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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

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main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day two - afab!ficauthor!reader x javier peña

prompt : virginity loss [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 5.1 k

summary : javier peña has been a thorn in your side for months, the last thing you need is for him to find out you write dirty fanfiction

warnings, etc. : language, fluff, smut, protected sex, p in v sex, oral m!recieving, fingering, mutual masturbation, viginity loss (duh), innocence kink sorta, squirting, reader is completely clueless when it comes to sex, javier is a dumb sweetheart in this, plot w a little porn lol

a/n : yippee! this is an idea ive had floating around for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity to do it! easily the longest of the kinktober stuff lmao which is why i didnt want this to be day one cause i didnt want to set a precedent haha. also i hate this but it's october so like i can't do much about that lmao. AND the edit was rushed bc i gotta get to work so apologies for any errors!!

“What’s that?” You slam your laptop shut the moment you hear his voice.

“Nothing.” You hadn’t heard him come into your office yet here he is, looming over your shoulder.

“Didn’t look like nothing.” You can’t stand the mocking smile on his face.

“Did you need something?” You do your best to sound patient.

“I’ve got some suspect photos I need you to identify.” He’s still grinning from ear to ear as you hold your hand out for the file. You flip through the pictures before tossing them onto the pile of paperwork you’ve been trudging through. You’re waiting for him to leave but he just stays in place behind you until you spin around in your chair.

“Is there something else?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glowering at him.

“What were you working on?” For god's sake, drop it.

“Get out of my office Peña, or I won’t process your suspects.” Thankfully that gets him to leave, sighing as he closes the door behind him. Once you’re sure he’s not coming back you open your laptop again, quickly closing out your tabs.

The last thing you need is for Javier fucking Peña to read your Star Wars fanfiction.

He makes your life hell around the office enough as is. He makes fun of how you dress, he only ever asks you to file his paperwork, (despite the dozen others who are just as capable.) and you’re pretty sure he stole your lunch one time. He’s just in general a nuisance. (And it doesn’t help that he’s gorgeous and knows it.)

It’s not like you’re ashamed of your writing, you’ve mentioned it in passing to some of your friends around the office but Javier is different. He gives you enough grief without knowing how badly you wanna fuck Anakin Skywalker, you can’t imagine how much worse thing would get if he found you’re writing.

So you get back to work, trying to forget the interaction entirely.

You like to work late on fridays, it makes things easier, you don’t have to come in early on monday and no ones around to bother you while you work. You’re just about done with everything as you gather up all the finished documents, going from empty office to empty office as you leave the respective papers on each person's desk.

You’re nearly done, you’ve just got Javier’s suspect list to deal with as you step into the bullpen to deliver it you’re surprised to see him still sitting at his desk, everyone else is gone, only his desk lamp and computer monitor light the large room. You approach quietly, wanting to get this done as quickly as possible so you can just go home. You’re about to clear your throat to get his attention when you freeze in place.

You recognize the website he’s on.

You’d know that red bar anywhere.

There’s no fucking way.

You feel your face getting flushed, a deep shame settling in your stomach as you take another step forward just to be sure.

Archive of Our Own beta

And just below that, the name of your favorite song, but more importantly, the title of your fanfiction.

You’re so fucked.

You feel a mess of angry tears starting to pool in your eyes as you hear him groan.

That somehow hurts worse.

Not only is he reading it, but he also thinks it’s so bad he’s audibly expressing it. You’re livid, and humiliated, you should spend this weekend looking for a new job because he’s about to become insufferable. Knowing him, everyone will know about it before you even get in on monday.

In your rage you walk forward noisily, tossing his files down onto his desk, turning, planning on glaring at him once before leaving, hoping he doesn’t see how truly upset you are.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you’re met with. You’re expecting a smirk or maybe even a look of disgust, instead he’s gritting his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, a visible sheen of sweat on his face and most prominently, his hand haphazardly shoved down the front of his pants.

You both realize the predicament you’re caught in at the same time. You stare way too long. Eyes lingering on the exposed skin where his shirt rides up, a trail of hair running down his naval. Neither one of you moves until you finally snap out of it, squeezing your eyes shut and turning on your heel, walking as quickly as possible towards the exit when you hear the squeak of his chair on the floor as he calls out your name. You don’t dare turn around though, not slowing your pace until you’re out of the building and in your car.

Thankfully he doesn’t pursue you further as you drive home as quickly as possible. Hands tightly gripping the wheel the entire time. You can see your phone blowing up in your bag, the inside dimly lit the entire length of the drive. When you pull into your apartment building’s parking lot. You grab your bag and hurry inside, desperate to just go to bed and forget everything that just happened, ignoring the throbbing between your legs from what you just witnessed.

You step inside your studio, locking up behind you as you toss your bag onto the bed, shedding your clothes and stepping into the bathroom, praying that a cold shower will clear your head.

It doesn’t.

You feel just as hot and frazzled as you did before. Maybe he was just trying to mess with you. If that’s the case then now he’s just sexually harassing you.

Stupid fucking Peña.

You pull a tank top over your head and throw on a pair of panties before collapsing on your bed. You don’t want to look but you won’t be able to sleep if you don’t, so you reach into your bag, retrieving your phone.

Just as suspected you have an endless amount of messages from the man himself. You're about to start scrolling through them all when you read the most recent one.

[ I’m coming over. ]

Son of a bitch.

You quickly scroll through the previous messages.

[ I’m sorry, are you okay? ]

[ Call me or I’m coming over. ]

[ Please just text me back. ]

[ I really liked your story. ]

[ I’m sorry. ]

There’s about a hundred similar messages but one stands out to you more than anything else.

He liked your story.

Why does that make your face burn up?

You start typing, telling him that he doesn’t want to find out what’s gonna happen if he shows up but you’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You trip over yourself as you rush to your dresser, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before peering through the peephole.

Sure enough, there he stands, he looks exactly like you’d left him, shirt untucked and askew, hair a mess, except now his hand isn’t in his pants. You’re about to reach over and turn your lamp off when he clears his throat.

“I know you’re in there, your car was out front.” Well, so much for pretending you aren’t home. You hesitantly unlock the door before pulling it open, plastering a scowl on your face.

“What do you want?” You try to look stern but you know you probably just look nervous.

“I just wanna talk.”

You’re hesitant but you open the door fully, letting him in as you return to your bed, sitting and pointing at the loveseat in the corner for him. Neither one of you speaks, you watch as his throat bobs, he won’t look at you, staring at his hands instead.

“How did you get my address?” You finally break the silence.

“Your file.” He says sheepishly.

“You can’t do that! That’s an invasion of my privacy!”

“That’s what you wanna be mad about?” Fair enough.

“Fine, why did you do it?” You don’t like that he’s here, in your tiny apartment, the memory of him splayed out in his chair takes up all the space.

“Which part?” He finally looks up at you, meeting your gaze.

“Why did you read it?”

“I was curious.” He looks truly apologetic, it almost makes you want to believe him.

“Really?” Your tone drips with sarcasm.

“You seemed really defensive, I wanted to see why.” It seems genuine but you know better.

“You wanted to embarrass me.” You say plainly.

“Why do you act like I’m out to get you?” His brows furrow and his mouth settles into a frown.

“Because you are.” You say it matter of factly, you honestly can’t believe he’s acting like he doesn’t know.

“I don’t understand what I did that makes you hate me so much.” You’re tempted to soften your gaze, but the last thing you need to do if this is all just some trick is appear vulnerable.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Please, enlighten me.” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

“You despise me! You torment me every single day!”

“Really? I torment you?” He points an accusatory finger in your direction.

“You make me do your paperwork every single time, even when there are plenty of other people who are capable of it.” You feel the urge to stand and have this argument, you’re getting heated in several ways now.

“You do it better than everyone else.” He shrugs like it’s a valid excuse.

“Bullshit.” You snark as he puts his head in his hands.

“And I like the excuse to see you.” He mumbles before looking back up at him.

“You make fun of how I dress.” You’re quick to change the subject, not wanting to fall victim to his charms.

“I do not.” His voice pitches up defensively.

“You said I dress like your grandma.”

“That was a compliment.” He can’t be serious.

“How the fuck is that a compliment?”

“I love my grandma very much.” He sounds serious.

“You’re a nightmare.” You fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your head swimming with confusion.

“Have you ever considered that I just wanted to be around you? You assume that I just liked to bother you but maybe I just like being near you.” He stands as you sit up, a look of honest upset on his face.

“You expect me to believe that you did those things because you like me? Are we in middle school, Peña? You could have just asked me out instead of pulling my pigtails on the playground.” You stand, not liking the power imbalance of having him towering over you where you sit.

“I did, you said no.” He crosses his arms and you scoff.

“You did not, you can’t just make things up to get out of this conversation.” You poke a finger into his chest but he just brushes it away.

“I asked you out to lunch two weeks ago and you said no.”

“I think I would remember that if it happened.” His anger fizzles out a bit as he looks you up and down.

“I may or may not have thrown your lunch out that day so you’d be more likely to accept.” He gives you a sheepish look. “But you were so mad you brushed it off.”

“That was a serious offer? I thought you were messing with me.” He just stares at you, wide puppy dog eyes you have to turn away from lest you fall for this act. You don’t get a moment's rest though because as you stare at the floor a particularly harrowing thought crosses your mind.

“How much did you read?” You turn back to him quickly.

“Enough.” When you turn back to him he’s staring at his hands again.

You both know what that means.

“It seemed a little familiar.” He says softly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You want him out, now.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about.” You’re going to look at job listings once he goes home.

“I think you should leave.” You clear your throat, nodding towards the door.

“I’m not leaving until we talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You sit back down on your bed, your legs feeling unsteady.

“Well I do.” He takes a few steps in your direction and you immediately regret sitting.

“I don’t care what you want, get out of my apartment, now.” You head is tilted up completely as you glare at him.

“Do you really not realize exactly what is happening here?” You can feel his breath on your face, cigarettes and spearmint. You turn your head to the side, refusing to look at him.

This is exactly what happens in your story.

“You’re an idiot.” You whisper, willing yourself not to get any more upset than you already are.

“You wrote your story about us.” He says each word sharply as you grit your teeth.

“I did not.” Now who’s just making things up to get out of a conversation?

“Everything that I did to you, he does to her.”

You don’t have a response to that. What are you supposed to say? He’s right, straight down to the confrontation where he tells her he wants her and she tells him that can’t be possible. He hates her.

He kneels in front of the bed, moving to be in your eye line and when you go to turn your head he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“I really did like your story.” You shove his hand away as he says it.

“Don’t mock me.”

“Jesus, what do I have to do to make you realize I don’t have an ounce of contempt for you?” He stands, throwing his hands up in defeat.

You finally snap.

“Maybe stop taking my shit and stop giving me extra work and stop invading my privacy and just fucking talk to me like an adult, you arrogant, immature, son of a-“ He grabs your face in both of his hands as he leans down and crashes his lips against yours, you let out a surprised squeak as he cups your jaw. After a moment he pulls back and you’re left staring at him dumbfounded.

“Now, can we please talk about it?” He mumbles before pulling you in again for a single chaste kiss.

“Okay.” You feel a little breathless at the abruptness of his actions.

“I really liked it.” He smiles now, the energy in the room changing drastically.

“You keep saying that.” You whisper.

“It’s true.”

“Wanna give me some constructive criticism?” You laugh but you can see his eyes flicker to the ceiling quickly and suddenly you want to press further.

“You know you quoted me word for word a couple of times.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” You laugh again but now you’re genuinely curious.

“I guess I thought the sex scenes were the tiniest bit unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic?” You feign offense.

“Well yeah I mean, it’s written like you’ve never had sex. They go at it all night and he never needs any breaks? And doesn’t she have like twenty orgasms? I’m pretty sure she’d be in terrible pain at that point.” He laughs softly but when you furrow your brows he stops. “I assumed because it’s fantasy that that’s intentional though.” He adds on quickly at the end.

Your embarrassment is clear on your face as his own expression goes to one of poorly concealed surprise.

“You’ve never-” He whispers, clearly shocked.

“I’ve never.” You finish his sentence, not wanting to hear it out loud.

“I mean, that’s fine.” His ears are burning red.

“I know it’s fine.” You mumble. “I’ve had opportunities to, I just… I don’t know, I guess I made it too big of a deal in my mind and now I just don’t care but I’ve waited this long and-”

“Cariña, it’s fine.” He interrupts you now, that soft smile on his face never wavering.

“Do you think my writing would be better if I had more experience?” You say it like it’s a joke but he sees right through you.

“I’m not sure, how much experience do you have just in general?” He stands, moving to sit beside you on the bed.

“Well I’ve kissed people before.”

“That’s it?” You glare at him and he coughs nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

“I’ve been busy with work, it's just, it’s never been a priority of mine.”

“You do know… how to do it? Right?” You smack him on the arm.

“Of course I know how to do it, you read my stuff.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Oh come on, you said it was good!”

“It is good! Everything but the dirty stuff is really good!” You groan, putting your head in your hands, he sits quietly beside you for a bit, rubbing your back.

“Do you want me to teach you?” He says lightheartedly.

“Seriously?” You glare at him.

“It’s the least I can do for unintentionally making your work life hell.” He’s starting to sound more genuine in his over, it sends a chill down your spine.

��So what? We just… do it?” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the idea of losing it to someone who knows what he’s doing.

“No we don’t ‘just do it.’ we do other stuff first.” He sounds amused but you’re glad he doesn’t outright laugh at you.

“Can you just- can you just tell me what to do?” You rest your head on his shoulder briefly and he runs his fingers through your hair.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes please.” You mumble, feeling a strange mix of aroused and nervous.

“Well, in one of the later chapters she blows him, right?” You nod slowly. “And you say it’s her first time doing it, she probably shouldn’t have been able to just take all of him in her mouth right off the get go, especially since he’s apparently nine inches? Which is a whole separate issue by the way.” You can feel your face getting hot all over again as he explains everything like it’s obvious. “If you want to start there we can do that.” He murmurs, trying to meet your gaze but you just keep trying to look anywhere else.

“How big is it supposed to be normally?” You chew on your lip, hoping you don’t sound stupid, you couldn’t be more thankful when he once again doesn’t laugh.

“It depends, but nine inches is a bit outlandish. Have you ever actually looked at that on a ruler? It’s way bigger than you think.” He holds out the estimated size with his hands and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Fair enough.” You lean against him one last time before sliding off the bed, kneeling in front of him. “So she’s like this.” You watch his throat bob as he swallows harshly, everything is starting to quickly become real as he nods. You reach your hands towards the noticeably larger bulge in his strict jeans, stopping just before you touch him. “Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.” With his approval you gingerly unzip the restrictive fabric, watching his half hard dick spring free. He’s certainly not nine inches but he’s still intimidating. You don’t have a frame of reference but you have to assume he’s on the bigger side of things.

“You don’t wear underwear?” You scoff, trying to lighten the mood despite the combined anxiety and arousal pulsing through you right now.

“Not usually.” He murmurs, notably softer than before.

“What do I do first?”

“If you want, you can start by touching it, just do what feels right.” He reaches down to hold your face for a moment until you’re able to calm down a bit. You reach forward at a snail's pace until finally wrapping a hand around the base, jumping a bit as you feel him twitch against your palm. You slowly stroke him, just once before looking up at him, a reassuring smile on his face as you stroke him a few more times, feeling him swell until he stands fully erect. Almost absentmindedly your other hand drifts between your legs, you experimentally grind against your own hand as you continue to leisurely jerk him off, watching how he grips the sheets when you run your thumb over his drooling tip.

“What do I do next?” You look up at him.

“Spit on it, hermosa.” His voice is raspy and you sit up on your knees, a line of spit falling from your mouth onto the head of his cock, drawing a hiss past his teeth. It’s easier to stroke him when it’s wet, you experiment with different speeds, watching his reactions until in a moment of bravery you tentatively guide him into your mouth. You can’t help but feel pleased when his hand instinctively flies to your hair, not moving you in any direction, just holding you. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the bitter pre-cum as you open your jaw a bit wider, letting him slide over your tongue. As you take him deeper you feel him against your throat and you quickly gag, coughing a bit as he gently pulls you off. “Go slow, don’t take more than you’re able to.” You cough again, catching your breath before taking him in your mouth again, slower this time. “Use your hands on the rest.” He murmurs, the low tone shoots through you and you quickly go back to touching yourself with one hand while using the other to stroke the half of his length that you can’t fit in your mouth.

After a few minutes you begin to moan against him as you try to reach your own peak, your hand now haphazardly shoved down the front of your pants. He’s leaning back, his pupils pitch black as he watches you, his breathing unsteady.

“You think you’re ready for more?” He says sweetly, caressing your hair. You pop off of him, watching a line of spit going from the head of his cock to your lips.

“Sure.” You feel less nervous than you thought you’d be as you stand up, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You feel all fuzzy and slick between your legs, your pussy aches with need as he takes your hand, pulling you onto the bed with him. You sit up against the headboard as he strips completely, discarding his shirt and shoving his pants all the way down.

You can’t help but take in the sight of him as he turns back to you.

His warm sun kissed skin, the wide expanse of his shoulders a sharp ratio to his slim waist. He’s toned but he’s soft around the edges and his cock stands proud against the thatch of hair on his lower abdomen. You tilt your head the way it curves, admiring it until he laughs.

“I want you to do something for me that wasn’t in the story.” He climbs back into bed with you, playing with the waistband of your sweats.

“Sure, what is it?” You lift your hips, letting him pull them down, tossing them off the bed.

“I want you to show me how you touch yourself.” You stare at him, a little shocked by the request, your eyes going wide.

“Why?”

“I want to see, I want you to show me what feels good.” You want to feel more self conscious but he’s completely naked and something about the fact that you’re still a little covered up helps you relax, with a soft sigh you gingerly slip your hand down the front of your panties. You go off of muscle memory, recalling what you would do if he wasn’t here.

Tracing your fingers in delicate circles around your clit, watching as he begins to touch himself, almost matching your pace. This would have been a fantasy of yours that you’d resort to when nothing else worked. Javier Peña in your bed, revealing some sort of secret attraction to you, you just never thought it would ever come to fruition.

But here he is.

Ravaging you with his eyes as you dip two fingers into yourself with a shuddering breath, his own movements stuttering a bit as you do so. With everything leading up to this it isn’t hard to feel the familiar heat building as you expertly push yourself towards it. After a few moments more you shove your panties down completely, wanting to be unencumbered as you discard them. Without them restricting you, you can easily feel that hot tightening sensation approaching rapidly. Your breathing gets heavy as you grind your fingers against your palm, you feel the familiar fiery sensation in the bottom of your stomach as you start haphazardly fucking your own hand, you keep your eyes on the way he fucks his own until you’re just about to burst and he takes hold of your wrist, stopping you.

“Please I-” You let out a frustrated whine but he shushes you with a quick peck.

“I know, can I do it?” You nod frantically, you’d like nothing more. He gently pushes two fingers into you, you gasp in surprise at the sudden stretch as he slides them in and out slowly, continuing to jerk himself off with his other hand as he watches how you eagerly suck him in.

It doesn’t take much from there.

His thumb mirrors the motions you did against your clit and that’s all he has to do to push you over the edge. Your cunt spasming around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm, hot white burns the edges of your vision and you keep your eyes open long enough to watch as he squeezes the base of his own cock, groaning as he makes his own attempts not to finish. You're vaguely aware of him murmuring something that sounds like praise in Spanish as you get your bearings, he slowly removes his fingers, leaning forward on his knees to kiss you. You catch your breath through the kiss until finally he pulls back.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” His breathing heavy as he nudges his forehead against yours.

“Is it gonna hurt?” You’re more curious than nervous at this point.

“It shouldn’t, and if it does I’ll stop, okay?” He hops off the bed for a moment, searching through his wallet before tossing you a condom.

“Okay.”

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” You carefully tear open the condom wrapper, handing him the rubber ring with a nod, watching how he aptly rolls it onto his cock.

“Probably wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t.” You slide down the bed a bit so you’re mostly laying on your pillows as he positions himself on top of you. He still seems worried about you so you reach forward, taking his cock in your hand and guiding him between your legs.

You can’t help but sharply inhale as he eases just the tip into you, your eyes flutter shut and your mouth opens slightly as you sigh.

God, you wish you’d done this sooner.

It doesn’t hurt. You expected a stinging, or a tearing, instead it’s just pressure. When you open your eyes you find his squeezed shut now as he slowly works himself into you, rocking slowly back and forth. He keeps your foreheads pressed together, occasionally, bumping his nose against yours.

“Still good?” He whispers, a noticeable strain to his voice. You nod, watching curiously as he pushes his hips forward in one last motion to fully seat himself in your heat. His jaw is tense and he’s breathing through his teeth. “So fucking tight.” He mumbles before leaning forward, groaning into your mouth.

“Does it hurt?” You ask when he pulls himself away with a soft smile.

“No, it just makes me worried about hurting you.”

“I’m okay, I want you to move.” You look down to where the two of you are joined. Watching how he gently pulls himself from you just a bit before pushing back in. That’s when he bumps against that spot inside of you that suddenly has you seeing stars, your hands grip his shoulders as a moan slips out of you, the grin you’ve seen a hundred times before forms on his face, you’d once hated it but now it has you gushing around him.

“Does that feel good?” He tilts his head to the side, nudging his nose against your temple as you nod fervently. He repeats the motion, pulling out about halfway before snapping his hips forward again, your back arching when he slams into the sweet spot inside of you.

“Fuck- Peña, right there.” You whine, your nails leaving little crescent indents in the tan flesh of his shoulders. He gets into a steady rhythm with it, crashing into you with precise deliberate strokes, designed to make your head spin. He grits his teeth once more, his breath going ragged.

“Javier.” He pants, gripping your waist to hold you still. For a brief moment you almost see vulnerability in his eyes.

“Just like that, Javier.” You stammer out as he bends one of your legs up, pressing you into the mattress further as he throws your ankle over his shoulder, the new angle letting him fuck far deeper into you than you even thought possible. The soft and slow Javier starts to dissipate as he bares his teeth, his breath hot and heavy through his tense jaw as he slams into you. The second orgasm building in your stomach isn’t like anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s molten inside of you, threatening to burst as he brings a hand to your clit.

“Shit- tell me when you’re close.” He growls, your vision’s already blurring again as an unfamiliar pressure settles within you.

“I- I am.” You pant out, he accentuates each thrust with a grunt and you feel yourself slip as he applies the slightest pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re positive you’ve never come like this before, you soak his cock, a flood of your release pulses out of you as you strangle his cock. He collapses into you, your orgasm sending him over his own edge. You feel him throbbing within you as he groans into the pillow next to you. The two of you lay in a sweaty, breathless heap for a moment until he pulls out of you with a hiss, rolling over, his chest heaving as he lays beside you.

“Now do you believe that I don’t hate you?” He gasps out.

“I might need a little more convincing.” You grin, reaching behind you to turn your lamp off before rolling yourself over so you're on top of him.

a/n : I have a very serious love hate relationship w this.

#lincolndjarin #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x you #javier peña / reader #javier pena smut

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vintagetvstars · 5 months ago

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Claude Rains Vs. William Hopper

Propaganda

Claude Rains - (Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Wagon Train, Rawhide) - "The reason I got into Old Hollywood and started studying theatre and film! He's such a little cutie as well as a smoking hot, velvet voiced morsel of evil - he's that good and can play both so easily!..." text propaganda continued below the cut.

William Hopper - (Perry Mason) - "Why do I love him? The list abounds..." text propaganda continued below the cut.

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Claude Rains:

While he might be more famous for his movie roles(like Casablanca, The Invisible Man, Lawrence of Arabia, Now, Voyager, and Mr. Skeffington to name a few!), he was also a television star in his own right! He had lots of guest spots on various shows but in the tv-realm, he's probably the most well known for his work for "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" and was a frequent collaborator with Hitch himself, having the spotlight for five episodes! My favorite tv performance of his was playing Father Amion in the episode "The Horseplayer", where he plays the kindest priest who gets taken for a ride and it's so heartbreaking to see him in tears where he confesses that it's his fault the church's funds were used for less than better means (but it all works out in the end!). It's such an honest performance and it's a refreshing change from all his evil villians (but we love them anyway!) he'd done in the past. Another favorite performance of mine is his performance as Leonard Eldridge in the episode "The Door Without a Key", a seemingly amnesiac old man who makes a bond with a lost boy in a police station. They're adorable together and I found myself tearing up a little when they both confess how lonely they are in the world.

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William Hopper -

William Hopper was a tall guy (6'3"!) but such a gentle sweetheart. He was in acting for the majority of his life (barring serving as a frogman in WWII and working as a car salesman post-war for a few years), but he really stepped into his own with his role as Private Detective Paul Drake in the Perry Mason TV Series from 1957-1966. William Hopper actually didn't really love the Hollywood scene, mostly because he grew up with it since he was a child. His mother was Hedda Hopper and she really wanted him to be an actor and became quite overbearing about it, but he was more of an introverted soul. He first started out in films in his early 20s, but William Hopper always felt like people were giving him jobs because of his mother's influence with her gossip column. HOWEVER, after the war and after William Hopper sold cars for a few years, he came back to acting but he said he was only going to come back if 1) he did it his way/gave himself to it and 2) his mother stayed out of his career so he could make it on his own. Those two things happened, and William Hopper made his own way.

His big major starring role in a television series was, without a doubt, Perry Mason. He was Private Detective Paul Drake. To take on that role, William Hopper personally went out and made friends with Private Detectives to try to bring their experiences to his role. William Hopper also was credited by Alan Alda for showing the acting world how to shine as an actor without demanding the spotlight all the time. Alda said: “William Hopper’s ability to be present in a scene without demanding the spotlight is an art form in itself. He showed us that one can shine without the blinding glare.” Which, I think, really was a big testament to William Hopper playing a private detective--- he was always commanding the series and making the moves and observations that led to finding the guilty person in a criminal case, but he was always doing so in a way that was true to the work of a private detective: hiding and working in plain sight.

Other fun facts about William Hopper that make him so lovable: he LOVED the beach and loved fishing and swimming. When he wasn't filming for Perry Mason (they would film 6 days a week for 1 episode during filming), William Hopper would go to the beach. According to an interview, William Hopper's personal wardrobe was mostly casual clothes: swim trunks, sandals, and sweatshirts. He took all his formal wear to the Perry Mason set and just kept it there to wear when he played Paul Drake. He said if he ever had to go to a formal occasion, he would just go drive to the Perry Mason set and pick out one of his outfits. But the formal wear he had was bold! He wore houndstooth jackets, various checked patterns, and herringbone. If he wasn't at the beach, he loved to go to baseball games. In school, he played sports: swimming, baseball, boxing, and basketball.

he's the guy on the far left - I know his face is hard to see here but I'm going for the Hot Vintage Man bare shoulders vibe:

I spoke before about how William Hopper made a lasting impact as an actor portraying Paul Drake and shining without demanding the spotlight, but he also made a lasting contribution to Paul Drake's character. Paul Drake was a character based on Erle Stanley Gardner's books, which were published between 1933-1973. When William Hopper got the role as Paul Drake in the Perry Mason TV show from 1957-1966, Gardner was still writing the books. When asked about playing Paul Drake, William Hopper said: "If they thought they were getting Paul Drake, they were mistaken. Because what they got was me, nobody else. I play him my way. Now I'm amused to read Gardner's new books. Paul Drake comes out like me."

He made such a lasting impression on Paul’s character on TV that even the author of the books started writing Paul like William Hopper's interpretation!

There's also an anecdote from the wardrobe supervisor on the set of Perry Mason who said William Hopper was a very kind man, a good guy, and a good actor. William Hopper's cast mate, Raymond Burr, once said that "William Hopper was even more precise, more good looking, more fun" in real life than what we, the viewers, got to see him on screen.

To add some more to Raymond Burr's point that William Hopper was "fun", he liked to play practical jokes with his castmates on Perry Mason. In an interview, William Hopper said "You might say there's never a serious moment except on camera." He and all his castmates on the set loved to play jokes with each other to make each other laugh. So he was just a fun guy to be around, apparently!

Also, in the final season of Perry Mason, William Hopper cut a tendon on his foot while filming and he wound up in a cast. They had to rewrite the final episodes so that William Hopper didn't have to do a lot of running around like he usually does. Well, in all those final episodes, you wouldn't even tell that William Hopper was in a cast and having to move around in crutches. And I realize that yeah, they rewrote the scripts to help, but William Hopper doesn't waiver once and doesn't let on about his injury. Plus, according to an interview, the cast attached a little horn to William Hopper's crutches and William Hopper would honk the horn when he was coming to let his cast mates know he was there. Which I just kind of think is sweet.

idk I feel like his hands are pretty beautiful here:

Also, I talked before about William Hopper struggling a bit in finding his own way in acting. It wasn't really until he got into TV shows and with Perry Mason that he felt like he found his place and enjoying acting. Before, William talked about being nervous in front of the camera, but it was working on a LIVE TV show with Claire Trevor when he said, "I was so scared I canceled. I swore I'd never act again as long as I lived. Then I thought, what the heck, they can't shoot me, and walked on the set. Something happened then. It was as if someone had surgically removed the nerves."

And when he talks about his role as Paul Drake, he said, "I'm very fond of him, and as long as Perry Mason is around on television defending various and sundry clients, Paul and I will be very happy to be around helping him."

So he really came into his own as Paul Drake, which I really love about William Hopper. To know he found his way and made something he felt proud of.

Also in terms of William Hopper being physically attractive, I mean, he was so incredible. He once said he was just a guy with premature grey hair and a non throbbing actor, but I personally think he's a heart throb. He had the most loveable smile, broad shoulders, a deep, sultry voice, amazing chest hair (lol), and like.. really absurdly beautiful hands?!? He was also really tall and strong but also by every account he was really gentle and sweet. Larger than life. Sometimes in the Perry Mason shows, William Hopper would swim and he has an incredible swim scene that rivals Mr. Darcy. He's in swim trunks and wins a swim race and comes dripping out of the pool to make anyone swoon. I just love him!

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#vintage tv stars poll #tv men 1 #claude rains #william hopper #Youtube

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redstuffs-ig · 5 months ago

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snippets of a possible star wars modern au I may make, but mostly just translating the events and characters of the series into a modern setting, let's call it "Whillstown". most of these are general fandom consensus, some are taken from AUs i've seen on Tumblr which I've really liked, but i've sprinkled some stuff of my own too

The Disaster Lineage is just a long, winding, complicated string of relationships. Great-Grandpa Yoda refuses to die and speaks cryptic riddles to whoever will listen. Grandpa Dooku won't shut up about politics and lives alone in a massive house with an adopted young adult going through one hell of a phase and his weird pet gecko. Anakin and Obi-Wan are adopted brothers, who both deal with their dad Qui-Gon's weird schemes and potential gambling addiction in the making. They've somehow befriended a kid called Ahsoka who babysits Ani's twins from time to time. Anakin's wife Padme is a town councilor and proud holder of the single set of brains in the entire family. Anakin is a real gearhead, with a loyal dalmatian named Artoo and a neurotic ginger cat called Threepio.

Palpatine is like. A regular politician. Somewhat shady, a bit controversial, but he's just the kindly mayor of Whillstown. The 'Dark Lord Sidious' meme spread when a young Luke Skywalker snapped a covert picture of the mayor in his favorite, hooded black dressing gown, and it's haunted the old man since.

Clan Fett is a gigantic extended family whom no one can make heads or tails of. Jango Fett is presumed to be the family's patriarch, despite only fathering a single son. Rex and Anakin are inseparable, while Obi-Wan and Cody are cordial co-workers who kinda had to become besties too in order to wrangle their brothers. Boba Fett is already a delinquent in his tweens, while an estranged offshoot somehow got custody of the only girl in the family.

'Mother' Talzin Opress is the neighbourhood witch. She has a... Complicated relationship with her three sons, and is an old friend of both Dooku and the mayor (She pretty much strongarmed Dooku into adopting the orphaned child of one of her late friends). Weird green light comes from her house at ungodly hours of the night, and few dare to even approach her door. Her eldest and middle children, Savage and Maul both started a punk rock band called 'Crimson Dawn', and even managed to unite all the town's bands for a music festival once. Maul and Obi-Wan beef over the pettiest shit, and Ahsoka beat him up once.

Han Solo and his dog Chewie live in a rundown trailer park off the outskirts of Whillstown. Despite being older than Luke and Leia by a few years, he became their best friend in their teens, something cranky old Ani does not approve of. He owns an utter shitbox of a Honda he lovingly calls the Falcon, which has a tendency to break down very often at the worst possible time. He also has beef with Boba Fett. Like, a LOT of beef with Boba Fett.

Lando Calrissian on the other hand is easily the most charming boy in town, and Han's ""best friend"". He always find success in his ventures while Han's numerous get-rich-quick schemes always find a way to blow up in his face, something the latter greatly resents.

In highschool, Leia got into a long feud with persnickety Headmaster Tarkin by way of numerous cases of malicious compliance and outright disobedience. The uptight principal was none-too-pleased to find the academy crest distorted into a 'wretched gray ball of death' one morning, after having imposed a strict break policy earlier in the week.

#star wars #star wars modern au #modern au #disaster lineage #anakin skywalker #luke skywalker #leia organa #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #count dooku #yoda #palpatine #and many many more #whillstown #whillstown au

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ouroborosorder · 10 months ago

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not a day goes by where i do not think about this line. it just implies so much about the Sarkaz. the lorebook confirmed that the first Kazdel was founded around brotherhood based on food and the rejection of cannibalism. the Banshees know better than anyone the symbolism of a name. and so to Nasti, the highest honor she can think to give is to engrave someone's name into your stove. to make them part of your daily ritual. For a people whose lives and culture are so defined by war and diaspora, to honor somebody is to memorialize them in the mundane, in your home.

And this is the reaction to the Starpod being shattered!!! this is the last thing we hear said in the cutscene where we finally see the true stars. it is to say in her own tongue that if this revelation can finally uplift the oppressed, then she will make Kristen part of her mundane. this is easily my favorite line in the game and literally no one ever talks about it do you understand it’s so fucking good

#the sheer density of worldbuilding alone within this one single line and everything it entails #i've never read anything like it #arknights

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forgotteneilionora · 8 days ago

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OOC | Swords of Stafford

ok so our beloved kate just postedd the following

and it made me picture eilia, [ princess leia style, being like 'idk what ur talking abt' ] right to roderick's face when he demands the location of the stafford swords -- even tho they blatantly just had (two of) them during the war ladksjflkjsdfjkdsf -- while she still thinks that both her sisters and one of the swords have slipped away from between roderick's fingers alskjdflkjsdfjk

no, but it ~also reminded me that we never quite finished up talking abt the swords in question (my fault entirely!) but the rest of that's [ here ] and before that [ here ] and we've def talked abt it elsehwere in drips and drabs, such as establishing that they were meteor sowrds etc

anyway, since we also got talking general family stuff there <3 i thought id make a new stafford sword post so we can get down to business w the swords themselves <3

ok so here's what you/kate said last re: the sword of kings:

SWORDS I love the idea that the missing sword isn't really a stafford sword but a founder sword... any house could lay claim to it! (ooo what if each house has their own name for the sword so no one really knows what it was originally called!?) could we retcon the story slightly and perhaps add something in about the sword being claimed by someone who is there to save Astaira in its time of need? or reunite the kingdom? i dunno something along those lines i feel like would help play into the idea of rian/his dad that THEY should find this sword to rule astaira! and if/when roderick hears about it hes like... well i obviously need that to prove to all these HEATHENS that I am the one who is here to save their backwards country! And then there can still be the two stafford swords w/ siobhan running around w/ one which would still be a THING since its a symbol that could unify people and obvi that's bad for our favorite power hungry emperor! ;)

ok so obsessed w this line of thought!!!!

side note: this really ~does actually lend some credence to roderick's hope to gain legitimacy in astairan eyes by claiming the sword, doesn't it? bc...that's what the sword is for basically lakjsdfkljsdf still feel like the sword would betray him in some way or become a corrupt mirror to its usual self or smth in the hands of the wrong person but yeah!! this is just kinda happenstance for him ofc bc he always has this philosophy more bc he sees these ars trophies/symbols of power (plus he's a lil supersticious lbr) etc but this time he lowkey lucked out bc it really ~does lowkey confer some power alsdkjflkjdsf ofc it might kill him or drive him mad or smth who knows but anyway here we are a;ksdfjlksjdf (meanwhile the astairans still laughing at him bc he's going around w morningstar strapped to his side, still thinking its evenstar alksjdflkjsdf heehee)

i do still think the og wielder was def a stafford and it was forged from a falling star via ayla etc like we said but!! we've talked before abt how perhaps malconaire, lorcan, and stafford (and perhaps one or two others) were originally ancient kings in their own right and ultimately united to take down the gods as one etc so i can def see where the first king of a united astairan realm could easily have been a stafford and yeah!!

but yes!!!!!1 anyone being able to claim it feels soooooooo on point re: astairan values etc!!! and i def like to think that's still a thing!!! and yesssss! i love the idea that its for whoever is like willing to put astaira ahead of themselves or whatever, and not just abt bloodline!! and, like, what if its og wielder died thrusting the sword into the lock against the gods basically yknow that ultimate act of putting others before self etc kinda thing?

ok ok so this is WILD!!!!!!! what im abt to suggest laksjdflkjsdfj so no worries if you're like nahh lets not alksdjflkjsdf but like...ok so if a prev king stafford ~did die w the sword like...what if the sword isn't ~just a symbolic sword, what if its legit magical in some way (id guess a conjecting to air/night/sky or some kind and/or maybe souls? which're sometimes compared to aether anyway sdlakjfklsdjf) like...its got powers but its lowkey fueled by the spirit of its wielder/past wielders so like...its light and bright in the hands of a good soul, but turns dark and cold in those of one of ill intent, or whatever, and kinda drinks part of the soul, so you can randomly get some vibes from its prev wielders or whatever???? idk!! lakjsdfkjlsdf ANYWAY!! also @thelongforgottenrealm is this kinda concept even a thing in this world? hahaha

(not that anyone of ill intent truly could dislodge it from its current spot, but if someone of good intent did dislodge it, and it ~later fell into bad hands or whatever idk)

ok so we also left in our og thing some questions re: the name! our two biggest contenders were constellation and celestial. what do we think?

def feel like i came into this w some other thoughts on this topic but uhhhh idr them now so we'll just go w this! a nyway id love to hear all ur thoughts and ideas!!!!!!! <33333

#about #lore #aria stafford #siobhan stafford #domhnall stafford #rian stafford #garbhan stafford #ooc

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jennsterjay · 9 months ago

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[Miles' foot gets caught on something while they're out for a walk, but then he sees Hobie about to come to his rescue and he smiles]

Miles: Help me 'Obie-wan Kenobi

Hobie (getting him out): Kenobi? That's not my name mate- What is that? Are you winding me up?

Miles (laughing): Haha nah just a joke from an old movie, I'll watch it with you later if you want

Hobie (walking beside him and smiling): Sounds good luv, what's it called?

Miles: Star Wars

Hobie (realizing something): Ohhhh it must be called something different in Gwendy's universe- Is that the one with Kirk and Spock?

Miles (snorts): No no- at least in my universe that one is called Star Trek. Here we have both Star Wars and Star Trek but they're two different things

Hobie (smirking): Do they both have aliens and spaceships that go into hyperdrive and travel trillions of kilometers a second?

Miles: Uhh- well... yeah?

Hobie (shrugging): Sounds like the same thing to me

Miles (chuckling): Haha well don't tell Ganke that- Star Trek is his favorite and you'll never hear the end of it

Hobie (laughing): Hahah I like that bloke- he's cool... but you know I don't need a star war or even a star trek when I got the best light show right here

[Hobie playfully nudges Miles and Miles laughs and nudges back with a shy smile, as Hobie walks a bit in front]

Miles (smiling and stopping in place): How so?

[Hobie stops a few steps away, and then slowly turns to face in front of Miles with a smile. Then he casually starts to walk back to him slowly like a moth to a flame, before he answers the question]

Hobie (smiling easily): ...'Cause I don't need to fight wars and I don't need to trek trillions of kilometers...when I already have my favorite star right here

[For a moment, Miles was speechless as he heard his words, and looked at the earnest smile on his face. If the slow burn spreading on his face was any indication that he believed him, then when Hobie stood in front of him and gently placed his palms on either side of Miles' cheeks, any words Miles may have said blew to the wind right then and there]

[And when Hobie looked into his eyes, and said something that revealed everything- then anything Miles was going to say was lost in the view of Hobie's smile]

Hobie (smiling thoughtfully): Miles Morales...you make me so happy...Eres mi estrella y mi luz, amor

#And then when they got to the morales'- miles tried to figure out if they should watch star wars episode IV or I first #They fell asleep halfway through it anyway #But hobie's spanish is improving- and he finally got to use that line #He can thank mattea murdock for that lmaooo #punkflower #flowerpunk #hobie x miles #hobie brown #miles morales #atsv #across the spiderverse

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throwaway-yandere · 2 years ago

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Saudade (Yandere!Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Reader)

A/n: it has been 500 years since I turned off my brain and wrote something out of pure passion lmao dimitri my beloved <333

Unreliable Synopsis: Circumstances won't allow you to be around the crown prince of Faerghus' side, and it wasn't as if you want to be near him either after allying with House Gloucester. Besides, if there was one person you want from your past back, who else would it be other than your old womanizer best friend? (Cw: yandere themes, violence, war)

commissioned by: @poptartsthings (holy sht thank you for making my first commission to be dimitri fic aaAAHHHHH--)

“You should just send them your letter– say that you’re sorry.”

"Uhuh, but what if he doesn't remember me anymore, Raph?"

"Well," Raphael placed both his hands behind his head, lolling back as he reeled a fish in. "There’s just no way. Based on your stories, I think he’s in love with you, (Y/n). You can't just ignore him forever, ya know?"

You raised an eyebrow, "yes, I can. It's not like there are tons of situations where I need to interact with the crown prince."

"Okay, true... But maaaaaybe you can try eating lunch with him!" Raphael brushed against your shoulder "There's nothing that can get people to open up like a good meal together. Maybe you can steal a seat– oh, and sneak in his favorites on his plate too."

You chuckled softly, "I think that method only works on you, Raph."

"Nonsense!" He said, shaking his head earnestly. "It also works on my baby sister!"

You snorted.

Your housemates are endearing. Truthfully, you never would have expected that it's comfortable in the Golden Deer. Your heart desired to become a Blue Lions graduate like your parents, but familial circumstances or lack-there-of forbade any opportunity. Had life been easier on you, your dorm wall would've sported your family’s blue flag.

And not Gloucester’s.

Since your parents perished in what is now known as the “Tragedy of Duscur”, Count Gloucester assumed responsibility of being your legal guardian. Your parents had always thought of Lorenz’s father as a close ally. Plus, this arrangement was better than living up the frigid north with estranged minor noble relatives who gave you an even more colder shoulder.

However, thread any less carefully around the Alliance, and you might find yourself under his conservatorship forever. You just have to thank the Blue Sea Star that you didn’t bore a crest lest you’d be engaged to Lorenz. Uncle Erwin is a wonderful father to him and he doesn’t treat you with malice either— but of course, he keeps an eye open to morally gray opportunities to exploit your title.

And that includes listing your name amongst the Golden Deers.

At first, you were hesitant in showing that you're an “outlier” in class, but it seems you fit the mold quite easily. Too easily. Not because you had been accustomed to their social norms, it is more like the fawns are oddballs themselves. The youngest was an enchantment waiting to explode, your largest was a total muscle-head, the house leader has a screw loose when it comes to strategic retreat and poisoning, and the rest are just as eccentric.

No one cares if you told them you have an affinity for theater here, and spoilers: they really did not give a damn. Except for maybe when Ignatz genuinely went "oh, that sounds wonderful, (Y/n)!" before the conversation digressed about Leonie's mismatched socks she bought on the market.

Oh, but Raphael and Claude did care when they found out that you might've had a long but faded friendship with at least four of the Blue Lions. Compared to Claude, you trust that Raphael comes from a good place whenever he brings them up. Since he and Ignatz were childhood friends who slowly grew apart, he has your best intentions whenever he suggests something that could reignite your relationship with either Sylvain, Felix, Ingrid, or Prince Dimitri.

Claude, on the other hand…

The house leader first emerged as a shadow, then he sat down and squeezed between you and Raphael, with his arm encircled around your waist. Claude's apparent lack of etiquette went unmentioned by either of you (you suspect Claude is part-Almyran), but you do intend to ignore him later like your "foster brother" does.

"Trading secrets about Prince Dimitri, are we? Won't ya invite poor me along in your little secret meeting?”

You sighed tiredly, "Claude–"

"I was just kidding. No need to give me that face," Claude raised his arms defensively. “My lips are sealed— I never heard a single word between you two, promise.”

The deers were a little leery of your prior association with the crown prince of Faerghus. Claude, who frequently pries into everyone's private affairs, persistently diverted your focus to the Lions. In fact, he once burned your favorite book to forcibly draw your attention to the library so that you'll share the same room with Dimitri. Talk about extremes, really.

But you did notice that there's something off about Claude this time.

“So what brings you here? There’s no way you’ve come here to fish.”

“Yeah, no…” He cringed. “I’d rather do the eating part.”

“Haha, you get it, Claude!” Raphael said before the two men shared a crisp high-five.

Ah, these fawns…

You sighed, “can we skip to the part where you explain why you’re sitting beside me right now?”

“Sure. Leonie wanted me to tell you that Lysithea told her that Lorenz was told by Prof—”

“Do you not know the meaning of “skip”, Riegan?”

“Nah, course I do,” Claude smirked. “It’s just fun to tease people who live in House Gloucester.”

“Sothis, have mercy.”

“As I was saying, Lorenz was told by Professor Byleth to tell you that Sylvain is now part of the Golden Deer.”

“…”

“… What?”

There was no dramatic gasp. Nothing sensational or derogatory comment was elicited from impetuous lips. You simply blinked and said the words "what? as if it were a simple joke. Claude needn’t explain that those were facts. Based on how he approached with worry written on his face that he failed to hide from you, he wasn't jesting.

You're reluctant to speak with Sylvain. You last spoke to him in earnest four years ago. Don't get it twisted, you do want to get back in touch with that philanderer's good graces, but where would you even start?

Dear Sylvain, I’m sorry for ignoring your letters? Dear Sylvain, I’ll reimburse you for all the theater tickets you gifted before without my consent? Dear Sylvain, I’m a garbage best friend?

… Knowing him, he’d likely frame that letter with careful preservation while the ink from his heaps of love letters faded inside his shelf collection. If you were to send similar letters to the other two, Felix would train to become a mortal savant and burn the letter out of spite, and Ingrid would have simply torn them up.

“WOAH!!!”

Raphael's chest caught your attention for a brief moment, and you quickly avoided him, concerned that those wooden buttons will suddenly protrude into your eyes. Your housemate captured the fish without even feeling his buttons tear apart from his outfit.

Goddess Messenger.

That’s quite an expensive catch right there.

But it felt like an omen for something.

“… I’m heading back to my dorm room.”

“Want us to go with you?” Raphael offered, but he reeked of fish.

“No, I’ll head there alone.”

Claude tilted his head, “Sylvain is probably there, you know.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But I’m tired.”

“I just can’t run away from the lions anymore.”

You should’ve taken your words literally.

Instead, the phrase "I need to get over this, fast" resonated in your thoughts, and you bolted as soon as the impulse to settle everything fueled your anxiety. You should have cared if someone got in your way, but you didn't.

“Ngh—” you flinched, bumping into someone’s back. “Whoops— sorry about that—”

You froze as you looked up.

Great. Just your luck.

“… What is there to be forgiven, (Y/n)?”

And of course, he called you by your first name. Your arguments against Raphael were demonstrably false. A futile hoax. Why even try to imagine that he might have forgotten about you?

Dimitri smiled softly, his eyes crinkling in delight. You gulped shakily.

After all, how can the crown prince ever forget his first love?

Now that you took a good look, his hair was much shorter than how it used to be and he grew positively taller. It’s a haircut you took a while to get used to, especially since you recalled how his hair used to hover near his shoulder. Not that you didn’t know about any of this information already. It’s just that you had to reassess those facts after seeing him up close. Perhaps a bit too close for comfort.

If only your last memories with him were as pleasant as his face.

He wanted you as his consort, but you had nothing to offer him. No land, no worthy title befitting for a king’s spouse, and no true inheritance in your arsenal at age 15. But when one has less to lose, they become more introspective. While clinging to Sothis' statue and pleading for life, they gain wisdom. Unlike the prince, you were not naive to what could befall the kingdom if you were to marry him. Instead, you sought asylum by knocking on Uncle Erwin’s door with the few loyal servants to House (L/n) left, and he accepted your offer after days of consideration.

His name will be tarnished as a young traumatized prince who copes by spoiling a love unrequited. But most of all? The loss of his friends and family would’ve developed his separation anxiety towards you more if you stayed.

The prince was something of a doormat teenager. He begged and nearly cried when you had accidentally slipped out that you’ll be allying with House Gloucester– but stopped his outburst the moment you chewed him out with hurtful phrases. Dimitri clung onto you like an affectionate pup and if his childhood self could latch on for the rest of his life, he would in a heartbeat. Perhaps it was the side-effect of being his first friend. He had always been a genuinely kind person, but he was always so caught up in whatever happened in the past.

Was it rational or heartless to leave him and the rest of your companions behind? Likely both, if you were to ask El.

That doesn't mean you don't occasionally catch a glimpse of him at the officer's academy. It's hilarious how, after Dedue performed his duties as a vassal, Dimitri now had to cope with a situation that was identical to yours. A "protector" so dependent… it was as though you were watching the prince try on your shoes. Your “you don’t have to shield me every time we go to the training grounds” line became His Highness’ catchphrase towards his retainer. And you’re not sure what to feel about that.

Was it comedy or plain karma? Likely both, if you were to ask Claude.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you bowed. There would’ve been more eyes on you inside the cafeteria if you hadn’t. Gossips of lese-majeste would’ve stirred even Lindhart awake. “Do you require something from me?”

Formal.

Too formal for him, but not formal enough for you.

Dimitri's brows wrinkled, and you briefly saw his lip tremble. His hands were behind his back, and one of them was discreetly and firmly gripping his wrist. That man had a pained, speechless expression on his face, and you don't hold him responsible when words fall short.

But when words do fail, you wished he could just stop talking whenever he feels overwhelmed.

“I…”

I miss you. So much.

You didn’t need to hear it to know what he wanted to say.

Princess Edelgard was right, Dimitri is wholly predictable.

He cleared his throat, ears turning red.

“It had been so long since we had last spoken, has it not?”

“It has.”

“Around 4 years, so I'd say.”

“Hmm. So it has,” you doubt he noticed how your words were curt and redundant, since he's too busy trying not to melt. “So it has.”

“Are you enjoying the Golden Deer house, s-so far?” Dimitri manufactured a smile. “I’ve heard you and Lorenz made for a wonderful tag team at the last House Tournament.”

Bullshit.

He didn’t just “hear” about it.

You saw him cheer for you giddily in that tournament.

There is nothing he can conceal from you. If he were as cunning as Claude, it might take you some time to discover who was responsible for leaving sloppy, "anonymous" love letters inside your dorm. There were also petals tucked inside. Pink camellias, a sign of longing.

“It’s a feat not worthy of your praise, your Highness.”

Seriously, you don’t want to hear him flatter you anymore.

“Simply untrue,” he shook his head earnestly. “I’ve also heard that—… Y… You are fond of Raphael. As a friend— of course. It’s relieving to know that you have many companions from different walks of life— which is to say, I approve of whoever you talk to, but—”

You’re not deaf. You noticed how much his words were about your relations with others. There’s no other interpretation to this other than jealousy.

Still, his face was red. He must be too caught up in the joy of talking to you that he didn’t care for how envious his words sounded. You laughed curtly. You want to remind him the reason why you left, but you can’t explain a thing despite desperately wanting to, just like him.

Dimitri wants you back, so much so that he's stuttering in every sentence.

But you didn’t reply to his ramblings. Save for the cafeteria hall’s chatter, it was silent. You’ve long accepted in your heart that your family is dead and you ought to coast forward.

And there’s no future where you will cut through a path beside Dimitri.

Besides, House (L/n) had histories of trading tactics with Leicester, and you cannot discount how people refer to your blood as sheeple with its loyalty. It’s a double-edged sword, one you’d utilize well if you close your eyes right now and ignored the heartbreak and yearning in his eyes.

And so, you closed your eyes.

“My apologies, I’m in a hurry so I’m afraid I have to get going. Farewell, Your Highness.”

Dimitri's eyes widened, trying to reach for your arm.

“(Y/n), please wait–”

But you were already gone.

“Hey there, (N/n)!”

It was only when you heard a familiar voice did you open your eyes again.

An attractive and familiar young man lazily leaned on one hand on your door, completely blocking your dorm room. “Are you gonna talk to me now, or are you just going to ignore me for the rest of the school year?”

He’s here.

You steeled yourself.

“Gautier…” You exhaled.

“Oof, “Gautier”, they said,” he frowned. “Not a single “I miss you, Sylvain”? No “gosh, sorry I didn’t talk to you for so long, I was just too shy to admit that I was wrong!”?”

You chuckled nervously.

“Perceptive as ever, I see.” But you weren’t wrong. Becoming a Golden Deer was the right path for you.

“Not perceptive, but hopeful really,” Sylvain shrugged. “Based on that reply, I’m glad my wishful thinking was spot on. You do miss me.”

“I do, but I now just realized I’m not prepared for this conversation,” you said, surprised by your upfront and composed anxiety. That talk with Dimitri seriously drained all the energy you garnered earlier. “Can we do this later?”

“No can do. I shall allow you passage if thee speaks from the heart,” he teased with his signature ladykiller grin. “Go on, say it~”

You sighed, burlesquely exasperated.

The two of you adore theater, so talks like these were commonplace. He’d mask his flaws when confessing sins in this manner, but you prefer to hear his real justifications. In any case, this is just another conquest for him to gad off and hunt some girls in another house— and your new professor is undoubtedly a sight to behold.

“Oh, Sylvain, mine dear friend, thou art missed for nearly half a decade, but mine fear did not condone myself to reach out.”

Like two birds of a feather, you also similarly mask your sentimentality.

Funny how you can easily say you miss Sylvain, but not Dimitri.

Sylvain smiled. Genuinely, this time.

“Good.”

The resolution was surprisingly fast. You were willing to bet you both anticipated a serious confrontation– a meeting that feels like a long-awaited class reunion after a war or so. But no.

The two of you are still flawed yet perceptive idiots after 4 years of not talking.

You both laughed in unison.

What were you worrying about anyway? You knew that at this point if Sylvain was angry at you for leaving, he should have grown tired of that emotion.

His primary grudge had always been the crest system, not you.

You should've had this talk earlier, he's the only one in the Blue Lions you were sure won't blame a crestless noble like you for those circumstances.

“Now move, Gautier.”

He stepped aside smugly.

…

You opened your mouth in surprised indignation.

“Why does my room look clean?”

“I had Mercedes help me clean it up the moment I took a look inside. Seriously, I can’t believe you managed to live in a complete pigsty—”

“It’s like you want to sour our reestablished friendship in under 5 minutes, Sylvie.”

“...”

“What? Too old to be called Sylvie nowadays?”

“No, keep calling me that,”

Sylvain never stopped smiling.

“Oh, and by the way? I miss you too, (N/n).”

“… There you are.”

As soon as Sylvain left the hall to your dorm, he was greeted by the sight of the crown prince lingering in front of the stairways. Unlike Sylvain, he was not leaning on anything while waiting. The prince stood straight, dignified.

Then again, Sylvain knew his royal motivations lie in jealousy— and that’s far from “dignified.”

Sylvain can tell from his stiff stance that Claude was particularly touchy-feely earlier, which was exactly why he requested Lorenz to relay the message instead rather than the house leader. His Highness must’ve seen how close you sat beside Raphael and then Claude. The Golden Deer's leader knew Dimitri was obsessed with you— he probably intended to provoke him for the upcoming Battle of Eagle and Lion. It didn't help that Dimitri had his eyes on you, always. If not him, then Dedue.

Not that Claude's scheme will work. Dimitri was satisfied just to see you smile, even when it pains him to acknowledge that it wasn’t for him or because of him.

Sylvain is an exception to that rule.

Dimitri had a cold glint in his azure eyes, but his gaze all but glared at Sylvain. He had a smidgen of control, for now. But it’s not long until what Sylvain had prophesied about the crown prince quipping a remark or two about staying away from you will occur.

“Waiting for me to explain my random decision, I’m guessing?”

“Oh, I simply liked standing here but sure, Sylvain! I’d dearly love to know the rational thought behind switching houses out of the blue. It is not as if Felix and Ingrid were worried about you,” Dimitri generously gave his princely smile.

Sometimes, Sylvain forgets it was physically possible for someone so austere with himself like Dimitri to say something laced with malicious sarcasm. But Sylvain knew Dimitri stood there because he was still worried about his friend, even when he pretends to be unbothered.

Like bread and butter, Dimitri and forced positivism complement each other disastrously well. The Blue Lions often caught him murmuring things like "I'm delighted (Y/n) is making new friends" or "I hope Claude continues to treat them well" despite having a glum expression on his face, obviously bottling up his envy. Felix finds it as easy as breathing to call him out on this behavior: "Why bother stalking them when you can't handle the envy you feel when they hugged Lorenz or held hands with Marianne? ”

His Highness never answered that question. He thinks had kept his feral thoughts at bay most of the time and will continue to do so.

Still… Raphael, Claude, and then Sylvain… Dimitri can’t catch a break.

Why do all these men keep approaching you?

Will you never recognize the perpetual anguish that befall him the moment you didn't reach for his hand and took Count Gloucester's that day? Have you no sympathy for the man that promised your protection— for the boy you trained and sneaked out when you thought the king wasn't looking? Whenever he wakes up the following morning without you, do you not experience the same emptiness and loneliness that he does?

Was it because he is a "troubled prince" nowadays?

Was it because he couldn't taste anything anymore?

Why did you eat saghert and cream with Ignatz instead of him at the cafeteria?

Why did these men have to ruin the one taste he can recall?

He lies awake every night to the sound of phantom screams from fallen soldiers, friends, and family against his hand-covered ears.

But you were his solace. His “God/dess”.

And just like with the Goddess Sothis, he lacked the means to grasp your hand...

If only his cold hands could wring those men's necks as well...

“... Do you really want to know, Your Highness?”

It took Dimitri a while before he snapped out of his trance. His voice dipped low, his breathing uneasy, and his eyes lacked focus.

Sylvain looked at him with pity Dimitri wished you spared him instead.

“Yes,” he exhaled. “It shall help our friends put their minds at ease.”

“Well, well, you're sure it's not because you'll miss me?”

“Sylvain.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll tell you,” Sylvain dreamily gazed up at the sky and boldly proclaimed:

“The new professor was hot.”

“Sylvain!—”

“Calm down, Your Highness! That was just a joke.”

Unlikely.

“I joined because (Y/n) is there.”

Dimitri froze.

The meaning behind those words could either be tolerable or impermissible enough to make the prince push Sylvain to the training grounds without remorse.

Sylvain’s not going to try and suddenly woo you now, will he?

You did grow more gorgeous after four years after all…

But Sylvain can't have you— Dimitri might just lose it. Out of everyone on campus, he refuses to let an adamant skirt-chaser take you.

“… Elaborate.”

“Elaborate? What’s there to elaborate?” Sylvain crossed his arms behind his back, now back to his laissez-faire attitude in life. He cackled to himself, absolutely unrepentant. “Is it bad that I want to reunite with an old friend? You know, before they were your friend, they were mine. Don’t forget that we’re both older than you, Dimitri.”

Multiple considerations led to why Sylvain chose to frolic with the deers rather than squander the school year at the lion’s den. One of these includes avoiding Ingrid’s nagging— he can’t be bothered having a pegasus pecking around while he galavants with (unfortunate) women.

But most of it boiled down to reunite with the one platonic relationship he missed.

Sylvain became Dimitri’s ally through you. Had you not approached Sylvain and Dimitri during one of King Lambert’s birthday celebrations, they wouldn’t have initiated a friendship through a children’s version of a bergamot tea party away from drunken nobility. More opportunities to befriend the prince would’ve likely presented themselves through Ingrid and Felix, but that memory of tiny cups and tea-stained shoes was special because it had you.

Because you were smart and kind enough to drag Sylvain out of his older brother’s schemes of public humiliation under the guise of being “invited” to an audience with royalty.

You were more of a sibling than Miklan ever was.

“By two years,” Dimitri stressed. “You’re only older than me by two years.”

“Your point? Doesn’t change the fact that compared to most students this year, we’re one of the older ones.”

He bit his bottom lip.

Age was one of Dimitri’s insecurities. It cannot be helped— if he were only older, people would’ve listened to his testimony for the people of Duscur more seriously— if he were only older, he would’ve had control over his uncle—

Dimitri’s knuckles grew white underneath his gloves.

If he were only older, then maybe you would’ve stayed by his side.

“What a lark. Are you attempting to compete on who had a better relationship with (Y/n)?”

“No, Your Highness, YOU are.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized that those pointed words he spoke aimed towards himself like a misthrown javelin.

"Let’s be honest, Your Highness. I’m saying this as a friend, but you could be a bit tone-deaf and insufferable around them,” Sylvain deadpanned. “You had some serious attachment issues and you never listen when they tell you to stop with all those creepy comments about protecting them forever.”

“Is… Is that so?”

Dimitri muttered to himself while looking at his shoes, sounding almost broken. He had doubts, but Sylvain’s words practically cemented that you’d be unwilling to spend time with him again.

“Besides, if this were a competition, you lost the moment I waited at their dorm.”

The prince’s head snapped back up like a confused puppy.

“Why is that?”

What a horrible thing to ask.

“Because (Y/n) just told me that they missed me,” Sylvain smirked.

“And if you were there, you could’ve heard them call me Sylvie too, just like the good old days.”

Since that talk with Sylvain, Dimitri wanted to make you as lonely as him.

Oh, how he badly wanted to whisk you away from that house– oh just how much he wished he could force you to wear his cape– to wear the color of the lions.

But none of that matters now.

You look prettier when doused in splattered red.

The soil sipped the blood that drained from Ignatz's head. It reminded you of the time you asked the painter if he could use blood as a dye. If he were to watch this scene, he would've waxed poetic about how he will be simply returning his life to the earth, but the beauty of death is lost on you. The gravity of war weighed far more than the theatrics of what-he-would've-spoken.

It’s been five years since the war started.

You had lost your voice two years ago the moment Dimitri kidnapped you on your expedition to Garreg Mach— you’ve mistaken him for a bandit and in a blind rage, he dealt a massive blow to your neck. Dimitri didn’t mind that you had lost your ability to speak he seemed to relish that you’re similarly deformed. He romanticized both your disabilities often. A “God/dess” who couldn’t speak and a “boar” who couldn’t quite see. What a royal pair indeed…

You can’t say your prayers now, but you hoped thinking about praying for Ignatz was enough…

Ignatz should've turned 22 this year. Based on the way he last behaved, he didn't seem prepared for this war and had been misplaced by Professor Byleth.

You’ll never be able to eat saghert and cream with him again.

You can't remember what tactic you used in this battle. Was it Felix who was assigned to stick ten feet away from you who had slain Ignatz? Or was it Ingrid who rode her pegasus to stab the sniper in a suicidal fashion?

This entire battle is a blur. You can no longer stand straight and aim your sword reluctantly toward anyone.

Why can't everything go back to how it was before? Why can't you just fish at the Great Bridge of Myrddin with Uncle Erwin again?

You wobbled down the grass as a wyvern obstructed your view with its proud albino scales cruising the sky. Claude sits atop, his face stony through a nearly unrecognizable expression of placid anger. His emerald eyes inevitably met yours.

You didn't stand with your sword supporting you, and he didn't draw his bow either. Instead, before leaving to find the bright red target everyone called an "Emperor", Claude mouthed words that only you two could understand. You uttered nothing in response. Even if Claude were to succeed, his scheme would be futile.

Sylvain can’t save you from Dimitri.

Like a fairytale, it begins and ends with the crown prince. It always had.

But if Dimitri was the protagonist of this story, then pray tell, what does that make you?

A damsel in distress?

The king's court jester?

All you ever wanted was for House (L/n) to survive, to preserve your family name and dwindling territory against House Charon. You desired the opportunity to emulate your father. A fearless front-liner and a skilled tactician.

However, you have not taken any real action to end this war. You moved like a weak infantry, unable to maintain balance on one leg or call out for upcoming danger.

You just can’t run away from the lions anymore.

"Get up."

You couldn't move, mortified.

His Highness is back.

"I said GET UP!!!"

His iron-like hands yanked your hair up, and you felt some of it weeded out by his sheer brute force. You wept immediately but held back tears. Despite your commitment to keeping your composure, he had torn away what little hold you had left on what you call "stability." Your knees shook as his tall figure began to drag you away. Each step felt more jagged than the last. Your heart beat erratically as you worried about toppling down– and when you inevitably did, he was there to pick you up.

For Dimitri, this situation was advantageous. Most Golden Deers are here, which meant he had opportunities to route them all. He had already stabbed Ignatz, incessantly. Each draw of his lance— each crack of the artist’s glasses and bones— rejuvenated whatever youth war had stolen from him. The future king of lions couldn’t stop grinning maniacally as his eyes lay upon a deer’s corpse. It was as if his sense of taste was coming back. All of his soldiers and classmates were too terrified to stop his senseless slaughter. If Gustave did not scold him about the oncoming army, he would’ve continued damaging the corpse senselessly.

But it’s only a matter of time until he shoots for the leader of the herd as well.

He still hasn’t forgiven him for using his beloved against him back at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. This was the perfect opportunity for revenge. Once they’re out of the picture, then it’s only Edelgard left who he had to worry about— but until then, he’ll have to take the deers’ lives for stealing his beloved away.

Shame that Lorenz had yet to be found.

"Tch. Fool."

He cradled you like a bride but gripped your jaw like a hostage. Dimitri's current appearance is much too different from what he used to be. Sweat and blood had greased up his unruly hair, and the blue cloak that was slung over his shoulders was much dirtier.

"I command you to eat."

It was almost sweet. Almost kind when his voice softened for just a millisecond. Almost touching how his one eye gazed upon your sunken features with disdain.

But your appreciation for it all vanished the moment he robbed something from Ignatz's corpse.

"Eat."

He shoved onto you Ignatz's last bloody loaf of bread. It was hard, yet soaked.

Your throat couldn't express how terrified you were upon holding it.

"Gone deaf as well, have we?"

He pushed the bread closer to your chest, effectively crushing it against you. Dimitri breathed against your ear.

"I SAID: EAT.”

Your tears and Ignatz's blood salted your food.

The bread tasted just like the ones Raphael's family had in their inn.

Ignatz… He probably got this from Raphael… Which means he's in Gronder as well…

You sobbed as you took a feeble bite.

Please… Please be safe, Raphael.

Dimitri saw your struggle. He saw your continued concern for those who were after his life and yours. Why do you spare sympathy for the bodies that got in the way between you and him? They did not warrant those tears. The weak must fall— even he too will join them someday.

And so, Dimitri closed his eye.

You’ve gone fragile in his arms, and that was not spoken in a romantic sense. He had fractured your right leg enough to make you use your sword as a cane, yet he insists on dragging you in combat. Time and time again, he forces you to witness what he is capable of and more till you’re unable to write complaints.

Dimitri wanted to reassure you that you’re on the right side of history.

That you can cut a path beside him— you just weren’t trying hard enough before.

And it was a challenge the prince can’t easily scale. You never showed your appreciation for longer than a minute. When he learned how to dance begrudgingly with El after she had poisoned him with thoughts that he could use her teachings someday to dance with you— you dared to ask Sylvain out during the White Heron Cup. When he tried to give you a more fancy dagger as well during El’s parting, you admired Sylvain’s coincidental parcel of theater tickets and tea leaves instead.

Sylvain, Sylvain, Sylvain—

It was always Sylvain.

His entire body shook from laughter. You shriveled in fear as his voice echoed throughout the battlefield.

The beast put you down underneath a tree's shade that he deemed as safe.

… and kissed your forehead.

“I can see him approaching us.”

Dimitri cooed mockingly.

“Shall I decapitate and mount that filthy rat's head on a silver plate?”

You didn’t need to hear him utter his name to know he was referring to Sylvain. It was tempting to challenge him on how he could say such a thing about someone who had once been a friend, but that inquiry wouldn't help. Dimitri cupped your face and wiped your tears away with his rough and heavy hands. You flinch so easily nowadays.

How adorable.

Five years ago, you won't move a muscle whenever he kissed your forehead good night.

Five years ago, he worried about accidentally waking you up and exposing himself for breaking into your dorm so often just to drop his unhinged love letters.

Five years ago, watching you rest allowed moments of respite.

However, it didn’t invigorate him as much as your tears did now.

“Fret not, my fellow monster, I shall fetch it for you,”

He tightened his grip on his areadbhar, scanning the right field. The lance's crest stone glowed, and there was no looking back after that.

You’re here now, and he will NEVER let you leave. He won’t have a repeat of what had occurred when Count Gloucester was present around nine years ago or so. He’ll protect you this time, and it no longer mattered to him if he were a corpse or a monster in your eyes. It mattered not that he no longer slept. He intends to keep you alive and by his side, just like what he had promised in his childhood.

You can't even begin to imagine how much being away from you ruined him.

He had reached the point where he will kill everyone that tried to touch you, and he won’t have someone else do it, too.

Was this love or obsession? Likely both, if you were to ask Lady Rhea.

But what does Rhea know about Dimitri’s mental state anyways? She’s been missing for years now, she might as well be dead to you.

Without thinking, you grabbed his cloak. He patted your head but his eyes were locked on the cavalry unit from afar, and the dark and sinister smirk on his face solidified your fears.

Sylvain approached faster, and you did your best not to cry.

If he dares to fight Dimitri in the state he is now, then he might as well be a dead man walking too.

You wished you didn’t have to join the Golden Deer house— you wished Sylvain didn’t follow suit— and you wish you didn’t leave Sylvain behind. You did not doubt that if it hadn’t been for you, Dimitri would have concentrated only on Edelgard and joined forces with Claude to eliminate her. It would have given this historical period a more coordinated scheme. History won’t have to remember you as the catalyst that made things worse.

"(N/n)!"

You heard Sylvain yell from behind Dimitri, which only made your heart ache more.

It's been years since you last heard his voice again.

Dimitri took your warm hands and brushed his cheek against it, no matter how obvious it was that your eyes yearned for someone else’s touch.

He looked at you with such a soft gaze that you nearly forgot the monster he had become.

“Once we hang his head on our bedroom wall, you have no right to complain about missing “Sylvie” ever again, my beloved.”

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #dimitri x reader #yandere dimitri #yandere dimitri x reader #yandere fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #fe dimitri #fe dimitri x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem 3 houses #yandere dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #yandere fire emblem: three houses #ansy-writes #ansy-comms #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd

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thenightling · 1 year ago

Text

Why is Loki Called Skywalker? Answer: No, it is NOT a Star Wars reference! You have it backward!

Answer for Why is Loki called "Skywalker" in The Sandman: Season of Mists?

I've seen this questioned a lot lately.

"Why is Loki called Skywalker?" "Is it because he's dressed like a cross between Hon Solo and Luke? Lol! Love it!"

Eh... No. (though I admit he does look like that in that artwork, doesn't he?)

Loki actually had the title before Luke. George Lucas was the one making a reference to Loki, not Loki making reference to George Lucas.

Darth Vader was from the Dutch to mean Dark Father. And Anikin meant a type of giant. Get it? Giant Dark Father. Father of Loki... I mean Luke. It was George Lucas who made the reference. Loki had the name first.

It's a bit like when younger people get weirded out to find out "Canon" originally was used to mean "What is considered true within the Catholic religion." The Catholic church used it first before the word Canon was applied to "Is it true within this work of fiction." In fact canonization is the term used to mean officially acknowledging someone is a saint.

Now... To answer the question of why is Loki called Skywalker?

Well, he is the trickster God.

Skywalker (sometimes translated as Sky-treader) means Loki could travel fast and easily between realms. (Yes, without need of the Bifrost.)

One explanation for this power was given later with the concept of the Seven-League Boots.

A popular trope in European folktales are a magical pair of boots known as The Seven-league boots (roughly twenty one miles as a league is three miles). The boots could let you travel twenty one miles with a single step and could allow the wearer to walk on anything including shadows, mist, and moonbeams.

You could pass from one world to another such as the realm of Faerie with a mere thought.

One of my favorite mentions of the Seven-League boots is in Goethe's Faust Part 1.

In Marvel's Loki: Agent of Asgard, Loki has the Seven-league boots and this is cleverly tied to the Faust depiction of them becuase Loki stole them from Mephisto (who is also the demon from Faust, besides being an antagonist in Marvel comics).

Some more contemporary variations of the Loki myths suggest he's always had seven-league boots, which accounted for his unique ability to travel easier than the other Norse Gods.

#Loki #Luke SKywalker #Loki Skywalker #Loki Laufeyson #Norse Mythology #Asatru #Norse Myths #Neil Gaiman #Heathen #Heatenry #George Lucas #Star Wars #The Sandman #Sandman #Marvel #Loki: Agent of Asgard #DC Comics #DC

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wexhappyxfew · 15 days ago

Note

Shannon please put this on a backburner if you're busy (and I mentioned this in the tags of my last reblog) but in your last Benny/Margie fic you said, "she tumbled in, clinging to Major Cleven's jacket" and a protective Buck being the first one Margie sees is a *need* if you've got the inspiration. -- @softspeirs

KATIE!!!!! @softspeirs it has been a minute since you sent this in (much longer than i intended), BUT, i have since written up my interpretation of this little moment. not only do we get a hint at the friendship between margie and buck (!!!!), but we also get some hints of margie x benny in there, too. enough where benny has his freak-out moment (and equally valid moment). this was honestly so much fun to write - from beginning to end. exploring connections i haven't been able to previously, so thank you so much for that!!! i sincerely hope you enjoy my interpretation of buck cleven!! <3333

heard you the first time

(a/n): the 'before piece' of this margie harlowe piece, featuring the friendship of margie and buck, a smidge of margie x benny, and the rest of the crew in the stalag, complete with annie bradshaw and bucky egan as rising stars. by far one of my favorite pieces to write and develop and dig into. a bit of a warning for some heavier topics, as margie is clearly going through a difficult mental battle, along with trauma that she has since experienced and gone through. thank you all for reading! please enjoy! :)

The deceptive nature of a war was something one could easily have as hard of a time getting used to; nearly as much as a simple card trick or removal of a mask.

Dealing with the aftermath of such was something no one was inherently ready for.

The fragile form that was Marjorie Harlowe, stumbling in the main gates of the Stalag was something far from the reality Buck Cleven had hoped to see upon Lieutenant Harlowe turning up - better yet, her turning up alive.

From Buck's position behind the barbed wire fence, the farthest he'd ever felt from a member of the 100th, despite her being just 50 feet away, at the entrance of the gates, had his blood pumping and his worry spiking off the charts.

There was something about that distant look in her eye as she looked around warily, trying to keep herself up on her own two legs, her clothing in the poorest condition he'd seen any of the women come in with, and a look on her face that evidently displayed whatever horror she had been through and had to both see and witness.

Buck had always kept an eye out for Margie Harlowe ever since they crossed paths before heading out for Greenland - a run in near the bar where groups had gathered and news had spread that an all-female B-17 crew was being immersed into the 100th. She was almost like a younger sibling to him and if anything, allowed him to bring out a looser side of himself than normal.

The group that was coming in now looked worse off than the last groups had been - at least they'd been able to confidently stand on two feet and move their limbs. This group looked beat to a pulp, half-stumbling, half-falling just to keep themselves from looking weak in front of the unfamiliar and unknown. The yelling of names around him was nearly going to send him over the edge as he pushed to the front of the group and braced as the barbed wire came in contact with his form. Pressing forward, the crusher cap on his head tilting side ways, he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Harlowe!" he yelled, his voice sounding more hoarse than it had in recent days, "Harlowe!" Buck was able to watch, through a strained gaze, as Margie managed to pull her head upwards from the ground and get a glimpse in a general direction of the voice. Just at the sight of him it seemed, she collapsed and Buck's heart leapt into his throat.

"Margie!" Buck yelled, his voice causing others around him to snap shut quietly, his eyes turning to the second set of entrance gates.

Immediately, he was pushing through the layers of people pressing themselves earnestly against the wire and wood, desperate for a look to see if a friend had survived, a comrade that had since fallen from the sky just like the rest of them.

Hurriedly looking over his shoulder as he pushed through the crowd of pilots and American men, he could make out one of the German soldiers standing over her, yelling and spitting, harsh German spilling down upon her - he wanted her to get up. The German kept poking her with the muzzle of the rifle as she lie there.

"Get up." Buck whispered to himself as he pushed through towards the second entrance gate, which slowly opened, allowing the new wave of arrivals to flood inwards, "Get up, Margie, please."

Buck rounded around half of the swinging gate and watched as Margie rolled herself on her side and tried to push upward. She looked exhausted, entirely depleted of herself and who she was; nothing more than the shell of a human with the instinct to survive. It broke Buck's heart to even have to see someone, a human being, like that in this very moment.

"Harlowe!" Buck called as he pushed through the new arrivals, moving past swinging arms and shoulders, side-stepping and keeping his eyes on Margie there on the ground.

"Up! Up!" the German yelled over her as Buck moved closer, "Get up!" In an instant, the German kicked and a blood-curdling scream ripped out of Margie's mouth.

Buck felt himself freeze for a split-second, his entire body growing cold as he watched the German do it again, a weak whimper from Margie to follow as tears trailed down her dirtied and bloodied face, her gaunt cheeks matching the bloodshot tint of her eyes, her hair, once bright and blonde and lush, now short, hap-hazardously cut and filled with scraps of dirt and mud. Buck watched as the German went to kick again, but Buck couldn't take it.

He stepped forward.

"Harlowe!" he yelled, quickly falling to his knees, watching as the German froze there, watching him with wide, stone-cold eyes as Buck's hands made contact with Margie. He noticed her flinch at his touch, her entire body reflecting the pain and the past all at once. Buck lowered his head and watched as Margie's eyes cracked open in fear, her breathing erratic, her body trembling.

"Margie, it's me. It's Buck Cleven." he said quietly, reaching forward to gently move his hand under her head to get her up, "You gotta stand for me."

"B-Buck." she managed out quickly, her hands frantically scrambling for his arms as she let him help her to get herself situated, before clinging to him like a frightened child, weak cries coming from her lips as Buck held her as tight as he possibly could, looking towards the German.

"Move." the German spat, taking a step closer, "Out!" Buck stared back at the German coldly, watching with a steadiness he hadn't been able to scrounge before and bit his tongue, holding back any words that could make the situation worse than it already was.

Buck's mind seemed to feel a million miles away as he began to take on the reality of the situation.

Margie.

Margie Harlowe was barely alive in his arms and he needed to get away from this German before they were both dead and more importantly, get her to a bed, to a quiet room, filled with people who'd fight the end of the war just to keep her alive.

Benny DeMarco.

Buck's heart clenched at the thought, knowing Benny was already mulling things over with others making conclusions about it all. How Margie had been thought to be as good as dead just 24 hours ago, when it had been over two weeks since a new Silver Bullets arrival. He couldn't imagine the horror on the rest of the mens' faces, nor Bradshaw, Farley or Carlisle. He could imagine Annie Bradshaw - hot on his heels, going through hell and high water, causing a storm to blow up - he knew she'd have someone's head if it weren't for the fact they were prisoners in a camp made specifically for them.

Annie Bradshaw was going to lose it - and the fact Buck was even struggling to maintain composure was a sure sign.

"Margie, we gotta move, you gotta keep yourself awake." Buck whispered quietly, moving his eyes in the direction of the second gate, "Keep moving."

"Buck." whimpered Margie, her tiny fists balled in his jacket as her legs flopped about, her limbs depleted, any energy she had once had gone. God, it scared him beyond compare seeing one of the Silver Bullets women like this - so far from the person they once were.

"I'm here Margie, I'm here." Buck said as they passed the second gate and he started for the bunkhouse, "You gotta keep your eyes open."

"Buck." Margie managed again - his name, she kept repeating it over and over - like convincing herself this was real, that he was real. He placed his hand on her side of her head, pushing it against his inner shoulder to stabilize.

"Buck," Margie managed, her voice pained, "t-they hit me, Buck. They h-hit me all over." Buck's blood ran cold at her words, legs nearly stuttering to a stop as she said those words.

One could take a few guesses as to what had transpired before Margie Harlowe had arrived, but with her current state, Buck's heart fell. And it fell right to his feet, causing his grip to loosen and his mind to twist. He stopped with Margie there curled into his side and looked down at her, grimacing and whimpering into his side, trying to stay on two shaky legs.

Anger hit him first - anger for her, with the Germans, with this war, with how the Germans had left her, her current state and condition.

Guilt coursed next - he would never be able to protect them all - all the 100th, all the Silver Bullets crew, the very people in this group of people here now. 1943 and a stalemate for the war and nothing would ever seem to change.

"It hurts. So much." Margie whispered, her voice cracking, "Everywhere." Buck couldn't take it.

"Margie." muttered Buck, getting a better grasp on Margie, "We gotta keep moving, Margie, get you in the bunkhouse. Where it's safe. Safe, alright?" A weak whimper seemed to escape her lips as she curled against him, as if to hide away in whatever comfort him and his heavy overcoat could provide.

Oh Annie Bradshaw was going to lose her mind.

Coming upon the bunkhouse, Buck felt Margie's grip on his coat and arms tighten as she looked upwards at the building.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head frantically, shoving at his arms, as if to try and break free, "no, no, no, NO." Pulling herself out of his grasp, she flopped onto the ground weakly, before moving to curl into a ball.

"Margie-" Buck started, scrambling to crouch beside her on the ground, where dirt now had smeared upon the clothes hanging off her body and her dirtied, bloodied face, "Margie, you'll be safe."

"No, I can't." whimpered Margie, writhing like a wounded animal, "I can't, please don't make me." She looked up at him with barely opened eyes, peering at him through glossy tears and bruised cheeks, her lip quivering, hands grasping at the Earth to grab hold.

"No one in there will hurt you, alright, Margie?" Buck said, placing a hand on the side of her face gently, bracing as she flinched at the touch, "Annie's there, Farley and Carlisle, too. We got a whole crew of our guys in there." Margie continued to shake but grew quiet instead.

"I promise you, nothing in there will hurt you." Buck repeated, watching as recognition attempted to flicker in her gaze. Buck's mind began to race a little.

"Let me help you up, okay?" he asked her quietly. She stared at him, flush to the ground like dead weight.

"I can't let them know what they did to me." Margie whispered softly, her voice trembling, "I can't let them know."

"Who's they?" Buck asked her quietly back, ignoring the looks of others passing by, their lingering gazes catching on them here on the ground.

"Them." Margie whispered, "Those people that held me captive until the Germans came for me. Caught me like a wild animal, tied me up to a wall and left me with nothing but darkness and the cold." Margie's eyes welled with tears. "You can't let them know."

"Who know?"

"Them." Margie whispered. She either wasn't making sense or Buck's mind was going, but all he knew was that she needed to get inside and he needed to keep her talking.

"Let me help you stand." Buck said again and Margie, this time nodded. Buck reached out, grabbing her frail arms, and slowly pulled her to her feet, placing her promptly upwards, before wrapping an arm around her form and nodding to the bunkhouse.

"I promise you'll be safe in here," he repeated to her quietly, "I swear to you." Margie looked up at him, with such a profound fear and sadness in her eyes that he felt his heart rate begin to pick up.

"C'mon." Buck said quietly, slowly nudging her forward. As they moved up the steps, Margie began to cry from beside him, each painful little breakage of emotion that slipped out of her, causing his insides to twist in a sickening way.

What had happened to her?

Moving down the hall to their room, Margie began to slip from his grasp, her legs giving out from under her as she clung to his coat and his form, her shaky body nearly bumping into every bit of wall as they moved.

As they came to their door, Margie holding onto him like life or death, Annie Bradshaw came over the threshold. And her eyes immediately went to the sobbing Margie Harlowe hanging off of him. Buck saw a glint of anger flash through Annie's gaze, something he had grown accustomed to after a few officer outings and conversations at the flying club. But then there was grief and sadness and something else he was sure he'd never fully be able to grasp.

Before Annie came to them, she leaned back over her shoulder and yelled back into the room.

"Someone get some warm water and a towel! Get some soup going, open up a bed!" Annie called, before looking forward again, her face growing with horror by the second.

"Wait, what's going on?" Brady's voice called from inside, as other sets of eyes began to appear, looking their way or moving to look through the doorway.

"It's Margie-" Buck began to hear people say, bodies bustling and beginning to move, the glimpse of a frozen Kennedy somewhere by the stove as she stared, numb and with tears in her eyes.

"What happened?" Annie asked as she stepped forward and slowly looked to peer at Margie's eyes.

"I don't know." Buck managed out, swallowing as Margie's grip tightened.

"Margie? It's me, Annie." Annie said, reaching forward to place a hand on her flight engineer's back only to be met with Margie flinching and beginning to cry again.

"You can't make me." Margie cried out, causing heads from inside to turn and look towards the door, "You can't make me go in there!" Annie met Buck's gaze; he felt helpless in all the ways there could be. He was half keeping Margie standing and trying to usher her in the room. She was in near hysterics, with no one having a clue what had happened and simply being in need of the ones who cared for her most. And she didn't want it.

"You'll be safe in here, Margie, it's Annie. Annie Bradshaw." Annie said quietly and desperately, keeping her voice low.

"They're in there," whimpered Margie, shoving her face into Buck's coat as he kept a firm grip on her tattered A2, "they're in there, I know it." Annie looked to Buck again who clenched his jaw before keeping a steady hand on Margie's back.

"Margie, you have to go in the room," Buck said, "you'll be safe."

"No, please, don't make me do it!"

"Who is they?" Annie asked quietly and Margie froze. Her body shuttered, as if preparing to scream, but instead she looked over at Annie with wide, bloodshot eyes.

"They tried to kill me, they were trying to kill me-"

"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on over here?" a voice called from down the hall. Buck looked away from Annie and found Bucky and Benny coming down the hall, some potatoes in hand, confused looks on their faces.

"If anyone tried to kill anyone here, I'll-" Bucky stopped mid-sentence, just as Benny came up beside him with a content look on his face only to freeze, "Margie."

For a moment, it was completely silent as they all stood there. Buck watched Benny the most - the way his face dropped completely, his eyes immediately all over Margie - her clothes, her scrunched face, the tears on her cheeks, the mud plastered upon her clothing, the blood. Buck saw it building on Benny's face - the anger. His blood boiling.

"Benny-" Buck started, only to watch Benny grit his teeth, eyes flaring wide, the potatoes in his hands slamming to the ground.

"What the fuck is going-"

"DeMarco." Annie snapped, stepping forward, placing a hand on Buck's arm, "You need to calm down." Annie dropped her voice. "She's terrified." Benny stared at Annie, his eyes darting over Annie's shoulder again only to refocus again.

"What the hell happened to her." he said, more of a statement, rather than a question, his eyes blazing to Buck, who stared at him. Benny was going to start losing it. Margie's grip was tightening.

"We don't know," Annie said, glancing up at Bucky who was now looking into the bunkroom, meeting the eyes of Kennedy, "but raising our voices and arguing is not going to help in any way, shape or form, so I highly suggest every one of you shuts your mouth." Annie met each of their eyes before looking back to Margie again.

"We can settle her in my bunk." Annie said quietly, before looking towards Margie again, "Hey, Margie, you ready to get some warm soup?" Margie was quiet standing there curled into his jacket, quivering, he could feel her trembling.

Buck took a slow glance at Benny, watching as the Captain's shoulders rose up and down in a pounding fashion, evidently upset and angered all at once, his emotions in a multitude of directions.

Captain Benny DeMarco wasn't one to lose his temper like this it seemed. But, in this moment, Buck could take two guesses as to the fact it was about to happen.

"I can't." Margie managed out, her voice hoarse, throat sounding raw with emotion and tears to follow, "Please, I can't, they're in there." The group went quiet around her, as Buck glanced upwards to Bessie who had come forward with a hot towel, Hambone behind her with a spoon, Brady appearing with a blanket. What had to hurt the most was that these were all people standing around her now that had cared for Margie for months before this. Some for years. Yet, they were almost unrecognizable.

"That's it-" Benny started, before starting to turn, unclenching his jaw and pointing towards the door, his footsteps becoming quick.

"Benny-" Bucky started, but was quickly cut off.

"What the fuck did you do to her!" Benny yelled, his footsteps beginning to move down the hall, his voice echoing off the sodden wood, Buck's eardrums ringing with a clammer.

"Benny, lower your goddamn voice!" Bucky called to him, moving from the group, forcefully grabbing Benny's shoulder and pushing it back, "You're gonna freak her out more!"

"They did something to her, Bucky, they did something to her and scared the shit out of her and-"

"Listen, you gotta calm the fuck down-" Bucky started in. Buck turned his head slowly away from the rumbling scene and looked to Margie, landlocked onto his jacket still. The hour was desperate.

"Don't tell me to calm down-"

"You get any louder and you're going to freak her out even more, ya hear?!"

"You two have to shut up." Annie yelled, raising her voice the loudest he'd ever heard her do so, "If you need to be yelling so much, go find a different wall to bark up, okay? We don't have time to listen to you two right now." Both Bucky and Benny stopped, staring each other down.

"Don't go making more problems." Bucky said calmly as Benny stared coldly.

"Then they gotta stop doing stuff that make me want to." Benny answered, narrowing his gaze. Buck slowly turned his gaze back to Margie and watched as Annie slowly placed a hand against her cheek, gazing into her eyes in the most calming and present way. To let her know she wasn't alone and that these were people that cared for her. Right here.

"It'll be okay, you can stay in my bunk," Annie said quietly, before glancing at Buck, "I can take it from here." Buck nodded, watching as Annie took hold of Margie's hands, taking them into her own before Margie was latching onto Annie, trembling and shaking, eyes unfocused, as Annie led the two of them into the room.

He watched, like a stagnant figure, as Brady came forward, wrapping a blanket around Margie's shoulders before guiding her over towards where Annie bunked out, disappearing from his line of sight.

Buck set his eyes on Benny, now looking towards the doorway where Margie had disappeared into, his eyes a mixture of contempt, torment and sadness. Bucky was still there, standing in front of Benny, hands on the Captain's shoulders, as if letting go would unleash the chaos Benny was still holding back.

"Benny…." Buck said closing the space between him and the two of them, coming up on Bucky's side to look at the Captain's face, "calm yourself down before you go walking in there, okay?" Benny watched Buck, his gaze narrowed, jaw clenched, shoulders and neck filled with a tight tension.

People that had been peering out of other bunkrooms to see the commotion, were now turning away, moving to leave out the door, or going back to minding their business. It was relatively quiet and calm. And for once, silent. Buck continued watching Benny.

"She's freaked out enough as it is," Bucky started, "did you hear what she was saying-"

"I heard every goddamn word she was saying, what happened to her?" Benny said quickly, leaning forward towards Bucky, "I'm gonna kill whoever did that to her-"

"Benny." Buck said, reaching forward to place a hand on the man's shoulder, "We'll figure that all out. But for now. What you gotta focus on? Calming down. You gotta keep it in your mind - Margie is here and she's alive. Albeit, we wish in a better situation. But she's here, with us, safe for the moment and alive." Buck watched him. "You freaking out won't help us out anymore. And scaring her further isn't going to do us any good." Benny looked helplessly towards the door again before looking back at Buck.

"She'll be okay," Bucky said quietly, patting Benny's shoulder, "you got Annie Bradshaw in there ready to tear the eye sockets outta someone it seems. Margie's in good hands."

"Yeah," Buck agreed, a small smile on his face, "she looked ready to go out there and let someone have it." Benny managed a slight smile on his face, the worry and concern that had been hidden by anger, beginning to emerge on his features. Buck could tell Benny was at a bit of a loss for words other than expletives, along with feelings he couldn't quite reel in.

"I shouldn't have lost my temper-"

"Benny," Buck said quietly, offering a slight smile, "just go in there, do what you can to help. We'll all make sure she feels safe and comfortable, okay? She's here now." Benny nodded at his words before letting out a deep breath.

"I'm real sorry again-"

"Benny." Bucky said leaning forward a smile on his face, voice low, "Pick up your goddamn potatoes, shut your mouth and get in there." Benny couldn't seem to help but manage a small smile at those words, dropping is head before glancing upwards at Bucky with a smile.

"Yes, sir, alright?" Benny said, before turning, gathering up his potatoes and pausing by the door. Buck watched as he took a deep breath, before stepping inside. Buck grew quiet beside Bucky, eyes still trained on where Benny had been standing before entering, before Bucky nudged his shoulder.

"What the hell do you think they did to her?" Bucky asked him, his gaze narrowed, eyes set on the doorway and his face like a stone. Buck glanced his way and set his jaw firmly.

"We'll let her rest, get herself back in order. Give her time." Buck said, "But I don't know…..whatever happened, clearly it was enough to convince her that it's still happening." Bucky let out a low whistle and righted his feet before crossing his arms and leaning up against the opposite wall of Buck.

"You think they did something to her?" Bucky asked, tilting his head, anger pooling in his eyes, "I think Benny was onto something, I could shove their heads right down into the dirt-"

"Bucky." Buck said, shifting his weight as he watched him, "Now, you're sounding just as bad as Benny."

"You see the look on her face?" Bucky asked him, "They touch any one of those women, and they're dead." Buck knew there was no use arguing, especially when truer words had never been spoken and rightfully shut his mouth.

"C'mon," Buck said, nodding his head towards the door, "she needs us." Bucky slowly pushed up from the wall before following towards the bunkhouse doorway.

"I swear to God, Buck." Bucky said pausing to look at him, jaw clenched.

"If one of those officers comes in and messes with any one of us, you'll have their head," Buck said, a slight upturn of a grin on his face. Bucky watched him. Buck gave him a pat on the shoulder and a smirk.

"I heard you the first time."

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