer alone. 

“Hurt your bollocks as well as the rest of your body?” Finan said to Osferth, indicating the horse he hadn’t ridden and laughing heartily. Sihtric smirked but continued brushing the dark horse he rode. Beside them, Aefry appeared from a small stall with a bowl of water.

“Fuck!” Finan jumped back at the small woman’s seemingly sudden arrival. 

Blushing at the language, Aefry laughed. “Perhaps, Osferth, you should take sparring lessons from me. He may be the brute but I clearly have the cunning.” She playfully nudged Finan’s shoulder and found he didn’t budge. It made her giggle all the more and the three men stared at her. Sihtric in question, Osferth in amazement and Finan in mirthful admiration. Unaware, Aefry continued tearing the plant in her hand and adding it to the bowl.

“What have you there?” Sihtric’s voice was quiet. 

“Yarrow,” Aefry offered him one of the flowering stems. “It helps to soothe swelling.” She watched as Sihtric turned the flower between his fingers. Despite his height, his fearsome, bicolour gaze and endless stoicism, there was gentleness to this man she was certain many overlooked. To all of them. Whereas it was plain in Osferth, behind the tough exteriors of Sihtric and Finan lay good-hearted souls. Sihtric with his childlike wonder, Finan with his easy humour. Uhtred too possessed a tenderness, if the way he looked at Aethelflaed was anything to judge. 

Silence, but for the huffing and shuffling of the horses, settled about the stable. Aefry worked the yarrow and water into a paste, unaware of the silent exchange occurring above her head. 

Osferth, still shy around his adoptive comrades and overcome with an emotion entirely foreign to him in the presence of Aefry, looked everywhere in the stable but her. Occasionally, as he glanced between the ceiling’s beams or the hay-strewn floor, he caught either Finan or Sihtric’s eyes. Sihtric, in his usual way, fixed him with a knowing stare somewhere between teasing and curiosity. Each time Osferth caught Finan’s eye, however, he entered into a silent battle with the Gael. 

Finan indicated Aefry with his head, encouraging Osferth to step closer, or else would mouth instructions. “Talk to her!” “Say something!”. Once or twice, he even caught Finan making lewd gestures. When the Gael balled his fist before his crotch, Osferth’s eyes widened and he darted into one of the stalls. In doing so he brushed against Aefry’s shoulder, and the warmth he felt beneath her shawl sent a surge of lightning through him. 

Flustered by the commotion of his own sudden movement, Osferth almost lost track of where he was and what he was doing. He span around. “I’m sorry, my Lady-” Osferth’s voice died. Aefry was watching him with a smile. No annoyance at his carelessness, worry no longer knitting her brow. Simply smiling at him. 

Though bolder than he was, Osferth had noticed in his few meetings with the lady-in-waiting, of which this was the third, that, like him, Aefry was content with silence. He wished then that he had the courage for idle chatter. This lingering silence was torturous. The more she looked at him, and the more he looked at her, the more likely it seemed to him that heaven truly was real and not just a tool to frighten men into subjection.

“Let me see your hand again,” Behind Aefry, Finan walked past the stall and winked. Osferth didn’t move, and so Aefry came to him. Mistaking his infatuation for his earlier disappointment, she reached out and took his hand. Osferth almost whimpered. He bit the inside of his cheek to silence himself and released a ragged breath through his nose. 

“I’m sorry, but the yarrow will help.” 

Osferth let out a shaky laugh at her unknowing sweetness. “‘Tis fine.” When she began massaging the yarrow into his knuckles, Osferth held his breath, for never before could he remember being touched with such gentleness. 

He barely remembered his mother. Sometimes, he thought of her running her hand over his head, but was unsure if this was a memory or merely something his mind had conjured up in the absence of her. When he entered the monastery, it was with the clap of his uncle Leofric’s hand at his back and a promise that he would always be near. 

In their memory, Osferth touched the cross at his chest. Aefry’s eyes flickered there but she asked no questions, and began rolling a torn piece of cloth about his hand.

Behind the walls of the monastery, Osferth knew nothing but prayer and penance. 

The blond hair his mother had allowed to grow long was roughly shorn, his clothes were replaced with itchy hand-me-down robes, and despite having lived so meagrely before, he would have given anything to sleep on the hay mattress of his uncle Leofric’s rather than the wooden board and blanket of his shared quarters. 

That first room he shared with two other boys, Arric and Hablendan. He did not need to ask why they were sent to the monastery. The abbots looked at the three boys with an obvious disdain that they did not show the other novitiates. They were woken between matins and prime, then set to work preparing breakfast for the sleeping monastery. After a long day of work and prayer, Osferth and his companions would say compline, or vigil before Sunnundaeg, and await the abbot to permiss them sleep, long after everyone else had retired. 

Bastards. Shame of father and family. That was why. 

“A stain upon the good King’s virtue.” 

“Nothing but a whore’s shame.”

“It would have been far better if you had never been born.”

When Hablendan succumbed to a fever aged eleven, the penitential psalms were hurried, his anointing near forgot, and the abbots slung him in a haphazard grave beyond the monastery wall. Only Osferth and Aerric kept vigil.

Arric left the monastery suddenly, and from time to time Osferth imagined he had run away with a tradesman or visiting abbess. That way he could believe a life beyond that harsh place existed. A monastery in a warmer climate perhaps, or a new life altogether. 

“Osferth?” 

So tender was her voice that Osferth thought he’d imagined it. The voice of Hablendan or Arric. Perhaps even his uncle or mother. 

He blinked in the dim light, and felt a warmth about his hands. She had taken both in her own, and held them gently before her. Her eyes, a muddy mixture of browns, were looking up at him with concern. 

“‘Tis fine,” he said again, although the lump in his throat betrayed any attempt at ease. Aefry nodded, held his hand a moment longer, then let go. Osferth twitched awkwardly before coughing and clearing the stall to make way for his horse. That he had been about to take her hand once more, Aefry did not know.  

“Will your mistress not worry where you are?” Sihtric was heaving his horse’s saddle onto one of the stable beams.

“If Lord Uhtred is with her, I doubt it entirely,” Aefry said with a smile. “Her mother, however-” The men laughed. “I am away. Remove the dressing in the morning and the swelling should have gone down,” she addressed Osferth. “If not, seek me out and I will gather more.” 

“He surely will,” Finan stepped forward with yet another gleeful glance in Osferth’s direction as he wrapped a cloak around his shoulders. “I’ll walk you back.”

Osferth’s heart sank. He had not known Finan long, but it was enough to see the long looks women gave him. Wit, kindness, honour, strength. How could he possibly compete? Aefry and Finan were backing out of the door when Sihtric nudged Osferth’s shoulder and nodded in their direction. Aefry was looking hopefully at him over Finan’s shoulder.

“Goodnight Osferth, goodnight Sir,” Sihtric nodded his head at Aefry. Osferth bowed a little. 

“Come,” Sihtric said to him. “You have more to learn than swordsmanship.” And together they trudged towards the inn on the outskirts of town, Osferth hanging off his every word. 

In the opposite direction, Finan and Aefry walked in comfortable silence. The sun had set fully and torches flickered at the welcoming gates of the keep. In a few moments, they would be sheltered in its warmth. Aefry’s stomach gave a rumble and she laughed. 

“Thank you, Sir, for walking me back,” Finan smiled and Aefry continued. “Though, and I do not mean to offend, I suspect it was not for my safety.” Expecting to see annoyance in her eyes, Finan looked at her. To his pleasant surprise, he saw her eyes twinkle in the low light. A broad smile stretched across his bonny face. “I do believe Saeflaed will have returned from her father’s by now.”

“I would not have let you walk back alone, lady-”

“Aefry.” She corrected, holding a hand to her chest. He copied the movement.

“Finan.” Aefry nodded and Finan continued. “But a glimpse of her would not go amiss.” 

Aefry’s smile widened. Finan had thought her a meek little thing at first, smaller than her companions, not so pretty as Saeflaed or outspoken as Adburh. But he saw now that he was wrong. Behind the round cheeks and rosy complexion, pleasing manner and quiet reserve, a brightness burned within her. Quick to help and to laugh just as he. The youngest of Aethelflaed’s ladies, he thought perhaps, despite Saeflaed’s beauty, that Aefry was his favourite.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Aefry said, her voice full of that longing awe one heard in a girl recalling a princess, or a little boy dreaming of the battlefield.

“I’ve never seen a fairer lass,” 

“And here she is,” she indicated the keep gates, where a golden haired girl stood waiting. Aefry turned to Finan, a knowing glint in her eye. “Almost as if this meeting were planned.” 

“Not a word to your mistress of Uhtred,” Finan held her arm gently. 

Aefry held a finger to her lips as she slipped away, and Finan watched as she clasped Saeflaed’s hand before disappearing through the gate. 

Over the next few days, the three men and three women followed their leaders like a gaggle of children. 

Having told Aefry how much she liked the man, Saeflaed either clung to her arm or Finan’s, whispering hurried observations in the former’s ear, flirtations in the latter’s.

“His wit is as sharp as his sword!”

“There’s something about his eyes,”

“I watched him train the monk,” Aefry’s ears pricked. “His arms, Aefry!” 

Poor Adburh was quite taken as ever by the silent Sihtric, but the discovery of his wife had left her quite bereft. 

“Many a man takes a mistress, Adburh,” Saeflaed had said.

“I’ll not be a man’s whore,” Adburh snapped from beneath her bedsheets.

“Not even a man so beautiful?”

Adburh sniffled and Aefry silenced her friend with a quick glance. 

When next they saw Uhtred and his men, all walking the halls and corridors of the keep as he spoke to Aethelflaed in hushed tones, Aefry was forced to abandon her position by the monk to remind Adburh that she was at court. At once, the red-headed girl’s shoulders straightened, the crease of her forehead vanished and her steps became lighter. 

“He is a handsome man, ‘tis true,” Aefry whispered to Adburh. “But not the man for you, my friend.” Adburh’s face soured at once and she made to protest. Aefry didn’t allow it. “Aside from his marital status, he is far too quiet and serious. Imagine the household you would run together! You, fearsome and outspoken. He, fearsome and silent. That poor man would not stand a chance.” Adburh laughed sadly and linked her arm through Aefry’s. Together, they processed behind the others.

Uhtred and Aethelflaed were a way ahead now. Uhtred too, seemed equally bewitched by Aethelflaed as Adburh was with Sihtric, and Aefry was glad to see a man bestow her mistress some compassion. The image of a gentleman in her presence, Uhtred listened to Aethelflaed’s words as though she were bestowing upon him a prophecy. He walked half a step behind her at all times, and always, his gaze was directed toward her. 

Finan and Saeflaed, still holding his arm, were a few paces behind them with Sihtric. Aefry giggled as Saeflaed’s golden curls bounced animatedly as she spoke to him, and Finan looked over his shoulder at the noise and winked. 

Osferth saw him do so and glanced to where Aefry and Adburh walked. The moment he looked at her, Aefry’s steps faltered. 

“Are you alright?” It was Adburh who sounded concerned now. 

“Yes. Yes, fine,” Aefry resumed her steps and looked to Osferth. He had turned back to face the front. Let him look round again, please. The strange sensation that had made its home in Aefry’s chest ever since she met the monk stirred, and she gulped a few times to steady her breath. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Adburh,” Aefry lay a hand atop her friends. “Believe me when I say, I am fine.” Adburh eyed her suspiciously but they continued ahead. 

Osferth walked alone between the groups, hands clasped behind his back. As people passed them in the corridors, going about their business, Aefry found a new appreciation for his height. She had seen few men so tall. He was taller than Finan, that was certain. Now, she saw he was taller than Uhtred and much the same height as Sihtric. She thought of the three warriors and their broad backs, and her mind wandered to what lay beneath Osferth’s robes. Whether he would become as muscled as them as he continued his training- 

I’m sorry. Let him look at me, and I’ll spend Sunnandaeg in the chapel. 

Aefry did not know precisely what it was that she longed to see, but when Osferth turned to look at her again, his mellow eyes brightening when he saw her already watching him, she felt a small part of her desire to be seen by him sated. 

“Aefry, your cheeks are flushed. Are you certain-”

“Adburh!” Aefry dropped her friend’s arm in annoyance and took a few rushed steps forward before realising where she was; a step or so behind Osferth. When Adburh stomped past them, her temper flaring, Osferth startled and gazed back. Upon seeing Aefry so close, he startled again but smiled all the same.

“Her fires are burning rather hot today,” Aefry mumbled, giving Osferth a small curtsy. 

“Is everything well?” said Osferth as he watched Adburh storm ahead.

“She had some bad news,” Aefry wouldn’t betray Adburh’s feelings, no matter her annoyance.

Osferth hummed and waited for Aefry to fall into step beside him. Unlike that which she had shared with Finan, Aefry could not say their silence was comfortable. On the contrary, both seemed strained to think of something to say and altogether uneasy. 

“The yarrow worked-”

“How is your practice-”

Both spoke together, blushed and allowed the quiet to resume. After a moment, Aefry took Osferth’s hand. Perhaps it was an excuse just to touch him, but she brought his knuckles to the light of a passing window and examined his bruises. The yarrow had worked indeed, for she could make out the bone and blue veins of his hands. His hands. How small hers suddenly felt underneath his. When she looked up at him, she saw he was still staring down at their entwined hands. 

“Do you need anything more of me?” she whispered.

Osferth’s eyes flickered to hers. “Lady, I-”

“Come on, Osferth!” 

Finan’s voice boomed down the corridor and Aefry stepped quickly away from Osferth. Onward they walked. 

“That is much like how he speaks to me when teaching,” Osferth said lowly and Aefry laughed. “But he is kind do it, and a good man.”

“That he is.” 

Osferth watched her from the corner of his eye. She smiled as she looked in Finan’s direction and he tried to quell his jealousy. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” he whispered. 

Ahead, Uhtred and Aethelflaed had stopped outside a large cabinet of rooms at the fore of the keep, and Aefry, distracted on their journey there, noticed at once that it was the study of the King. She quickened her steps, leaving Osferth’s side, to stand behind her mistress. It would not do for Lady Aelswith to see her at the side of one of Uhtred’s men and not her daughter. 

No sooner had she, Saeflaed and Adburh settled behind Aethelflaed did the door to the cabinet open. Father Beocca stepped out and grasped Uhtred’s hand. A moment after, the King entered the corridor and all in his presence bowed their heads. Aethelflaed kissed his cheek. 

“You are ready?” He said to his daughter and Uhtred, to which they nodded and entered his private chambers with Beocca. As Aefry bowed once more, she noticed the King’s intelligent eyes carry over Finan and Sihtric, before flicking to the man stood still in the corridor.

Subtly, so imperceptibly, Aefry saw Alfred falter. From her reverent position, she looked sideways through the veil of her hair.

Osferth was looking pointedly at the ground, his shoulders a little stooped, his head a little bowed.

When the King turned away, Osferth looked up and saw that Aefry was watching him again. With a sad smile and nod of his head, he retraced his steps, away from his fellows, and out of sight. A haunting sadness had returned to his eyes, and Aefry thought of little else all evening.

Early one morning under the guise of prayer, Aethelflaed brought her ladies-in-waiting to the town chapel so she may share some secret with Uhtred before he and his men left for the north.

Finan and Sihtric were stood at the door, happily talking when they arrived. They bowed to Aethelflaed as she passed, sharing a knowing look, and greeted the ladies. Saeflaed placed herself by Finan and leant gaily against the stone wall so that her hip jutted just so. Adburh, too, stood scandalously close to Sihtric. He said nothing. Aefry did not worry about Osferth’s own whereabouts, for she knew he would be inside.

Sure enough, when she pushed open the chapel’s great doors, daylight streaked into the chamber and set him aglow. Sat on a simple wooden bench at the back of the chapel, his head was bent in prayer. Like a moth to a flame, she drifted towards him, sitting carefully beside him as he prayed.

The creaking of the wood gave her away, and Osferth opened one eye. When he saw her sat beside him, he smiled and relaxed in his seat. Together, the monk and the young lady sat in contended silence at the back of the chapel. After a while he looked at her fully and saw the happiness on her face.

“What has you smiling, my Lady?” Osferth whispered in her ear as they sat side by side. Aefry looked up at him. His hands were clasped in his lap, his head bowed slightly to hear her answer. Wherever he went, he always looked in prayer, and she wondered if it was the same on the battlefield. If he fought with as much grace as he did everything else.

“Those two,” she indicated Uhtred and Aethelflaed with her eyes. “It is good to see her smile again.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her face glow with tenderness. It seemed her permanent state. On occasion, he had seen her about the keep with Aethelflaed and her other companions. Where Adburh and Saeflaed seemed suited to keeping the princess jovial, the lady beside him must have been picked as a companion for her quiet sincerity. When Aethelflaed fell into clouds of despair, it was Aefry she went to to lift her spirits.

When Osferth stumbled upon Aefry in the town, or sat in the meadow beyond the keep, she moved with serenity, like river buttercup in a stream. It struck him that she was prayer incarnate; contemplative, curious, calm.

When tending to the horses, he watched her in the meadow. She gathered flowers, read beneath the oak tree, or when not alone, talked spiritedly with her companions. Just as fascinated as she was with the monk, he too was with the lady-in-waiting.

“Though she doesn’t show it, not to Lord Uhtred, she is sad.” The monk titled his head towards her as she spoke. “You are away tomorrow, are you not?”

He nodded, eyes scanning hers. Would she be sad when he left? As Aethelflaed was for Uhtred?

“Take care, Just Osferth,” she smiled. His mouth twitched at the corners, and she knew he wanted to smile. “What?”

“My lady, do you think perhaps you could simply call me Osferth? The others have given me their own name, I should like to hear mine just plainly.”

The lady’s eyes lit with mirth. “What do the others call you?”

He sighed and looked at the cross atop the alter, as if pleading for help. “‘Baby monk.’” He whispered it in her ear like he was at confession, and she would have shuddered were it not for the ridiculousness of the name. She sniggered and the monk pinched his nose.

“Are you a monk anymore?” She had turned to him slightly, though she still glanced at her mistress every now and again. “Now that you are in Uhtred’s company?”

He thought a moment and watched his hands. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

She took his hand in hers and faced him directly.

“You are Osferth.”

“That I am.” There it was again. Pride. Looking at her pretty face, open with kindness and judging of nothing as she watched him, Osferth felt that whatever he had been, or would be, was fine because she saw him. She.

“What do you think life would have held for you? Had you the choice?” Aefry knew the question was intimate, and should he rebuke her, she would understand. To her happiness, he did not.

“I do not think it matters, lady.” Visions of himself as a prince, or an ealdorman with wife and child flashed before his eyes. “My lot was chosen long before I was born.” Aefry knew he was thinking of his father’s actions but said nothing, only let him continue. “With another mother, another father, in a different realm perhaps my life would have been different, but it does not do to dwell. I am thankful for what I have been given.”

He watched her side, for she had turned to face Uhtred and Aethelflaed solemnly. Her lips parted delicately, plainly thinking over what he had said. A few strands of hair had fallen loose from the braid knotted at her nape, revealing the pulse point on the elegant column of her neck. Osferth was struck with the desire to run his finger along it and the britches beneath his tunic tightened. He shifted on the hard pew. Damn. Faintly, as though listening through water, he heard her say something similar to “we should leave them be.” He looked up to see Uhtred and Aethelflaed departing through the door behind the chancel.

“Will you pray with me?”

Her hand was still in his and she squeezed it before clasping her own in prayer. “Of course.”

Aefry knelt before him and he swallowed, shifting his hands beneath his tunic before kneeling beside her. Osferth wasn’t sure how long they prayed. Or rather, how long she prayed and he tried to. Her devoted mutterings and deeps sighs of breath were beautifully distracting, so he settled on watching her pray instead.

She leant her head on her hands, as though this would open a direct channel to help her commune with the divine. She glanced up on occasion, to gaze at the altar, before casting her eyes down. When she hastily wiped a tear from her cheek between devotions, he found he could take it no more and moved towards the offertory shrine next to the tabernacle. He hadn’t seen someone so moved by prayer since the monastery, and even then he believed the abbot did it to scare the oblates into servitude.

He took a candle and, placing it next to its fellows, lit it with a taper. Closing his eyes with the flame in hand, a moment’s solace finally found him, and he prayed for that which he always could. When he opened them, she was there beside him, placing her own candle upon the shrine having silently finished her prayers. As if in slow motion, he watched as she covered his hand with hers and moved the taper he still held to the wick. The candle flickered into life, and she let go.

“Who did you light your candle for?” she whispered, watching the flames dance together.

“My mother.”

“I lit mine for you. I want to see you safely back in Wintancaester.” Sadness befell Aefry’s eyes and Osferth said the only thing he could think that would ease her unhappiness.

“I shall try, my lady.”

She nodded. “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

His lips parted with barely supressed awe. “Psalm ninety-one.”

Aefry nodded again. “The psalms are my favourites.”

“My lips praise you, because your faithful love is better than life itself.” Osferth whispered, his eyes intent on hers.

“Psalm sixty-three.”

“Yes,” Each time he was near her, his voice floundered. It seemed it was not just he who struggled. The light of the chapel cast Osferth in a soft glow and his eyes, pierced by the sun, looked aflame. Aefry watched as his tongue ran slowly over his bottom lip and, mindful of their place in God’s house, pressed the back of her hand to his so as to feel close to him.

“I must away, my lady.” His words were abrupt, their sudden intimacy overwhelming.

“Yes, you must,”

Osferth swallowed, and with some urgency said, “But I will see you soon.” Her beautiful face became doleful as she looked at the bidding candles and he stepped closer to her. Her eyes, brimming with tears, took in his face and as he made to brush them away, she stood on her toes to place a chaste kiss against his cheek.

Frozen before the shrine, Osferth listened as her steps carried her from the chapel, away from Adburh and Saeflaed, from Finan and Sihtric, and from him.

In the meadow beyond the town, beneath the oak tree, Aefry let her tears fall.

“The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night,” she said aloud to the grasses and the birds. Please, she begged, please let him come back.

Notes: Matins, prime, compline and vigil are part of the liturgical hours in the catholic faith, and are prayers that are said throughout the day. Typically for a monk, there would be matines, prime, lauds, none, sext, vespers and compline. Vigil came before holy days and some even took nocturnes which is around 1am. I used to live with a monk (true!) and sometimes I would do lauds with him. Fifteen minutes of quiet is a lovely way to start the day!

Tags: @arcielee @babyblue711 @elizarbell @chilling-in-my-head @skikikikiikhhjuuh @fan-goddess @sylas-the-grim @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @targaryenrealnessdarling @doomwhathouwilt @gemini-mama @myfandomprompts @bcon24 @humanpurposes @wise-owl @bookwyrmsblog @yentroucnagol @allthefandomtherapy @hightowhxre @elizarbell

[rpking99]

Sensual Spectacular, Whores For Hire

Closed with @the-blackbird-roleplays

Continued from here

The young-looking dark-haired woman smiled as she teasingly fingered the pamphlet before her, almost tantalizingly dragging her fingers across it before flicking it away with an almost disinterested huff. "Yes... I'm here for some... Distraction, but I often prefer to order... Off the menu." She smiled, eyeing Sam up and down and licking her lips. "I... Need someone to help me get my mind off some things. This little pocket dimension of yours... Might be just what the doctor ordered for me." She smiled, offering a hand across the counter. "Kaze Chikara. And I believe... The pleasure might be mutual~"

"Sam. If you can't tell, I'm the manager." Sam smirked as she shook the woman's hand... And then placed a small plaque onto her desk

Closed, Will Be Back Soon

"Off the menu you say? How about we... Have a talk in my office?" Sam offered, her outfit changing in a few sparkles of light

The dark haired manager kissing Kaze's hand before gently leading her away

[necrotic-nephilim]

thank you for the tag, @sasheneskywalker!!!

rules: answer and tag nine people you want to get to know better and catch up with.

favorite color: it changes regularly, but currently, a dusty/greyish purple

last song: Maps by The Front Bottoms

currently reading:

Butcher & Blackbird by Brynne Weaver is my current fiction read and i *hate* it with my entire being. don't read it.

Postcolonial Astrology: Reading the Planets through Capital, Labor, & Power by Alice Sparkly Kat is my current non-fiction read and so far, it's very good

i'm reading a lot of comics at the moment, but my main read is Manhunter (2004) which so far, is very good, i highly recommend. i'm also planning to read Midnighter (2007) and Black Widow (2014).

currently watching:

The Acolyte has been my most recent fixation so that's just on loop rewatching over and over in the background. a lot

i've been watching Pennyworth which is far better than i expected it to be, i'm really enjoying it

i also started Invincible, which i've been enjoying

idk if it counts but i've rewatched Madame Web a concerning number of times in the past few days.

currently craving: i'd kill for an Italian Cream Soda from tea2go rn

coffee or tea: tea. i used to be a big coffee person in my teens but my chronic illness doesn't like caffeine and it *really* doesn't like coffee so i just drink tea now, but i do love tea

hobby to try: the unrealistic hobby i'd like to get into a fanfiction binding, but that takes materials and resources i do *not* currently have. i think a more realistic answer is i've been meaning to get into marvel comics more.

current au: tbh the main AU i'm working on is a Lance Brunner-centric Post-Crisis fic where i'm completely rewriting his origins to make his death as Robin more significant but still something no one talks about, leading to the ressurection of Jason also reviving Lance and Jason going on his little spree, having no idea he's not the only dead Robin. i've figured out all of the backstory and how i want to characterize Lance, but the actual plot of the fic i'm still working out. i'm leaning toward Lance/Dick as a ship, but i haven't decided. i have so many notes and ideas though and i think it's funny to take a random one-off character from a random 60s comic and actually turn him into something substantial and how he'd shape the Batfamily. trust me i'm so close to infodumping about it here everyday.

i'm also working on a *really* messed up unhealthy Damian/Tim fic, where Damian purposefully breaks the timeline so Tim was never Robin and Damian was the third Robin instead. but when Bruce "dies" Damian realizes he has no idea where to start with finding Bruce so he has to go to a civilian!Tim for help, who has no idea the timeline was changed or that he was ever Robin in a different world. it's gonna be fun and fucked up and full of Damian's jealousy complex over Tim.

i don't know if i can come up with nine whole people to tag for this since i'm still new here but i can try: @searchforahero @divine-dominion @kevin-day-is-bi @kerakeriza @deepwithintheabyss

@maryshellyswife @alicemaem @justmyshittyspace @sandmanwhore and yeah that's all i got.just tagging some mutuals/ppl i see on my posts a lot!!!

[storiesofsvu]

Holiday Bingo 2023

That's right besties! It's that time of year again! And in an attempt to keep y'all entertained with your favourite blorbos, I'm hosting this bingo so we can all share our creations and you have something to fixate on while I'm busy as hell at work!

As per usual:

Submissions can be anything! A mood board, a ficlet, headcanons, drabble, gif sets, one shots, social media au's, make it a mini series following the holiday journey of the same two characters! literally whatever you want!

Prompts are all winter/holiday themed. If it specifically says "Christmas" it does not need to be Christmas, it can be whatever holiday this time of year that you want!

Read the rest of the rules under the cut!

Prompts can be made into any genre, make it super spicy, make it tooth rottingly sweet, make it angsty as all hell and break our hearts, make it a wild AU, do whatever you want with them as long as they are what inspired your story. (aka "first snowfall" could be the first time character a is seeing snow, it could be the first snow of the year, it could be the characters baby's/dog's first time seeing snow. It can be cute, catching snow flakes on tongues or sad, bringing back memories with a friend who has passed. Literally whatever you want.) Just make sure to include any and all appropriate warnings/tags at the TOP of the post and I don't want to see any TikTok censoring of words!

Fics can be a ship, a reader insert, an OC, or any kind of crossover! Mix and match, stick with one, try out a new character or fandom!

Accepted Fandoms:

Literally everything and everyone. This is wide open to any and every fandom/show/movie that you want, it's free game besties! It doesn't matter if I write/read that fandom, do what you would like!

Some Inspiration:

-Law and Order (OG, OC, SVU)

-Criminal Minds

-Marvel

-NCIS

-One Chicago

-Abbott Elementary

-Mayans

-Grey's Anatomy/Private Practice

-911/Lonestar

-OUAT

-The L Word

-Wednesday

Rules:

You MUST tag me @storiesofsvu and use the hashtag #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 on each creation and I'll put together the masterlist.

Bingo begins on November 25th and will run all the way to January 20th.

You may only post/submit ONE creation per day!

Only one bingo square per creation

No underage characters involved in relations.

Tag all and every warning appropriately at the top of the fic

Anything over 1000 words must be under a readmore!

Everyone is welcomed and encouraged to participate! You do not need to be following me, we don't need to be mutuals, if you see this post and want to play, let's go!

If anyone has questions, feel free to comment or send me a message/ask!

Some playlists to get us in the mood:

________________

tagging some people who might be interested? (if you got tagged and have no idea who i am/where this came from it is likely that i have read your stuff and loved it/have some bookmarked on my to bed read lol. feel free to ignore.)

@prentiss-theorem @swimmingstudentchaos891 @rustyzebra @plaidbooks @thatesqcrush @adarafaelbarba @detective-giggles @mickey-gomez @alexusonfire @bumblebear30 @tropes-and-tales @unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix @beccabarba @prurientpuddlejumper @fighterkimburgess @baubeautyandthegeek @melk917 @blackbird-brewster @virescent-v @leftoverenvy @iamnotoriginalphil @happenstnces @daddy-heather-dunbar @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @five-bi-five-main @thehauntingofbasingse @supercriminalbean @h0tch-r0cket @bullet-prooflove @boldlyvoid @astrophileous @slutforsilverfoxes @cissyenthusiast010155 @hotchs-bitch @honeypiehotchner @whiteberryx @v3nusxsky

[huntershowl-moving]

interactions & lore ref.

opens & starter calls (always accepting)

permanent starter call (also serves as a plotting call)

reblogged memes (always accepting)

most recent inbox call

unprompted ooc or ic asks, on or off anon (when anon is on) are always accepting.

mun disco (open to mutuals): rainekind

headcanon tag

jjk-specific lore & headcanons

mha-specific lore & headcanons

backstory drabbles (cw's in tags) 001. rotting city  002. blackbird 003. devil-tamer (i.)  004. watchful eye solo: there's a hand with a gun

[bonnieisaway]

WHICH ONE OF YOU WAS IT THAT - I KNOW IT WAS ONE OF MY MUTUALS - WE HAD A REALLY LONG CONVERSATION ABOUT HOW SEVEN ALWAYS WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE KILL IN THE PAST, AND WE GOT ON THE TOPIC OF THE GIRL IN WHITE AND YOU SAID THAT YOU THOUGHT SHE DIDN'T MEAN FOR SEVEN TO DIE BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T GO THROUGH THE HEART NOTICBLY MORE THROUGH HIS CHEST/STOMACH AND I SAID I WASN'T SURE IF WE COULD REALLY GO OFF OF THAT BECAUSE WE HADN'T KNOWN MUCH OF HER CHARACTER NOR WHY SHE DID IT BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE WE NEED TO SIT DOWN AND REDISCUSS THIS BECAUSE SEASON FOUR SPOILER THING UNDER CUT

I WENT FUCKING FERAL WHEN THIS WAS SAID because like obviously the question is when the hell did that poison get put in him because I feel like , Seven wouldn't have taken it himself? Like he wanted to move on and he was willing to fight all of Xuanwu for the girl in white but I think he would've known he had to do that face on and that poison would only, inevitably, put them in more danger?

And I can't think of another shadow killer or the leader that would want this- EVERYONE wanted him dead, Green Phoenix presumably didn't care because evidently the shadow killers DIDN'T go after him last time or were afraid to, otherwise he would've used his plan earlier, the leader NEVER gets off his ass, and there would've been no point erasing his memories if he was wanted dead.

I feel like the logical conclusion here - at least I'm assuming between the moment he was stabbed and washed up nobody else saw him, and prior to the fight he hadn't seen anybody else who'd have done this nor discussed it - is that the girl in white had it on her blade, right? Like wasn't she also wanted dead? Seven was protecting her and that's the whole reason he was wanted dead, so killing him would've gotten her killed too and I feel like this shit is waaay too much to pull a sort of long-con to get him killed, but even if she WAS supposed to kill him as some sort of long hidden plan, maybe she might've loved him anyway and CHOSE this form of mercy? Because erasing his memories would effectively 'kill' him? Or was it that they both wanted this to end so badly but she chose the impulsive way out, getting herself killed and a merciful, forgetful end for Seven that had a fighting chance of letting him live on without her?

But also the symbolism when they show it confuses me.

So this eye was a new thing in season four and it ONLY ever really is shown around the leader of the shadow killers, when he's on his being-an-eldritch-horror shit, but my thing is WHAT purpose would he have to do that to Seven? Like yeah, he ordered him dead, but HOW would he even get that done and what reason would he have? Like, it was kind of presumed the leader had gone out on a limb and chosen SPECIFICALLY Seven for some unnamed reason, to a point that even Redtooth was fuckin annoyed about it (probably because to some degree Redtooth envied him but let's pack that away for another day) so I don't know WHY this eye is here

There's also a crow here which I would assume was ALSO for the leader's spybird if it wasn't for Blackbird's whip right next to it? But like, Blackbird doesn't seemingly have an unsettled score with Seven. He wanted him to die, yes, and he said "painfully at my hands," but that's like, how everyone dies to Blackbird. And their entire fight, there was nothing brought up about something in their past or between these two, everything was only about Blackbird's past and his tramua, which almost sounded like he felt like he needed to be this anti-hero killing Seven because of the order and would let Shimen take the reward.

There's also a really faint hand here? I don't know what else to attribute it to other than this hand:

back in season three, which this sequence was VERY much a long allegory about Seven's nature and that he's had a very, very short time to live the life he wanted and that he's basically being fucking dragged through life at this rate, though noticeably the hand here in season four has a red, glowy texture on it (aside from the rest of the texture near it) that's seeming to me either be blood or also another sort of imagery for the poison in him

but also there feels like there's a larger image here, too? It's really hard to make out because I can't really tell if it's just the shading , or a stylistic choice, but the bottom right is noticeably a different shade and has an outline and the inside has a wood-grain like texture? But I think also this might just be a sort of outline - given where it starts on Seven's shoulder - that's supposed to look like a gaseous, poison cloud coming from him. just AAAAAAAH oh my GOD there's so much to think about from this 20 seconds alone kill me

[mihai-florescu]

Mutual 1: it's so over

Mutual 2: *walking encyclopedia of every obscure 2d idol project* you should get into argonavis

Mutual 3: i think my headaches these past few days are from the cyanide ive been eating

Mutual 1: we're so back!!!!

Mutual 4: it's friday, pass the yaoi

Mutual 1: it's so over

Mutual 5: i think im scared of being known and loved

Mutual 6: i would actually kill for a croissant rn

Mutual 1: we're so back!!!!!!

Mutual 7: tatsumi kazehaya would NOT be homophobic just because he's christian, stop applying a western lens on japanese media.

Mutual 8: i love my wife:D

Mutual 9: *fanart of an anime boy as a jesus christ figure, with a queer interpretation of christ's side wound*

Mutual 10: should i drop out?

Mutual 11: everyone should read ep:link and blackbird and tempest and sanctuary and

Mutual 12: i made some yummy pasta today :D *photo of yummy pasta*

Mutual 1: it's so over...

Mutual 13:

Midway upon the journey of our life

    I found myself within a forest dark,

    For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say

    What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,

    Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;

    But of the good to treat, which there I found,

    Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,

    So full was I of slumber at the moment

    In which I had abandoned the true way.

But after I had reached a mountain’s foot,

    At that point where the valley terminated,

    Which had with consternation pierced my heart,

Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,

    Vested already with that planet’s rays

    Which leadeth others right by every road.

Then was the fear a little quieted

    That in my heart’s lake had endured throughout

    The night, which I had passed so piteously.

And even as he, who, with distressful breath,

    Forth issued from the sea upon the shore,

    Turns to the water perilous and gazes;

So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward,

    Turn itself back to re-behold the pass

    Which never yet a living person left.

After my weary body I had rested,

    The way resumed I on the desert slope,

    So that the firm foot ever was the lower.

And lo! almost where the ascent began,

    A panther light and swift exceedingly,

    Which with a spotted skin was covered o’er!

And never moved she from before my face,

    Nay, rather did impede so much my way,

    That many times I to return had turned.

The time was the beginning of the morning,

    And up the sun was mounting with those stars

    That with him were, what time the Love Divine

At first in motion set those beauteous things;

    So were to me occasion of good hope,

    The variegated skin of that wild beast,

The hour of time, and the delicious season;

    But not so much, that did not give me fear

    A lion’s aspect which appeared to me.

He seemed as if against me he were coming

    With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger,

    So that it seemed the air was afraid of him;

And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings

    Seemed to be laden in her meagreness,

    And many folk has caused to live forlorn!

She brought upon me so much heaviness,

    With the affright that from her aspect came,

    That I the hope relinquished of the height.

And as he is who willingly acquires,

    And the time comes that causes him to lose,

    Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent,

E’en such made me that beast withouten peace,

    Which, coming on against me by degrees

    Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent.

While I was rushing downward to the lowland,

    Before mine eyes did one present himself,

    Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.

When I beheld him in the desert vast,

    “Have pity on me,” unto him I cried,

    “Whiche’er thou art, or shade or real man!”

He answered me: “Not man; man once I was,

    And both my parents were of Lombardy,

    And Mantuans by country both of them.

‘Sub Julio’ was I born, though it was late,

    And lived at Rome under the good Augustus,

    During the time of false and lying gods.

A poet was I, and I sang that just

    Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy,

    After that Ilion the superb was burned.

But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance?

    Why climb’st thou not the Mount Delectable,

    Which is the source and cause of every joy?”

“Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain

    Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?”

    I made response to him with bashful forehead.

“O, of the other poets honour and light,

    Avail me the long study and great love

    That have impelled me to explore thy volume!

Thou art my master, and my author thou,

    Thou art alone the one from whom I took

    The beautiful style that has done honour to me.

Behold the beast, for which I have turned back;

    Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage,

    For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.”

“Thee it behoves to take another road,”

    Responded he, when he beheld me weeping,

    “If from this savage place thou wouldst escape;

Because this beast, at which thou criest out,

    Suffers not any one to pass her way,

    But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

And has a nature so malign and ruthless,

    That never doth she glut her greedy will,

    And after food is hungrier than before.

Many the animals with whom she weds,

    And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound

    Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain.

He shall not feed on either earth or pelf,

    But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue;

    ’Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be;

Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour,

    On whose account the maid Camilla died,

    Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds;

Through every city shall he hunt her down,

    Until he shall have driven her back to Hell,

    There from whence envy first did let her loose.

Therefore I think and judge it for thy best

    Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,

    And lead thee hence through the eternal place,

Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,

    Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,

    Who cry out each one for the second death;

And thou shalt see those who contented are

    Within the fire, because they hope to come,

    Whene’er it may be, to the blessed people;

To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend,

    A soul shall be for that than I more worthy;

    With her at my departure I will leave thee;

Because that Emperor, who reigns above,

    In that I was rebellious to his law,

    Wills that through me none come into his city.

He governs everywhere, and there he reigns;

    There is his city and his lofty throne;

    O happy he whom thereto he elects!”

And I to him: “Poet, I thee entreat,

    By that same God whom thou didst never know,

    So that I may escape this woe and worse,

Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,

    That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,

    And those thou makest so disconsolate.”

Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.

[m1ssunderstanding]

4 FAB totally unrelated questions:

Can you make your favorite Beatle and solo song list ?

I really enjoy reading your Mclennon fic, are you planning to write more ( I hope so)

What is your favorite McLennon theory, thing they did or photograph?

I also really enjoyed your Get back / understanding Lennon-McCartney series, can you make more? Your captions and details are so good.

me when I read this

I abhor favorites, so here's some lists as of RIGHT NOW in this current moment. It will be very different in about three seconds. My toddler's is much easier. I Have to sing Maxwell to him before he goes to bed or he will cry.

Top 5 Solo(upbeat): 5. Crackerbox Palace 4. Just Like Starting Over 3. Getting Closer 2. Old Siam Sir 1. Monkberry Moon Delight

Top 5 Beatles(upbeat): 5. Baby You're a Rich Man 4. I Wanna Hold Your Hand 3. Rocky Raccoon 2. I've Just Seen a Face 1. Dont Let Me Down

Top 5 Solo (downbeat): 5. Vanity Fair 4. I Don't Know 3.Jealous Guy 2. Isn't it a Pity 1. Junk

Top 5 Beatles (downbeat): 5. Strawberry Fields Forever 4. Blackbird 3. You Never Give Me Your Money 2. Eleanor Rigby 1. While My Guitar Gently Weeps

2. Thank you so so much and yes! I post new chapters of my series every Monday. Right now they're in Hamburg and things are Very Messy. I do want to write more after this fic wraps, but I've got other things I want to do first, see question 4.

3. As far as my own actual mclennon theory I swing to both sides of the spectrum (they fucked on the regular the whole time just without any secret committed romantic relationship ---- they literally never did anything it was all just mutual pining and maybe Paul didn't even understand what he was feeling until it was too late) depending on what evidence I've read or watched recently. My favorite thing to think about right now is all the secretiveness of the seventies. Like why do we have so many conflicting accounts of when they last saw each other and the same thing about the amount of time they spent together during the lost weekend?

4. Thank you for saying that, you're too kind! Yeah I do want to do more of those. I want to do the fifth parts of ULM and I have thought about doing Two of Us and other Beatles movies, but here's my list of to-dos. 1. Finish my current fic 2. Answer two big deal asks that are sitting in my drafts 3. Write my claimed prompt for the summer of love 4. Do more reactions

I super appreciate this ask anon it was so much fun! As always I'd love to hear your thoughts too if you feel like sending them in asks or messages or whatever:)

[esotheria-sims]

I'm sorry for having to end the Blackbird round just as things start to get interesting! But methinks that was more than enough excitement for one rotation. 🤣 They have an uncertain yet interesting future ahead of them, but for now, let's cast a look back into their past and recap everything that transpired during their dramatic 4th week:

- In true Knowledge sim fashion, Marcus and Gabriel were hard at work sharpening their respective skills. While Marcus focused primarily on his magic, Gabriel was working towards earning new charisma, logic, and creativity points. Annika, meanwhile, was focused mostly on the physical, honing her body skill through diligent sword practice!

- Naturally, all the hard work yielded results: Gabriel earned two promotions at work (and is now at Level 8 - Judge), Marcus reached maximum Good alignment, and Annika is just one point away from maxing her Body skill!

- Having celebrated his 20th birthday, Marcus has officially entered the realm of Adulthood! He had a big party to celebrate the occasion, and got some extremely nice (and expensive) gifts from the royal family!

- He was also gifted his very own flying broom by Gabriel, which he promptly put to use by taking a fun trip into town with his BFF Phillip!

- While out and about, Marcus and Phillip ran into the new girl in town, Winona Tanner. A round of causal flirtation between her and Marcus resulted in a mutual crush! 💞

- Annika discovered some disturbing news: her and Phillip's dalliance resulted in a pregnancy! To avoid being found out by her father and brother, she hatched an extreme plan: packing her things, she ran away from home...

- Gabriel and Marcus were devastated when they realized Annika went missing. They mobilized the entire town in search for her, but in the end, it was Gabriel who brought her home... but not before he came face to face with a living, (fire)breathing dragon.

- Despite the tragedy that befell the family, dues had to be paid. Marcus remembered to send their usual $750 worth of taxes to the Crown.

[amostimprobabledream]

Sick and Tired of False Devotion (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

In which Tommy is cheating with you. Takes place shortly after Season 3.

Tommy Shelby wakes to the sound of blackbirds singing.

The noise, no matter the time or place he was currently in, always took him back to days of his boyhood. Yawning stretches of summer mornings, him and his siblings taking the long path to school across rolling fields of green grass swaying in the breeze, accompanied by the warbling of the birds. The future stretched out before him then, full of promise. That boy was dead now, lost in the cold mud in France, but he still remembers the birdsong. Next to him there issues a new noise – a soft, feminine moan. He observes you beside him as you open your eyes, the sweet peaceful expression of your sleeping face morphing into something else as you ascend into full consciousness. The fog of sleep in your eyes recedes and in its place is that sparkle, the glimmer of naughtiness and spirit that sucks him in like a whirlpool.

A man could get lost in such eyes.

“Morning,” you greet Tommy in a sleepy hum, a far cry from the noises you were making last night. “Mornin’.” Tommy answers, leaning down to kiss you, the mutual whiff of cigarettes on your collective breaths be damned. You tilt your head up to receive him, like a flower pointing towards the sun. Your lips are soft, still kiss-swollen from before and your hand snakes around to the back of his head, cupping the shorn base of his skull and pulling him in to deepen the kiss. You tug on his dark hair, always so demanding, and he could easily succumb to it – the allure of your body, naked under the slippery silk sheets, the sweetness of your lips and the warmth of the bed. But he can’t. His wife will be expecting him.

“I can’t stay.” Tommy tells you, pulling back. Some women might have protested a little harder at being left behind like this, these clandestine meetings that always end with Tommy departing your brightly lit bedroom to return to grey Birmingham skies and an equally chilly manor house. But you don’t beg him to stay, you never have. You accept his affections when he offers them, but you always watch him with droll amusement as he dresses to leave. You’re doing it right now, lighting a cigarette and lounging back in bed as Tommy tugs on his trousers and feeds the end of his belt through the buckle. “What’s she got you doing this time?” you ask, mockingly. “Time to show you off at some ghastly gala or other? A charity auction? Dinner with the in-laws?” You snicker, smoke spewing from your nose. Tommy doesn’t dignify that with a response, though he makes no effort to deny it either, nor does he scold you for your tone. You seem to regard the fact that Tommy Shelby is sneaking around behind his wife’s back as highly amusing. You talk about her in the third person, with sarcastic inflection. Like she’s a scheming pantomime villainess. It entertains you to imagine Tommy’s wife, rattling around the mansion he bought like the lady of the manor, ordering about the staff who secretly despise her and wearing imported silks and rearranging paintings Tommy says he bought but are actually stolen, blissfully unaware her husband has been fucking around behind her back for months or that he hasn’t halted his gang activities whatsoever. She has no idea you laugh at her, at thinking she’s bent Tommy Shelby to her will, ignorant that his growing antipathy for his marriage has driven him right into your arms. Tommy trusts you, you see. He sometimes tells you little bits of what he’s doing – never the full picture, of course, but enough that you can puzzle together most of it yourself. You never pry, never probe him with breathy questions, but you listen to him and offer your objective opinions, you’re totally impartial to most of the issues he’s grappling with, so he knows you’re not being tainted by any preconceived notions. You’ll tell him if you think something is a bad idea, but you’ve never asked him to be anything other than what he is. You don’t see Tommy Shelby as a project to fix or something to be tamed.

You know a wild thing like him would never be happy bridled.

Your tactic acceptance of him, your eyes lacking judgement and your own peculiar penchants make you an enigma to him. Tommy can’t resist a challenge, a puzzle for his intense intelligence to figure out. He comes back again and again for you – each new facet of you fascinates him.

Grace has been hinting lately at wanting another child, remarking that Charles might be lonely, and wouldn’t it be nice if he had a brother to play with? Yet the thought of Grace swanning around with a stollen belly, smirking and rubbing it like a genie’s lamp, leaves him cold. It hasn’t escaped his notice that as Charles ages, the boy barely resembles him at all. When he plays with Arthur, John and Ada’s children, his lighter hair stands out like a sore thumb against a gaggle of dark-haired children. He knows Grace disapproves of her precious son mixing with his sibling’s children – that he’ll pick up bad habits.

When Tommy is unable to slip away from home to see you, you shrug and go off to one of your mysterious parties or other social engagements he is not privy to. He pays his boys quite a lot of money to keep track of the whereabouts of his mistress, but even then, you prove to be frustratingly elusive when you want to be, always drifting just a bit out of his reach, like fog at his fingertips. He doesn’t know how you knew the men he pays to watch you are his, but you do.

It's aggravating, but in a way, pleasing, like putting pressure on a bruise to see how deep the wound goes. “Got something for you.” He tells you in a rasp. You look up from where you’re fussing with your stockings, a faux  diamond on the garter glinting in the sunlight. “Oh?” you ask in an effort to sound detached, but he can see your eyes light up with excitement. Tommy’s gifts are often both pretty and very expensive. Tommy crosses the room and produces a box that was hidden inside the pocket of his coat. When he brings it over to you, you’re suddenly sitting up and alert, taking it from him and stripping it of the velvet ribbon holding it shut. “Oh.” You say again, with a wildly different inflection this time, recognising the logo stamped on the top. When you pop the lid off the box, your breath catches in your throat. Something is nestled in a bed of black velvet.

It's a dress, in a shade of green that you can tell at a glance will look great with your skin tone. Slowly you lift it up, the fabric whispering as it moves, and hold it up to the light, marvelling as the material seems to shimmer with colour.

“Tommy, I love it.” You whisper reverently.

He grunts, but you can tell he’s pleased, and he pops a cigarette between his lips before lighting it, the flame at the end of his match lighting up his eyes, making them look like ice, like glaciers lit up by the dawn. You wonder if he picked this dress himself, imagined you in it, imagined taking it off you later. Lizzie could have gone in his stead, but she still would have paid for it with Tommy’s money, and he would have still had final approval before handing it to you. That’s enough for you. “I ‘ave a meeting with the Russian ambassador.” He says, nonchalantly, as if such a thing is just an ordinary Tuesday for Tommy Shelby. “Need someone with me to keep things looking above board and respectable. Someone who can keep their mouth shut.” You don’t have to ask why he wants you there and not Grace. His wife has proven in the past that she isn’t to be trusted with a secret. Even her husband’s. Perhaps especially her husband’s. “I’ll be there.” You say, forgetting to ask him when this meeting is, so enamoured are you with the thought of getting to wear clothes like this and stand at Tommy’s side, facing down an enemy together. True, you’d be wearing silk instead of a razor in your cap, but both these things can prove a useful tool, depending on how you use it. Honestly, you’d probably agree to visit a pigpen if it meant you got to wear clothes like this, and knowing that a night of subterfuge and champagne will probably lead to a night of some incredible post-socialising fucking?

Well, you could do worse.

“Pour me a drink before you go?” you ask sweetly, voice still rough with sleep, pointing across the room at a bottle of whisky and some glasses, still sticky with residue. It’s a little early to be knocking back the booze, but you don’t have anywhere urgent to be until this afternoon.

Tommy raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t refuse, and you watch him saunter over to the table, pouring one for you and one for himself, his white shirt still unbuttoned and hanging off him, light making the fabric practically translucent. He looks equally delicious partially dressed as he does naked, and you lick your lips as you greedily drink in the sight. He approaches, a wry smirk on his face as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and you smirk up at him in return. “Does Polly know about this little meeting?” you ask him, accepting your glass, fingertips leaving smudges on the design. “She’s the one who helped set it up.” Tommy replies, speaking around his cigarette. “Pol understands how important this is.” “Well, then.” You reply. “If Polly’s on board, then I’ll drink to that.” Polly’s no idiot – if she’s willing to deal with Russians, either she knows that what they’re offering makes it worth it, or that pissing them off would lead to consequences the family would do better to avoid. If you can smooth the way to a successful negotiation by looking pretty and keeping your eyes and ears open, then you’ll do it. You clink glasses with him and swallow back the whisky. The familiar burn down your throat is strangely pleasant, and more importantly quenches your dry mouth a little. Tommy sets his glass down on the side table and smacks his lips. “I’ll send a car ‘round to pick you up tomorrow at nine.” He says and wags a finger at you in a way that’s supposed to be stern, but you can detect a little playfulness there too. “Don’t keep me waiting.” “Mm, but you keep me waiting all the time,” you counter, unable to resist teasing him a little bit, lounging back in the bed so the covers slip a tantalising inch or so lower, exposing more of your bare skin. “Don’t you?” He looks down at you with that impassive face that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you – besides his mistress, obviously. What do you represent to him? You’re not married so he doesn’t have to worry about a jealous husband complicating matters, but he also knows you’re not the type of women who will be dangled from his string indefinitely. Yet if he just wanted a fuck, he could pick up any woman willing to give Tommy Shelby company for a night. Perhaps he feels like he doesn’t have any expectations in your house. He isn’t putting on a mask for the benefit of his men or trying to juggle the very separate factions of his family – the Shelby’s on one side and his wife and son on the other. With you, he can let go of all his worries and just luxuriate in being around you for a little while. He leans down, fingers gripping your jaw in a firm hold that sets off butterflies in your stomach, and he kisses you again. This time it’s Tommy who deepens the kiss, Tommy who slips his tongue into your mouth, his hand sliding down to cup your breasts and marvel in the weight and feel of them, so soft in his rough hands. “Behave yourself,” Tommy says in a low murmur in your ear, and you giggle as his breath tickles your skin. “And you’ll get a reward once the job’s done. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” “I would,” you agree, unable to hide the excited tremor in your voice. A reward can mean many things and you know he’s said that so your imagination will take over and get you all worked up with anticipation before he’s had to lift a finger. He’s a crafty bastard.

“Good girl,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, even as he maintains an impressive poker face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “In the dress?” you tease, as if you’d wear anything else. “In the dress.” He replies, with a roll of his eyes. “Mm. Maybe I should wear my favourite stockings too,” you say, rolling onto your back. “And those pretty shoes from Paris you sent me. That was you, wasn’t it? In that box without a note?” You like to remind him that he isn’t the only man who wants to bed you, and you know he knows. He runs a hand over his jaw and clever as he may be, it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s thinking – risk being late home and ruin whatever neatly concocted story he has ready to excuse it to give you a good seeing-to? Or play it safe and wait until tomorrow? Unfortunately for you, he knows you’re just as impatient for his hands on you as he is, and he’s a man capable of great control when he wants. So, he just jams his hat on his head, pulling the brim down low. “Tomorrow,” he repeats, his eyes fixed on yours, pinning you in place. “Wait for me until then.” He leaves shortly after, knowing if he does not, he’ll get sucked into more bantering with you. You have a knack for making him lose track of time. You watch him leave and smile to yourself – despite his instructions, you’re not sure if you can wait that long.

And you’ve never been one for playing by the rules.

[usafphantom2]

The only foreign jet ever to lock onto the Blackbird (came to its rescue)

As capable as the SR-71 was, no aircraft is invincible. Over time, a specially trained Swedish JA-37 Viggen unit developed a successful process for intercepting SR-71s as they flew along the same repeated flight path over the Baltic Sea, commonly known as the “Baltic Express.”

Topping out at around Mach 2.1, the JA-37 didn’t have the sheer power of the MiG-25, and with a max altitude of just 59,000 feet, it couldn’t reach the world’s ceiling like the Blackbird. But thanks to the routine nature of the SR-71 flights, Sweden’s early advances with sophisticated data links, excellent mission planning, and – importantly – the technical skill of the Swedish aviators, the Viggen’s performance shortcomings were all overcome over time.

In fact, after early intercepts that would have been successful were neutralized by the SR-71’s electronic countermeasures, the Swedes even honed their counter-countermeasure systems to compensate, allowing them to genuinely score missile locks on the fastest jet in history on more than one occasion.

These intercepts give the Viggen the noteworthy distinction of being the only foreign fighter ever to succeed in locking onto a Blackbird.

Swedish Viggen (Wikimedia Commons)

“In total I have five hot intercepts against the SR-71 to my credit,” recalled Per-Olof Eldh, Swedish Air Force JA-37 Viggen pilot. “All can be described as successful. I was visual three times; on a couple of occasions the SR-71 was contrailing, which was very useful because you could do a visual check to ensure you ended up in the right spot!”

Of course, the counterargument contends that the United States didn’t see formally neutral Sweden as a threat, and as such, there was little mission planning oriented toward mitigating these intercepts. Just as the Swedish pilots overcame technical hurdles through practice and planning, it stands to reason that SR-71 crews could have complicated matters significantly through their own mission planning if they’d felt the pressing need to do so. After all, the SR-71’s success against enemy defenses was as much a product of operational planning as it was of cutting-edge technology.

SR-71 in flight. (U.S. Air Force photo)

This debate, however, may really be emblematic of how internet culture tends to rob the nuance from reality – as no Habu pilot (as the Blackbird was colloquially known) had any illusions about his aircraft’s vulnerability in a tough situation, and the Viggen pilots demonstrated a great deal of technical skill and proficiency in their intercepts. In the mental tug-of-war between the competitive spirit that drives most military aviators and the deep-seated respect professionals at the highest level tend to have for one another, mutual respect seemed to win out between Habu pilots and their intercepting Swedish colleagues.

This was perhaps best demonstrated during a 1987 intercept that was immediately made classified at the time, only to be revealed three decades later.

The time Swedish fighters came to the rescue of a damaged SR-71

(U.S. Air Force image)

On June 29, 1987, Lt. Cols. Duane Noll and Tom Veltri were flying in their SR-71 over the Baltic Sea at Mach 3.0 and at 75,000 feet when their Blackbird’s right engine suddenly exploded. Noll immediately went into action, veering the stricken Habu away from their proximity to Soviet airspace and directly into Swedish territory, approaching Gotland Island. This airspace violation prompted the Swedish Air Force to redirect nearby Viggens to intercept.

“We were performing an ordinary peacetime operation exercise,” recalled retired Maj. Roger Moller, Swedish Air Force Viggen pilot. “Our fighter controller then asked me ‘are you able to make an interception and identification of a certain interest?’ I thought immediately it must be an SR-71, otherwise he would have mentioned it. But at that time I didn’t know it was the Blackbird.”

As the Viggens approached, the damaged Blackbird descended all the way down to 25,000 feet, creating a dangerous situation. The Swedish pilots had been directed to conduct a visual identification of the aircraft spotted on radar, but seeing the SR-71 operating on one engine, excitement about the intercept turned to concern. Soviet violations of Swedish airspace were not uncommon, and it was all but certain that any Soviet pilot would be eager for a chance to shoot down America’s “invincible” spy plane. That fact was not lost on the SR-71 crew.

Fictional image of a Blackbird engine failure. (U.S. Air Force photo)

“We did not know who would find us first,” Veltri recalled. “Seeing the Swedish plane escorting us was a pure liberation. I’m absolutely sure that the Swedish presence on meant that other interceptors were at distance and could not therefore come to intercept us.”

The crippled Blackbird continued to lose both speed and altitude, to the point where the Swedish pilots worried that the crew might have to eject – but they stuck by the American jet’s side until their fuel reserves ran low and they were relieved by another pair of Viggens that continued to escort, and defend, the Habu. Eventually, the recon plane made a safe landing in Nordholz, former West Germany.

From left to right, Col. Lars-Erik Blad, Maj. Roger Moller, Maj. Krister Sjober, and Retired U.S. Air Force Lt. Col. Tom Veltri stand beside the official photo which depicts the event that earned the Swedish pilots their U.S. Air Medals in Stockholm, Sweden, Nov. 28, 2018. The Swedish Airmen risked their lives to save an SR-71 and the aircrew, Tom Veltri and Duane Noll, on June 29, 1987. (U.S. Air Force Photo by Senior Airman Kelly O’Connor)

The four Swedish pilots who participated in the intercept and subsequent escort were honored in Stockholm for their actions in November of 2018; each was awarded the U.S. Air Force’s Air Medal.

@AlexHollings52 via X