#military glamour

[nocternalrandomness]

Roxanne Fumero aka Miss Captain Bombshell

[valkariel]

Camo

Eyepatch toggle-able via /visor.

Head: Neo-Ishgardian Cap of Aiming - marsh green Body: Light-heavy Jacket of Aiming - default / acorn brown Hands: Night of Devilry Fingerless Gloves - default Legs: Skyworker's Bottoms - default Feet: Urban Boots - default / acorn brown

Earring: The Emperor's New Earrings Neck: Dark Mahogany Necklace of Aiming Wrists: The Emperor's New Bracelet Right Ring: The Emperor's New Ring Left Ring: The Emperor's New Ring

Main Hand: -- Off Hand: --

Fashion Accessory: -- Minion: -- Mount: -- Location: Shaaloani - Sheshenewezi Springs

Shader: Faeberry Bloom

[maiamore]

STAR-STRUCK

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k

Summary: You’re a fresh-faced production assistant for known action star Joel Miller. He’s not quite what you expected–but neither are you.

Tags: actor!joel x production assist reader, action film set, no use of y/n, rough/dom Joel, use of the word ‘kid’, mirror sex, rough sex, unprotected pinv, mentions of injuries & violence, Joel does his own stunts, public sex, bdj (big-dicked-Joel), Joel is not nice in this fic, more untagged read at your own discretion A/N: oof this a long one. also! i swear i've seen something similar relating to the mandalorian reference. if anyone knows the fic, pleaaaase let me know

READER’S TATT/PIERCINGS-SPO

This wasn’t what you’d imagined your life to look like. 

For the majority of your adult life, you’d clung to a glittering, idealistic vision of your future. You’d blame it on those countless movie marathons with your dad–the late nights, the worn-out couch and the satisfying click of the DVD player setting the stage for your ambitions. You’d dreamed of being a part of the magic. The glitz, the glamour, the art of it all. 

Directors like Ridley Scott, Martin Scorsese, John McTiernan captured your adolescent heart, fanning the flames of your Hollywood dreams.

You knew coming into this that it was going to be far from easy. God knows you’d paid your dues living in NYC after having moved from your small town–sharing a tiny shoebox of an apartment with three others, taking multiple part-time gigs, hustling to finally land a Production Assistant (PA) role.

And now here you were. Accommodations comped, flown to Atlanta for the shoot of some action movie you weren’t even allowed to know the title of thanks to the NDA you’d signed.

It was suspenseful, sure, but not in the sexy, thrilling way you’d imagined. More like in the “what fresh hell did I sign up for” sort of way.

“So you’ll be handling scheduling, coordinating, and helping the stylists. And making sure his overall well-being is met.”

You shuffled behind Jonah, the PA you were supposedly replacing. It was nearly overwhelming. Already built streets, custom housings, all wrapped up in a larger than life sound stage. Everyone was in their own world, working on their own tasks.

Normal people might have felt small and unseen. But you? You were still star-struck. You could be a part of something so much bigger than you, and that thought excited you. 

“7am every morning. You’ll need to be on standby to help Joel with everything he needs. So here’s the schedule.” 

More papers were being shoved to you, your arms slowly vanishing beneath an ever-growing stack. You scanned it, eyes twitching in dread. 

Every fifteen damned minutes had its own designation. Was this a movie or a military operation?

“Right! Got that. So…who exactly am I…” You squint at the bolded text on freshly printed paper, still warm to touch. “Wiping sweat at 16:45…for?”

Jonah halts mid-strut, turning back to you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “What…do you mean? You don’t know who you’re working for?”

“I do.” You shoot back defensively. “Well–okay. No. Not really. I was given an NDA, so I’m–”

“It was a yes or no question, hun.”

Suddenly, you were grateful to J-hole leaving. Not so much of replacing his long ass list of endless tasks, though. 

He stops before the stylist’s station, gesturing to a cluttered board, displaying headshots and costume references for your apparent “boss.” As you step closer, your breath catches in your throat.

No way. No fucking way. 

“Joel fucking Miller?”

Your fingers, almost acting on their own, plucked one of the profile shots from the board. Joel’s broad frame was practically sculpted.  His Special Forces uniform taut over his muscles, probably for the character he was playing. Another close-up featured his face smudged with faux grime and fake injuries, his expression hardened and grim. 

And then…there were the less clothed test shots. Your gaze betrayed you, dipping to the dark trail of neatly trimmed curls disappearing beneath his belt.

Your head snapped up so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle, as though the sheer force of willpower could exorcise the horny demon possessing you.

Jonah grins at your obvious surprise. Sighing dreamily at the profile shots of him, side views and costume shots.“Yep. Now. It isn’t going to be a problem with you now is it? We had to fire the old girl cuz’ she attempted to–nevermind. Don’t wanna get into that. It was a whole debacle. You can look it up in the files under the Miller versus Nancy lawsuit.”

You glanced at Jonah, confusion knitting your brow before returning the photo to the desk. Honestly? You probably wouldn’t have blamed this Nancy. Joel had been the blueprint for your sexual awakening. 

As fucked as it was. Considering he was closer in age to your dad than your own.

Watching him star in films by the greats back in high school had left you fantasizing, his smoldering intensity seared into your brain. God. You were going to need the entire night to mentally prepare for this.

“You tellin’ that story again?” The voice behind you sent a shiver up your spine–it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a thick yarned blanket on a cold night. And the kind of voice you fantasized about when you were grinding against your pillow.

You froze, every damned nerve on high alert. Turning slowly.

Joel Miller stands there. Resurrected from the photos itself.

He was dressed like he’d just walked off a lazy Sunday pickup game. Grey athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing sturdy, hairy legs that somehow made him seem even more rugged. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, dampened at the collar with sweat. Navy cap sitting snug on his head.  

You couldn’t stop yourself from shamelessly dragging your eyes from the damp curls peeking out at the nape of his neck to his thighs. 

He scratches his stubbled jaw, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on you. They paused, and you realized–a little too late–that he’d caught you gawking.

Joel nudges his head towards you. “This her?”

Jonah nods, handing Joel a call sheet. “All new and sparkly.”

He looks you over–not in a predatory way, but like he was cataloging every detail. Dark and steady. And it lands on your shirt. For a split second his brows lifted, just barely.

“You watch that one?” 

Your brain stutters and you look down, realizing you’d stupidly worn your Mandalorian graphic tee. His face–or well, Din Djarin's helmeted face, was plastered across your chest along with the iconic Star Wars logo.

“Oh! Um. yeah,” you stammer, tugging the hem of the cotton as if the ink would magically disappear. 

Great. You meet the man you had dozens of posters of and you were stuttering like a fucking idiot.

“Big fan. Of the show. And, um, the movies. And, you know, your–” Joel holds up a palm, silencing your rambling. “Right.” He sounded amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “...‘preciate it.”

Joel never liked change. It was ironic, given his line of work. An actor, in its nature, had him slipping into new roles and personas on a constant basis. But no matter how many characters he played, he'd preferred the familiarity of a constant crew. 

So the news that Jonah was leaving and that his replacement was a fresh out of film school rookie had Joel grumbling for days.

Then he saw you.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were seconds away from fainting. Or maybe it was the shirt. That damn shirt.

You clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about dressing for long hours on set. Instead of the usual hoodie and less than glamorous foam sneakers combo, you were rocking a cropped baby tee stretched taut across your chest. 

His gaze dipped, almost involuntarily, taking in the rest of you. The way your bootcut jeans sat low and snug on your hips—to the bunch of keys and a juicy grape chapstick hung on a carabiner attached to your belt loop. 

When you shifted nervously, the movement sent a glint of light flickering from your stomach. A silver charm, shaped like a star, dangled from your belly button. He caught himself mid-thought, forcing his eyes back to your face, but the damage was done.

You weren’t as innocent as you looked. He’d figured out that much. 

Your fuck-ups hadn’t gotten you fired. Not yet, at least. Somehow, you were still here. Holding onto your job by a thread.

It still felt surreal, working for Joel Miller. You’d spent years watching this man on screen. All his works & press interviews. It seemed pretty fucking unreal to think that you now had his name saved to your phone like no big deal.

Given you weren’t able to tell anyone about it, though the purple vibrator that sat in your bedside drawer was pretty much the only thing that knew his name by now.

In the weeks that followed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with him. There were rules–unspoken ones. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t hover too close, and didn’t take it personally when he barked orders or dismissed you with a grunt. Joel wasn’t an easy man to work for.

What was even worse, was that in Joel's eyes, you were probably the least sexual entity to have ever existed. It stung, especially when you considered how much of your mind he occupied.

“Give me a…second. Dunno how these things work.”

You’d shifted uncomfortably, dropping to your knees to Joel’s horror. You sat on your thighs with a huff. Attempting to gather the hem of Joel’s pants to tuck into the army garters.

 “Christ. You don’t hafta…” Joel’s throat tightened as he fought the sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.

“Huh?”

It was distracting, the sight of you so close. On your fuckin’ knees no less. Joel tugs around his belt. He snaps his fingers to catch your attention and you look up at him, with wide eyes. 

His thumbs twisting around the two metal hooks of the thin garter until it connects. “Just hook em’ together, kid.” 

You nodded at his words. Finally managing to neatly tuck it into his boots. 

Though from his vantage point, something else catches his eye–a small mark etched into your skin. Black ink at the nape of your neck, a star, delicate like the charm that hung from your belly button. 

“Ya got a thing for stars?” 

You blinked a few times before the words finally registered. Was he really starting a conversation when you were on the ground like this? You notice the slight nudge of his head towards your left. 

Instinctively, you cupped around the back of your neck. “Oh..yeah. I mean…it’s pretty and all.” You had to admit, Joel’s childlike curiosity over the ink on your body all of a sudden caught you off guard. 

He raises a brow at your admission. “What’s the point of puttin’ it at a place you can’t see. Seems pretty pointless.” 

“Didn’t put it there for me to see.” You say with a shrug. 

Joel’s jaw ticks when he realises the insinuation behind your words. He drags his hand down his face, opting to finally keep his mouth shut when the images conjured in his mind couldn’t be held back anymore. 

You didn’t quite notice his distress till you looked up after the lengthy silence that settled. 

The imperceptible twitch in his crotch area catches your attention. Your lips parted to stifle a gasp of surprise. 

Was he— “Jus’ get the hell up, kid.”

The respectable thing to do was to go on about his job. It was humiliating enough that you’d caught him in a painfully embarrassing position. 

But Joel Miller learned two new things about himself.

First, he didn’t quite mind the soft, lingering scent of strawberries and vanilla you seemed to carry. A quiet, comforting sweetness that seemed to cling to the air whenever you were near.

The second? Well, the second was far more troublesome. 

The thoughts that plagued him at night when he was fucking his fist, or someone else for that matter. It didn’t help that he was aware of such vivid and intimate details of you. It fucked with his head how desperately he wanted to draw pleasure out of you and stain that pretty little dainty star you had on your belly with ropes of his cum. 

The culmination of it all was taxing. But somehow? He managed to keep those thoughts at bay.

When the director finally called cut for the day, Joel stepped off set, muscles aching and shirt damp with sweat. He scans the area out of habit. 

Jonah would’ve been there by now–towel, water & phone in hand, ready for the usual barrage of calls and texts he needed to deal with.

Instead, it was you. 

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the realization hit him again. Right. Jonah was gone.

“You don’t have to look like the world’s ended, Joel.” 

He doesn’t answer you, not at first. 

“It’s not like I’m going to tell people that you—“

Joel seats himself in his chair loudly. A silent warning for you to not go there. He lets out a long, drawn out exhale. Folding his arms tightly. “Kid. Don’t know whatcha think you saw–”

That again. Kid. Was that how he saw you? You had half the mind to admit what the idea of it did to you—the idea that he might’ve gotten hard at the thought of you. 

“Hate that I even have to ask.” You begin, not letting him finish his thought. “You realize I’m not.” You were dabbing a little harder now, tossing out the used makeup wipes in the trash beside you. 

“Y’are when I’ve got a decade over ya.” He says simply. Wincing at your harsh gestures. “Don’t need the complications.” He pushes your hand away, his deep brown eyes stayed locked on you, searching, warning. 

“Leave well enough alone, got that?”

The following weeks on set proved to be grueling, even by Joel’s standards. His reputation preceded him. A stubborn, self-reliant actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. For the studio, it was a nightmare. Higher insurance premiums, a ballooning budget, and his manager losing sleep over the what-ifs. 

For Joel, it was just how he’d always worked.

But his body wasn’t what it used to be. He could feel the aftermath of his aching limbs with every roll, leap, and landing. By the end of each day, he was a drained man.

The tension on set that evening was suffocating, the kind that made every sound sharper, every movement feel urgent. 

Joel’s stunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. It rarely did. But today was different. 

You’d seen the way his jaw tightened with every take, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Monitoring him from the sidelines when the cameras were still rolling. 

Then it happened.

A sickening crunch, the unmistakable sound of something gone wrong. Joel hit the ground hard, and the set erupted in chaos. The director’s voice echoed through the sound stage, “Cut! Jesus. Check on Joel. Now!” as the crew scrambled toward him.

You froze, the towel and water bottle in your hands suddenly feeling useless. Your feet moved on instinct, but the crowd around Joel was essentially a wall. Blocking you out. 

You couldn’t get through.

“Back off. M’fine.” Joel’s voice cuts through the commotion, frustration dripping from every word. He swatted away helping hands, gaze darting through the crowd. His face twisted in anger, not from pain but from the lack of order.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled. 

You hesitated, your stomach knotting. His eyes finally locked onto you, and his expression darkened. “You. Get over here.”

The weight of his command pulled you forward, even as your gut screamed to stay back, letting someone more qualified deal with it.  You shuffled behind him as you’d maneuvered out of the crowd and back into his trailer. Eyes widening at the sight of blood seeping through a tear in his shirt.

“Joel, I–…shouldn’t we call–”

“Don’t need someone else,” he interrupted, his tone biting but strained. “Just. I’ll tell ya what to do. Kits in the left drawer.”

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, wracking your brain for memories of those first aid videos you’d seen on YouTube. Film school did not prep you for this. 

As you grabbed the first aid kit, you watched Joel slump against the trailer walls. You stood there, awkwardly, watching the scarlet blossom against his abdomen.

He looks at you for a moment before exhaling. “Y’know, you can ask n’ not jus’ stand there like a mute, darlin’.”

The witty remark dies in your throat when he yanks his shirt off. Effectively shutting your brain down entirely. You stare down at his body in its’ full glory. Damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood smeared in jagged trails down his arm to his abdomen, mingling with grime from the fall. Joel pulls out the antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, handing it to you.

“Shit, Joel. That looks fucking bad.” You hissed out, as though you were the one with a darkened gash on your midriff when you attempted to wipe the first streak off.

“Why…” Fuck. Your voice was cracking. “Why didn’t you just let someone else help you?”

He huffed, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment in amusement before looking away. “Ain’t worth makin’ a scene over somethin’ small.”

“This isn’t small, Joel,” you protested, frowning as you uncovered a deeper gash on his side. “You should’ve let the medics handle it.”

“Don’t need all that fuss.” His tone was clipped, defensive. “Been doin’ my own stunts for years. Ain’t stoppin’ now ‘cause of a scratch.”

“This isn’t a scratch.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Look, I get it, alright? But I don’t need everyone actin’ like I’m fallin’ apart. I’m fine.”

He knew deep down that his ego was far too big to admit that he actually needed help. 

“Stubborn,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head as you pressed a clean pad against the wound.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.”

Joel’s patience was paper thin, but he bit back whatever comment was forming on his tongue. “Enough of that. Just…tie it up” He sighs, strained, handing you a roll.

You nodded, fumbling with the bandage as your heart pounded in your ears. The wound was deeper than you’d thought now that it was clean, and the sight of it made your stomach churn.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

You secured the bandage, tying it off with a bunny-eared bow before sitting back on your heels. Fingertips drumming on your knees, seemingly proud of yourself. 

Joel glanced down, his brows furrowing as he took in your work. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you say defensively. “You told me to tie it.”

“Looks like ya wrapped a damn present,” he muttered. 

“Fine, I’ll redo it–”

“Don’t bother.” He caught your hands before you could move, holding them in place. “It’ll hold.”

The silence that followed proved to further intensify the air between the two of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t dare to move. 

The curve of his nose grazed your cheeks, the faintest touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he had enough sense to move away. 

You however, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate when you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tentative kiss.

It seemed to have caught the both of you off guard.

Joel froze, the kiss barely lasting a second before he pulls back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d tell you off.

But instead, he leans forward. Kissing you harder, deeper. A palm slips to the back of your neck to anchor you in place.

With nowhere else to put your hands, you placed them on his thighs, gripping them tightly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. His other hand gripped your waist, drags you closer until your knees pressed against the side of his hips.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel stops. He pulls back with a bated breath. His hands slip from where he held your neck. “Shit,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks away. “Shit.”

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to catch up. Trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Joel–”

“Stop. I shouldn’t have.” The curtness in his tone startled you. But you frowned. Trailing behind him as he gets up. 

“Well you did.” You blocked his path towards the door of his trailer. Eyes filled with a burning persistence of him once again denying you. 

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You’d practically stepped up to him confrontationally. “—Or better yet, you gonna tell me that I imagined it?”

“You can’t do all of that and then just back off.”

It frustrated you to no end when he stonewalled you like this. Like you were some irrational kid who couldn’t read between the lines.

When Joel finally does speak, he merely says your name. With a finality you couldn’t quite refute. You bite the inside of your cheeks. Feeling humiliated at being shot down when you’d thrown yourself onto someone like this.

“Fucking coward.”

This time, you didn’t mumble. 

Joel visibly grimaces at that. You feel his hand grip painfully around your wrist, stopping you from leaving the trailer.

You let out a choked gasp when his hands shoot out to grip around your throat before you could even react. Forcing you backwards at every step. Instinctively, you grab around his wrists to loosen his grip. 

“Hey!” 

He leans down to your level, lips grazing against your ears in a deep whisper. “Fuckin’ coward, huh?”  You'd pushed all the right buttons. He'd held back for so damned long and he didn't have it in him to hold back. Not after you'd run your mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale. Teeth grit painfully. You should’ve felt scared. Horrified, really. But the tenderness in his hold makes you feel conflicted about what you should’ve felt. 

Joel’s grip held you firm. Tipping your head up. “Y’want me to fuck you that bad?”

A soft whimper leaves your lips when his back presses against you. The hardness rubbed up against your core. You shudder at the sensation, nodding weakly. 

His rough palms circle around your waist, turning you over the dressing table until your pelvis sat flush against it. The grip around your throat swiftly turns to a vice grip around your jaw. 

He tugs at your jaw. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Ugh—yes.…need you..tofuckme.” You manage through gritted teeth. It irked you to say it, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t have let up.

Joel tugs you to look up into your own reflection. Your gaze immediately sours, attempting to look away. 

“C’mon now. S’a pretty sight.” He tuts. His other palm drags the fabric of your top up harshly, pulling it up along with your bra. Your tits spilling at the notion. A gasp slips from your lips. 

“Joel!” Your palms tightens into fists on the table at the obscene sight. 

So much for someone who didn’t want to give in.

It doesn’t faze Joel, merely letting out a low whistle. Kneading them in his palms. “Perfect fuckin’ tits.”

He presses a kiss down the sides of your neck. Twisting around your nipples till they hardened between his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine at the sensation. Holding his arms firmly, you squirm as he nips your shoulder. 

“Could you just—“ Your protests don't stop him in the slightest. Nudging your head a little to give him room. He takes it as a sign to bite down on your neck, bruising you with hickeys all over. 

Joel seems to catch your nervous flickers towards the doors. He shifts your hair over one side of your shoulder. Thumbing over the ink on the nape of your neck. You hear the sound of the zipper, briefly catching sight of him shucking his pants down. He winces slightly at the dull pain shooting across his abdomen, but the desperation of needing you was far greater than the pain.

Somehow, the idea of not being able to see it made it so much worse. And as though he reads your mind, he presses his jaw against the side of your head. “Relax.” The tenderness in his tone through the roughness does manage to soothe your nerves. You nod slowly.

Your hips jolt as the cold air hits your body when Joel dips a finger under the waistband of your sweats. He teasingly brushes his fingers lightly against your skin before swiftly tugging them down to your thighs along with the flimsy cotton panties you had on. “A little warning would help.” You bite back, finally losing patience at his tactless gestures. 

Joel meets your gaze through the mirror. A lopsided smirk quirking up his lips. “Right. My bad.” You could feel the disingenuity in his tone before he taps the length of his cock against your lower back. The gesture almost mocking.

A shudder runs down your spine. He was big, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. 

He hikes your hip backwards and flush against him. Your palms instinctively clutches around the edge of the table. Joel takes his time, sliding his hard cock between the softness of your thighs. The sensation nearly sends you doubling over. Watching the weeping tip poke through in the reflection, slightly smearing his precum on your clit.

You squeeze your legs together subconsciously, earning a wince from him. He was certain he could come just from fucking your thighs like this. The pace he took now bordered on torturous. Teasing you with everything but giving you nothing. 

You took it upon yourself to stretch your hands between your thighs in an attempt to notch him in you. You were aching. Badly.

Joel lets out a grunt of disapproval, yanking your wrist to pin it behind your back. Leaving you to steady your body weight onto your other hand. “Eager little thing. Daddy ain’t ever teachya patience?”

His snark burned in your cheeks. It was a futile effort. He could see every single expression you were making from your reflection and he fucking thrived on it. Joel takes a hold of his cock, lining it up against your soaked cunt, he slowly drags your slick over his length. You were soaking him before he even started.

Your head dips, clinging onto the fleeting pleasure every time the tip of his cock bumped against your clit. 

“Joel–please just fuck me...”

So he does.

Before you could even catch your breath, he snaps his hips into you. “Deep breath f’me, sweetheart.” If not for his grip around your wrist, you would’ve probably face planted into the dresser. 

The sting from the intrusion of his thickness had your cunt tightening with every move he makes, squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

Your hair falls in front of your face as he mercilessly fucks you. You swore you could feel him almost grazing the entrance of your cervix. “T-Too..too fucking...big.”

Joel tips his head at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, probably only halfway. He doesn’t say anything yet. Only humming at your whines. “I know baby.”

You look down shakily at where the both of you were connected, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring to the point you hadn’t registered the tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “Hurts…”

Joel seems to feel a tinge of empathy at the way you were struggling to take him, hiccuping through your whines. His gaze flickers to the way your pretty little face scrunched up, doing your fucking best like the good girl you were. A slight groan leaves his lips involuntarily.

All rationality be fucked.

His hand grips around your throat, forcing you to look up at the mirror. 

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t help but feel increasingly turned on at the sight of his cock fucked into your dripping pussy in squelches. “See that? Takin’ me so ’fuckin’ well.” He sighs into your shoulder. 

The praise has you lifting your hips higher, on your tippy toes–forcing a deeper arch at your hips. With how slick your thighs were, you weren’t even sure yourself if you did come.

Nothing but the sounds of his pelvis snapping into your ass in rhythmic, hard slaps. He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. And you hear him audibly grunt this time. Thrusting into you at a punishing pace. 

Joel could feel the all familiar tightening in his sack, he knew he was close. The sheer suction your soft, slick walls were providing him was nothing he’d ever felt before. He lets go of your throat, both palms gripped around your hips, painful enough to leave a mark. The table rattles under your combined weights and Joel’s frantic thrusts, products rolling and clattering onto the ground. He noses your cheeks, stubble rubbing against your pulse point. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy…” 

You offer a slight whimper at his words, meeting the intensity his thrusts weakly. You both still at the shuffle of footsteps approaching the trailer.

 The sharp knocks against the trailer door has the both of you whipping your head towards it. 

“Everything okay?”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears loudly. The door wasn’t locked.

Joel doesn't answer, simply looking at you. Your expression twists in frustration. Mouthing the words ‘me?’. There wasn't time to deliberate. Your lips parts to speak, barely able to form coherent words. “Y..yeah. A-All good.” 

“Right…productions cutting it close. So if Joel’s oookaaay…”

You cursed internally at how persistent whoever behind the doors was. But you nearly see white when Joel fully slams into you. Deeper than before. You couldn’t control the sharp cry that leaves your lips, but it is soon muffled by Joel’s rough palms covering your mouth.

“M’fine. Give us ten.”

Your tears pool around his hand. Gripping onto his wrists when he continues to pound into you at a faster intensity. You were whining by the time the crewmate finally left. Joel pulls you against his chest. Audibly groaning into your ears now. “Fuck. M’close.” 

You nodded dumbly, not even sure just what at anymore. Shaky hands clinging onto him like a lifeline. With a final rut, his hips stutter, ropes of his cum painting the insides of your walls.

He held it there for a couple of seconds before pulling out. All messy and soaked with your arousal.

You let out a strained exhale at the feeling of loss as your pussy convulses around nothing, pearlescent liquid dripping from your reddened cunt. 

Joel sighs wantonly at the sight. With the state of you, he was briefly worried that he might’ve gone too hard. And then he sees it. Your smaller, manicured hands, pushing more of his dripping come into your folds. Yeah. Joel was fucked.

[dumbbitchgalore]

Repost because it got flagged a while ago

Young Lt!Price and the General’s wife 🧚‍♀️

“And this is Mrs Holmes, General Holmes’ wife.”

Among the glitz and glamour of military balls, sandwiched between couples swaying to the music, John is introduced to an unenthusiastic woman no older than 27.

Her body wrapped in a baby blue organza dress as diamonds find their place on her ears, neck and fingers causing her to stand out from the see of black and white.

She looks at him with no particular interest as she extends her hand out as a sign of formality. She’s heard a lot about the young soldier. Talented, brave, smart and occasionally stories of his virility circle among the women.

“A pleasure, Lieutenant Price.” She says monotonously as John takes her hand to shake it while giving her a wolfish grin.

“Please ma’am, the pleasure is all mine.” He responds back, less formal and more rapacious.

Humming softly at his reply, you pull your hand away from his grasp examining his face. A light stubble, cleaned around the edges, hair slicked back giving way to the old Hollywood style. His cerulean eyes staring you down, drowning in a pool of sin. The tiny mole decorating his nose doesn’t get past her, it adds a cuteness to his person in her eyes.

“Your reputation precedes you, Lieutenant as well do your accolades adorning your chest… especially for someone so young.” She states.

Not knowing why such compliments fell out of her lips, she makes no effort in correcting herself, rather her cold and calculating stare tries to picture John without all the hustle and bustle of the military world, albeit she could not.

John chuckles, “I could say the same thing about you, although in other circumstances.”

This piques her interest as she raises an eyebrow at his comment.

“Meaning?”

John rolls his eyes shoving his hand into his pant pockets as he gives her a shrug.

“The meaning being that a woman as young as you being with such an old-”

Her scowl silences him in an instant. A deadly glare, cold enough to freeze the rivers of hell.

“Watch it. That’s my husband and your General you’re speaking about.”

John smirks, satisfaction tricking through his veins.

“Bet he’s never made you c-”

Not letting him finish his sentence, she huffs and storms away in anger, earning a chuckle from John.

For the remainder of the night, She spends her time nursing a glass of rum and coke near the bar as she scans the area. A frown finds her way to her face as she sees women younger than her drapping themselves on him as her husband relishes in the in their salacious touches.

"You know, I can make you forget about him ma'am." A voice resonates behind her catching her attention.

She turns around to face him and rolls her eyes. "It's you."

A chuckle rips through John as he moves a strand of hair from her face. "Come on, Lovie. Let me take you to cloud nine and back."

Sighing softly, an inner turmoil beings to ensue within her as her mind becomes murky with hunger. She should be able to do as she pleases for once in her life like her husband, no? She deserves to feel cock-drunk and fucked out.

"Lead the way, Lieutenant."

***

Ruffling of soft fabrics echo through the bathroom, its dim brillance casting a subtle glow on the two. John kisses her taking charge of the situation, but that doesn't slide with the missus.

Grabbing him by the hair, she gives it a harsh tug elicitng a hiss from his lips before pushing him down on the floor. John complys subserviently without much of a fight letting you take the reins. He looks up at her, eyes mirroring desperation and sex.

"Mistress..." He mutters pathetically.

Tsking him softly, her eyes burn with satisfaction as she sees the young soldier pleading for pleasure with her.

Lifting her dress, giving way to her panties, she dips her fingers into them rubbing her folds before her fingers plunge into her aching hole, coating them to her slick juices. Squelches erupt from her pussy as she moans softly, gazing into John's azure irises.

Pulling her fingers out of her tight cunt, she smears her slick into his lips as they leave behind a nice sheen.

"Open wide, Lieutenant." You command softly.

John complies, opening his mouth to accomodate her fingers. She slides her fingers into his mouth, rubbing them on his tongue before giving him permission to suck. He sucks on her fingers earnestly, paying attention to where her cunny honey has left their mark on her digits.

He moans softly, savouring her taste. Who knows when he'll ever get to taste Mrs Holmes again? He laps them clean as she pulls her fingers out of with out drawing a 'pop' noise as John releases her fingers.

"Now, be a good soldier and serve your country right, hm?"

She mutters sweetly as she grabs him by his hair, dragging his face closer to her cunt.

[artsninspo]

Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

♠ summary: Terry Richmond is your boss, and the illustrious CEO of the worlds best and most elusive private security firm. Only he didn't get to where he is now by being nice. As attractive as your boss is, you find it difficult to swoon for the green eyes giant when he is perpetually unpleasant and demanding.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Black Reader

♠ word-count: ~1.1 K

You look away from the light eyed adonis not wanting to get glamoured by his green eyes. Your coworkers swoon and you wonder how it’s possible for them to forget his chronic dissatisfaction and scathing temper. Running a tight ship is the understatement of the century. The former military man sure acts like he’s still on assignment. If it was up to you the last place you’d be is under his smug gaze as he details what's gone both wrong and right about the last assignment. He has no business being as mean as he is. His size alone is grounds for him to be more cautious and gentle with his employees. with. Anyone who’s as tall as he is with a body built for combat should always be careful to be considerate.

“Y/N” his baritone voice calls drawing you from your thoughts.. Looking up your eyes meet his for the briefest of moments. You consider quitting in an instant bracing for him to rip you apart for some infraction.

“Sir?” You respond.

“Great work, the logistics were perfect” he says and it’s high praise coming from someone who rarely acknowledges great work with praise”. Eyes dart away from him to you and you force a casual smile.

“Just doing my job” you nod hoping he moves on. The debrief continues and you recognize the clamouring to impress him and for his attention. It’s not in you to placate anyone least of all a man that’s so stern all the time. Looking at the clock your body settles knowing relief is soon. For all the boss’ faults punctuality and timeliness isn’t one of them. His phone alarm sounds signalling the end of the meeting and you stand first. Your male colleagues stand too but a couple of your female colleagues take their time. 

“Y/N I’d like to see you in my office in five” he says.

“Ok” you respond heading to the bathroom first. When you’ve relieved yourself of your nerves you look in the mirror and practice a detached but engaged expression. When you fail to convince yourself of the contrived demeanour you sigh silencing your phone and making a mental note to find a new job. Grabbing your tablet for work you enter his state of the art office with seconds to spare. His eyes shift rom the clock to you and he holds out his arm signalling for you to take a seat. You oblige.

“How are you?” He asks.

“Fine and you?” You ask not missing a beat.

He nods, smiling slightly. “Good” Impatience flares in your expression and his smile deepens as he looks down at the paper on his desk. It’s an odd sight to see him smile for anyone other than clients.

“Your reviews are stellar. Both your team and directors have glowing reviews for you. Your end of year compensation will reflect that” he says and your excitement flares.

“I do my best” you respond in acknowledgement.

“There will be a vacancy in the director slot and everyone tells me you’re good with people. Are you interested in being on the ground?” He asks.

“No” you don’t even have to think about it. It’s most of your colleagues' dreams. To rub elbows with the who’s who of the world in need of private security. A few of your former female director colleagues are now kept women to filthy rich businessmen.

“No?” He seems surprised.

“No thank you.” You correct, not wanting to draw his ire. His thick brows furrow as he looks at you confused. You only manage it seconds before looking away. He sits back in his chair and you look anywhere but his eyes.

“Would you prefer another position?” He asks but all directors work closely with him. Even from your office you’ve heard him ripping into them on several occasions for mistakes. Director means his personal pawn. It means two am pick up times and calls at all hours of the day and night. Family strain and inconsistency for everyone who isn’t the job. It means he has full control over you, your decisions, company, medical history, romantic partners and every other significantly private thing.

“I’m quite content where I am now” you respond honestly.

“Is it the compensation? If it’s unsatisfactory there is room for negotiations” He explains but  you don’t think there could ever be a number to justify what that position would do to your nerves.

“I can do my job well enough now. My confidence in my abilities isn’t the same for a director position. I can’t commit to more hours or the sporadic demands. Nor am I interested in the travel aspect. My hours now with occasional overtime is what I can manage. I don’t ever want to underdeliver and I know I would as a director” you lie and his skepticism is proof he’s not buying it, at least not fully. 

“I can think of few things more compelling for a young woman than international travel with every luxury” he says.

“You’re the furthest thing from a young woman” you mutter, speaking out of turn. Thankfully his eyes light and he seems more amused than annoyed. He reaches for his glasses taking a file from the folder organizer on his desk. He swipes his clearance fob over it and light flashes into his eye before the file opens. The way his muscles contract for the simplest gestures is sinful. He studies the papers flipping through them and then looks back up at you.

“Is it the dog?” He asks, revealing he’s looking into your file.

“Pardon me?”

“Your dog, is that why you don’t want to travel or take on the promotion?” He asks. You’re the reason. You think to yourself, but it's hardly an appropriate response. “Or has something changed in your personal life?” He pries acting like it’s within his authority. 

“I have nothing I want to flag or discuss” you respond succinctly. Mr. Richmond nods and removes his glasses before putting the paper back into its folder, locking it and setting it back into the organizer. His notifications sound and he checks his luxury watch. He’s so fucking fine. You swallow knowing he’s probably the worst with women.

“You’re free to go” he says dismissively, back to his asshole ways. 

“Good day” you respond but it seems to make him flinch slightly.

“Good day” he responds and you leave.

Author's note: i'm trying to be better about hoarding drafts. So here's a little Aaron fic for the girls 🖤 how do we feel about mean terry? don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog ☑vote on the polls

002 ⇛

tags: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal @fairytale07 @rampsen @rosey1981 @lauraaan182 @lynaye1993

[thesimline]

1600s MEN - LOOKBOOK

As in womenswear, early 17th century menswear styles maintained the basic features of late 16th century dress. However, come the 1610s romantic adornments and embellishments really started to explode in popularity. Rosettes were added to shoes, lace trimmed collars and cuffs, and sashes became a way to signify group membership in an era before military uniforms. While women's fashion became fuller, men's styles slimmed further and further until the silhouette was far removed from the boxy shape of the 1500s.

You can find more of my historical content here:

1300s ✺ 1400s ✺ 1500s ✺ 1600s ✺ 1700s

OUTFIT RESOURCES

King: Crown & Cloak | Hair | Top | Pants | Hose (Base Game) | Socks | Shoes

Chancellor: Hat | Hair | Facial Hair | Ruff | Cloak | Gown

Nobleman: Hat & Hair | Facial Hair | Top | Sash | Sword | Gloves (TSR) | Pants | Boots

Gentleman: Hat | Hair | Facial Hair | Bow | Top | Pants | Hose (Base Game) | Shoes

Musketeer: Hat | Hair (TSR) | Facial Hair (TSR) | Cloak | Outfit | Sword | Gloves (Get To Work)

Puritan: Hat (TSR) | Hair | Facial Hair | Top | Cloak | Cuffs | Pants | Hose | Shoes (TSR)

Merchant: Hat | Hair (TSR) | Facial Hair | Top | Sash | Gloves (Base Game) | Pants | Hose | Boots (Horse Ranch)

Artisan: Hat (TSR) | Hair | Facial Hair (TSR) | Top | Pants | Hose (Base Game) | Shoes

Commoner: Hat (TSR) | Hair (TSR) | Facial Hair (TSR) | Outfit | Socks | Shoes (Vintage Glamour)

Labourer: Hair (Discover University) | Hat | Top (TSR) | Pants | Hose (Base Game) | Shoes (Vintage Glamour)

Shepherd: Hat (Movie Hangout) | Hair (Journey to Batuu) | Facial Hair (Eco Lifestyle) | Top (Discover University) | Belt (TSR) | Pants & Boots

Peasant: Hat | Hair (retired - direct download) | Facial Hair | Top (Horse Ranch) | Pants | Boots (Spooky Stuff)

With thanks to some amazing creators: @revolution-sims @okruee @simverses @jius-sims @candysims4 @wistfulpoltergeist @valhallansim @acanthus-sims @isaax-sims @satterlly @simandy @elfdor @twentiethcenturysims @strangestorytellersims @studio-k-creation @zx-ta @igorstory @regina-raven @blahberry-pancake @imvikai @serenity-cc @marsmerizing-sims @ilkup @daylifesims @natalia-auditore

[bangtanhoesthings]

Are You Sure feels like a travel video that a friend made and then shared with you. In the grand scheme of things, it's not sent necessarily to entertain you but simply to show you " Hey look! This is what I did, this is what I ate, this is where I went, doesn't it look fun?"

This show is about Jimin and Jungkook being vulnerable and authentic without the glitz and glamour. They could have very well incorporated a lot of activities and put on a show for our entertainment (they have been in the industry for more than a decade, trust me, they know how to) but they didn't because that's not what this was about.

With their go-pros in hand, they simply did what they wanted to do, went where they wanted to go and ate what they wanted to eat ( and boy do these guys know how to eat).

There are many scenes in the show that the two could have chosen not to show eg. Jimin's diarrhoea, Jimin's struggle with the slopes (why is it always Jimin ...lol). They chose to keep these scenes that depict them as regular human beings.

That's one of the things that made me fall in love with BTS. Despite the idol image, the boys have through the years tried to be as genuine as they possibly could within reason. When asked what being a regular human was like in the military, Jin answered that it was no different since who he is on camera is who he is off camera.

BTS cultivated a relationship with ARMY that allows them to be vulnerable. They don't always need to put on a show, they can just be. And this trust is perfectly translated through their musical experiments in chapter two. The fact that Tae was confident enough to release an RnB album, Joonie's indie RPWP album, Yoongi's album that was essentially him closing the door on his trauma, and all the other works the members released. We give them that freedom to explore, to soar, to breathe, to live, to be and to thrive.

I feel it's the same with this show. Jimin and Jungkook were willing to show us who they are because they knew we would not judge them for it (the sane fans I mean). From the bickering, to the play fights, to the semi-deep conversations, to the playfulness, to the moments filled with tension(not the good kind), to the softness. All this in its totality makes up a sum total of who they are and their beautiful bond. Which makes the "it's a script" arguments just downright laughable.

Some say "it's boring". Well yes, it's meant to be. That's why it works. It's simple. It's mundane. That's what makes it beautiful. Because despite them engaging in a few activities, the boys are out enjoying themselves and they just happen to bring us along. When you really consider how the show was structured you get to understand that this show was more for them than for us. Am grateful they shared with us all the same.

Is there a point to this long post, not really. Just a girl gushing over two men whose show has helped keep her sane these past few weeks. I want 12 more seasons. I want more travel adventures with Jikook. I want more "mukbang" videos. I want more "Are you hurt" moments with Jimin (jk, I can't take anymore of those). But most of all, I want them, together, having the time of their lives.

[nyc-looks]

Riley, 42

“I’m wearing a Comme trench, a vintage velveteen scarf with a celtic print, Vivienne Westwood sweater, vintage soviet stockings (with a garter belt), Carhartt shorts and US Military STandard Issue Tanker Boots. Sci Fi villains, the utility of working class staples and military surplus, gender anarchy, and the eccentric glamour of life in the metropolis inspire me.”

Apr 18, 2024 ∙ Lower East Side

[geotjwrs]

Hi can I request a Jenna Ortega x male reader where the reader is in the army and comes back to surprise her during the Grammys or the golden globes right after she gets an award

hero's return

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The night of the Golden Globes was filled with anticipation and nerves for Jenna Ortega, who was nominated for her outstanding performance in a critically acclaimed film. The atmosphere backstage buzzed with excitement as celebrities and nominees mingled, waiting for their moments to shine under the bright lights of Hollywood's grand event.

Jenna, adorned in a stunning gown that sparkled under the shimmering lights, nervously awaited her category's announcement. Cameras flashed, capturing every moment as she walked the red carpet with grace, her smile radiant yet tinged with an unspoken longing.

Meanwhile, Y/N, her devoted boyfriend, was thousands of miles away, serving in the military. They had been apart for months, communicating through sporadic calls and heartfelt letters, but Jenna's thoughts always wandered to him, especially on this special night.

As the award ceremony progressed, Jenna's heart pounded with excitement and nerves. When her name was finally called as the winner for Best Actress, she was overcome with a mix of emotions—joy, disbelief, and a twinge of sadness that Y/N couldn't be there to share this moment with her.

Standing on stage, holding the prestigious award in her hands, Jenna's voice wavered with emotion as she delivered her acceptance speech. "I am truly honored and humbled to receive this award. I want to thank my incredible cast and crew, my family for their unwavering support, and..." She paused, her eyes scanning the room, wishing Y/N could materialize before her.

"...and my boyfriend, Y/N," she continued, her voice catching. "He's not here tonight, but he's always believed in me, even from afar. This is as much his award as it is mine."

As Jenna made her way off the stage, the backstage area was abuzz with congratulations and excitement. She was enveloped in hugs and praise from fellow actors and industry veterans. Amidst the flurry of activity, a familiar voice called out her name.

"Jenna!"

She turned, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Y/N standing there, dressed in his military uniform. Shock and joy flooded her features as she dropped her award and ran towards him, ignoring the curious stares of those around them.

"Y/N!" Jenna cried out, throwing herself into his arms. Tears streamed down her face as she held him tightly, unable to believe he was actually here.

"I couldn't miss this moment," Y/N whispered into her ear, his voice thick with emotion. "I had to be here for you."

The backstage area erupted in applause and cheers as Jenna and Y/N embraced, their reunion a heartwarming spectacle amidst the glitz and glamour of the awards ceremony. They held onto each other as if afraid to let go, their love and longing finally reunited after months of separation.

"I can't believe you're here," Jenna murmured, her voice choked with tears of happiness.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Y/N replied, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "You deserve every bit of this."

After the initial shock wore off, Jenna and Y/N found a quiet corner backstage where they could have a moment of privacy. They sat together, holding hands and basking in the glow of their reunion.

"I've missed you so much," Jenna confessed, her eyes never leaving his.

Y/N smiled softly. "I've missed you too, every single day."

They talked for hours, catching up on everything they had missed in each other's lives. Jenna shared stories of her hectic filming schedule and the challenges of being in the spotlight, while Y/N recounted his experiences in the military and the longing he felt being away from her.

As the night drew to a close, Jenna and Y/N walked hand in hand through the bustling halls of the venue. They were surrounded by friends and well-wishers, but in that moment, it felt like there was no one else in the world but the two of them.

"You know," Y/N began, breaking the comfortable silence between them, "I have something for you."

Y/N reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around something small and precious. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding with nerves and excitement.

"Jenna," Y/N began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He knelt down on one knee, drawing a small box from his pocket. Jenna gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth in surprise.

"I've loved you from the moment I met you," Y/N continued, his eyes locked on hers. "You are my best friend, my confidante, and the love of my life. I can't imagine my future without you in it."

He opened the box to reveal a dazzling diamond ring, catching the light and casting a rainbow of colors around them.

"Jenna Marie Ortega, will you marry me?"

The room seemed to hold its breath as Jenna stared down at Y/N, her heart overflowing with love and joy. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she nodded eagerly, unable to find her voice amidst the overwhelming emotions.

"Yes," she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible but filled with certainty.

Y/N's face broke into a radiant smile as he slid the ring onto her finger, their hands trembling with the weight of their newfound promise. He stood and swept Jenna into his arms, lifting her off the ground as they spun in a joyous embrace.

Amidst cheers and applause from their friends and colleagues, Jenna and Y/N shared a kiss that sealed their commitment to each other. The room erupted into cheers as they announced their engagement, hugs and congratulations coming from all directions.

[nocternalrandomness]

Pin-Up Model Roxanne Fumero

[lovehotelreservation]

chapter two: used to burn cds full of songs i didn't know summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: pg-13 (rating will increase across certain chapters) story pairing: f!reader/task force 141 | chapter pairing: f!reader/price previous chapter | next chapter

would u believe me if i said part of the reason this fic exists in the first place is because i was listening to the mean girls remix and i placed price in the perspective of julian casablancas divorcedly singing about his failed relationships while thinking of the reader frolicking in the back as charli goin "THIS ONE'S FOR ALL MY MEAN GIRLSSSSSSSSSS" 😭😭

-----------------

Price was old.

He was well aware of this.

Whether it was the lumbering and lingering ache of a strained muscle from a campaign that greeted him upon waking up in the morning, or Johnny and Kyle snickering together of his first job being the lad who told Scrooge that it was Christmas Day, Price was well aware of the crows feet by his eyes.

And the refined and honed strength of his backhand across the back of Johnny’s and Kyle’s heads that only decades of experience could provide.

He wasn’t one to keep up with trends, but he was at least aware that buying music wasn’t the same either.

Instead of having his choice of Virgin Records or HMV to stroll up to on a Saturday morning, there was now Spotify or Apple Music on his phone.

It was a curious and nice thing however, to see that you–as a current artist–were still keeping the lost art of physical releases alive with your music.

While standard for you as a pop star, there was something kind and nostalgic to be able to pop open a CD case and pluck a thin shiny disc from within.

Though, here he was with a celebratory cigar in hand at a local pub not too far from the Shangri-La with the others–one that aligned more with their average shared tax bracket–, befuddled at the album that was handed to him, one that looked to be more the size of a Bible than the thin plastic cases of before.

Your first solo album. 

A gift from you to him, Kyle, Johnny, and Simon that was given by your manager–Pearl, a woman whose knife-like acrylic nails, insistence on wearing sunglasses indoors, and an air of Dior perfume and cigarette smoke served as a quick snapshot of a no-nonsense industry veteran–on their way out from the hotel. The introductions and pleasantries were short and curt, her handshake firm and cold before she departed to return to her room upstairs.

Inside the ornate packaging of your album included a lyric booklet that looked to be a mini-photo book instead, pictures of your album’s photoshoot within–so unlike the thin booklets of before.

What did stand out most to him was the small card that featured a photo of yourself on the front and a signature printed on the back.

“Ahh got yerself gold right there, Captain! Her fans would kill ya for that,” Johnny chuckled, brandishing the card he received: the outfit was the same but your pose was different and he wasn’t as fortunate to receive a signature on his.

Neither did Kyle and Simon apparently, the former curiously checking your wiki page on his phone while the latter gleamed through your lyric booklet with nary a word.

Price brought his cigar to his lips for a puff, his eyes trained on your photocard, taking in every detail presented.

From having previously seen you so meek, quiet and shy to now holding a card of you dressed in full glamour, doe eyes gazing up to the camera and–

He glanced further down.

–your dress cut nice and low.

His lips pursed slightly in thought.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most professionally appropriate to be ogling his client or morally appropriate to be ogling the young woman who one of his good friends entrusted her safety to.

But hey–Price simply liked what he saw.

“You wanna trade, boss?”

Price’s gaze flickered over to Johnny, who held out his photocard: it was you with your back turned towards the camera, your eyes fixed in a wink and your fingers fixed in a peace sign. While his question was posed in a light tone, the look on his face was more like that of a puppy.

He returned his gaze to his card.

That look on your face, that revealing dress of yours.

Cigar smoke was held in his mouth a second more before he carefully released it from his lips to keep the heady clouds from floating over your card.

Shifting his eyes back to Johnny’s pleading features, he proceeded to flicker some cigar ash over a nearby tray. “It’s a tough economy out in the world, Johnny.” Practically hearing the Scot’s heart break from across the table, he held up your card once more, tapping on the front a few times–right on your cleavage at that–as he affirmed with a nod and his tone light. “I’ll be keeping this should I need to start bartering at Sainsbury’s.”

Johnny was left to seek comfort from Kyle and Simon for a trade.

“Let me save you some time, mate–I’m keeping mine.”

“Kyle, I didn’t even–Fine, fine. Simon let me see what ya got, yeah? Not like yer actually gonna do anything with it.”

“A picture’s worth a thousand words, Johnny. Hers is 10,000–start tellin’ me why I should give mine to you.”

“Dinnae gimme any of that cheek, ya bastard!”

As this went on, Price tucked your photocard away into the pocket of his bomber jacket, letting his hand linger over the printed rectangle for a moment longer.

Your beauty was worth more than gold, that was for certain.

-----------------

thank you for reading!!! for the warm reception upon debut!!! working on this piece has really reinvigorated a passion and drive for writing and i hope you all enjoy what's in store!!! 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

and just as a little something something, here's the title of the next chapter:

sweat marks all on my clothes

i wonder who shall be the focus next time !!! 🙆‍♀️🙆‍♀️

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Josephine Baker (The Siren of the Tropics, ZouZou)— Josephine Baker was an American born actress, singer, and utter icon of the period, creating the 1920s banana skirt look. She was the first black woman to star in a major motion film. She fought in the French resistance in WWII, given a Legion of Honour, as well as refusing to perform in segregated theatres in the US. She was bisexual, a fighter, and overall an absolutely incredible woman as well as being extremely attractive.

Joan Crawford (Dancing Lady, Mildred Pierce, The Women)— God, where do I start!!! Her face is so UNIQUE and compelling and stands out so much. I love her thick brows and high cheekbones. She has a school-marmy hardness too her that makes her a little scary and therefore sexy. Her low thick voice also does it for me. Despite being an unusual looking woman with an unusual face, she never loses her glamour. Just a gorgeous talented actress, AND she was some sort of gay!!!

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut. the famous banana skirt is mildly NSFW.]

Josephine Baker:

Black, American-born, French dancer and singer. Phenomenal sensation, took music-halls by storm. Famous in the silent film era.

Let's talk La Revue Negre, Shuffle Along. The iconique banana outfit? But also getting a Croix de Guerre and full military honors at burial in Paris due to working with the Resistance.

She exuded sex, was a beautiful dancer, vivacious, and her silliness and humor added to her attractiveness. She looked just as good in drag too.

So I know she was more famous for other stuff than movies and her movies weren’t Hollywood but my first exposure to her was in her films so I’ve always thought of her as a film actress first and foremost. Also she was the first black woman to star in a major motion picture so I think that warrants an entry

Iconic! Just look up anything about her life. She was a fascinating woman.

Joan Crawford:

I just love women that are very mean.

she was a smoke show in every decade, from the 20s to the 60s.

The classic matronly beauty with amazing eyebrows

of course there's a space for MILF joan but i want to just take a second and say she was so cute in her early movies (like grand hotel and the women)! those parts often get forgotten but her stardom shines in them just as much as in her older #queen #icon roles

Misremembered for wire hanger hatred, this original screen queen mastered the art of the comeback and refused to let Hollywood toss her aside as she aged. The term “auteur” is usually revered for directors or writer-directors, but most critics have one actor they’ll give that title to as well: Crawford—anyone who knows classic movies already has a “Crawford picture” in their head. She knew how to style herself and promote herself. She made herself a star and kept herself fixated in the Hollywood firmament. What’s hotter than knowing just how hot you are?

(don’t think about Mommie Dearest right now) Joan was known for being super nice to all the like crew of the movies she worked on and she’d get everyone gifts. Joan would hold movie nights at her house and knit at the back of her home theater. Joan was sooo obsessed with other women including Greta Garbo, whos dressing room she would obsessively and purposefully walk by. She said that while working on Grand Hotel, Garbo grabbed her face and “if there ever was a time in my life where I would’ve been a lesbian, that was it.” But like Joan also probably did sleep with women including Barbara Stanwyck. Joan was so obsessed with Bette Davis, screening multiple movies of hers in a day at her watch party, constantly trying to spend time with her or do a movie together, insisting on the dressing room next to hers at Warners and sending her daily gifts… etc. Once Bette said that sex was gods joke to humanity and Joan said “I think the joke is on her.” Joan fucked a lot. Joan got caught publicly fucking a man and sent a letter to the woman who saw them basically saying “I bet it excited you” and the woman was like you know what. It did. Joan was best friends with a gay man. Joan was an actually genuinely good actress even though people mocked her a lot for being like cheap and stupid (partially because she never finished school because her family was broke). Joan was so insane and so cool that’s all.

[monster4monster-bracket]

Propaganda under the cut

Hob/Delloso

Starts out as a star-crossed, Beauty-and-the-Beast-style romance between a very animalistic, awkwardly formal, military man—well, goblin (Captain Hob) and a very elfen-esque Master of Ceremonies (Rue), who’s busy with the job of hosting the huge, politically important party they just put together, and is also technically a member of another royal court. SPOILERS: Turns out Rue is an owlbear under their glamour, aka just as massive and animalistic as Hob. Both of them really love the other’s body specifically because it looks like theirs rather than fitting in with the traditional fey standards of beauty, so they’re lowkey serving t4t-vibes, despite existing in a setting where there are zero social expectations around gender. Technically they’d be a monster x monster pairing no matter what, as they’re both fey, but the fact that they both stick out even among the extreme visual variety of the fey people, and very much feel the weight of that exclusion, really makes them a monster x monster pairing in spirit too.

Polymechs

So they are all aliens to each other. They are also like canon found family, and are immortal. I love this ship because the nine of them deserve happiness and some love because they are doomed to have heartache in their lives. They spend so much time together and will die alone and while they are together I think they should kiss.

[haxyr3]

Russian Words That Have Two Soft Signs

One of the random phrases Duolingo throws to Russian learners is "В каком слове есть два мягких знака?", which word has two soft signs in it?

I was a bit puzzled with this question, so I checked. Here are some actual Russian words that have two soft signs in them:

сельдь - herring

женьшень - ginseng

пельмень - meat dumpling, pelmen

вольность - liberty

вскользь - in passing, casually

пользователь - user

уменьшительный - diminutive

лояльность - loyalty

самостоятельность - autonomy

функциональность - functionality

национальность - nationality

And there are words with three soft signs in them! For example, обольстительность - charm, glamour.

And one word had a hard sign along with two soft signs:

фельдъегерь - military or governmental courier

Apparently, it was borrowed from German.

Now you know what to answer when Duo asks you this question :)

[rebelliousstories]

1940’s James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes SFW Alphabet

Relationship: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Suggestive Themes, Mentions of Alcohol, Mentions of Untoward Behavior Against Women, Brief Angst

Word Count: 3,332

Main Masterlist: Here

Marvel Masterlist: Here

Consider Donating: Here

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

This man is no stranger to affection; in fact he insists on it. But he will only go as far as you allow him to. Given the social environment of the era, you won’t be making out in public, or groping. However, when you are in public, Bucky has an arm around your waist, or his hand in yours. He might give you a peck on the cheeks, or maybe the lips if you’re feeling bold enough.

Now, movie theaters, or drive ins, you will absolutely need to rein him in. James sees these areas as fair game to get a little bit more… hot ‘n heavy. You will need to capture wandering hands and trailing lips, but he’ll reel himself in if you tell him to knock it off seriously. He is a gentleman, after all.

In true private, he loves taking things slow. Treating you to dinner that he lovingly convinced his mom or sister to make because they don’t trust him in the kitchen, and then retiring to the couch to talk and hang out for a few more hours. Having your legs thrown over his so he can massage them, and he even slips you out of your little heeled Mary Jane’s so that he can massage the ache from your feet. Quality time with him is perfect.

When he joins the military, Barnes insists on you being at the train station with him before he’s shipped off each time. He loves seeing your face as the last reminder of home to hold him through till he gets back to New York. As often as he can, Bucky is sending you letters, sometimes with pressed flowers or the wrappers from candy he had. Now if you reward him with a pin up photo, or even just a glamour photo that you managed to scrape the money together for, he’s keeping that photo close to his heart and on his person at all times.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Have you seen him with Steve? This man is a goofy goofball. But that does mean that you need to be good with Steve; they’re a package deal. And if you are good, all three of you are a package deal. He loves to take you dancing and try to set you up with another fella, meanwhile he accepts any of your attempts on getting him a lady.

Bucky would probably end up befriending you in a similar fashion that he did Steve. Neither one of them like bullies, and especially can’t tolerate rude behavior towards women, but James is the only one that could actually do something about it. If he saw some older boys picking on you for anything, he’d step in with no hesitation. Since then, you’ve always rolled with the boys, patching up Steve when he would get into fights, and helping James try to get a date that lasts longer than a night.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

James Buchanan Barnes loves any form of physical affection. He especially enjoyed cuddles at the drive in. Even if he’s not trying to do anything nefarious, Bucky enjoys having you resting on his chest, with his hands tracing invisible shapes along your back. Having you against him in an enclosed space just made him want to hold you close. Besides, it allowed him to protect you against anything that might arise, even your dreams if you happen to fall asleep.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

This might be an unpopular opinion, but Bucky is fantastic at cleaning, not so much cooking. Sure, he can make himself a sandwich, but he prefers when you do it. There’s just something about how you do it, all the proportions are just right for an amazing, and simple food. However, he is cleaning. Especially after he enters the military.

When James is home, he’s making the beds, folding the clothes, doing the washing and hanging it up. He’s cleaning counters and helping with the dishes. Since you’ll end up doing 99% of the cooking, he figures the least he can do is helping with the cleaning up from dinner.

And he most definitely wants to settle down. He would love more than anything to marry you, have little Barnes running around, but he doesn’t want to put you through the horrors of getting that letter with a flag and his dog tags if he doesn’t make it back. So he holds off, as much as he wants you to be his wife, he doesn’t want you to be a widow so young if he can’t make it back to you.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If he absolutely needed to break it off, Bucky is coming to your doorstep and doing it gently, but firmly. There is no way that he will leave you feeling like you are the problem. It may happen because of the rising tensions surrounding the war. As I stated above, I truly believe he wouldn’t marry you until he came back officially from the war because he wants you to be free if he dies away from home.

But he may just break up with you before deploying one last time to spare you the same pain. James lets you think and tell people that he was doing it to be a jerk, because it was easier than trying to convince you other wise. He would much rather you hate him than hate yourself over this.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

The man wants to be married! He wants it all. Bucky knew by date number two that he was going to propose to you. He’s a realistic romantic, and wants to be with you for the rest of your lives. During the 30’s, he may just marry you young and throw caution to the wind. The 40’s however, he’s more hesitant to do so.

James would definitely go to his mom, and ask for a family ring to propose with. His grandmother’s or even her own. Something to bring you into the Barnes family. The entire day would be just about you two. Retracing the steps of your first date; a walk into downtown Brooklyn, going to that little diner on the corner, and a stroll through the park. A beautiful day, with just a few clouds that were brilliantly white. Later in the evening when you two are in the park, he lets you walk ahead of him before dropping down on one knee, and pulling out the ring box.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Dis just a big ole teddy bear, yes he is. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes would rather die than hurt you. He holds you as if the most delicate porcelain doll, protecting you from all the evils of the world. Not only is he a big, buff military man that is the ultimate gentleman, Bucky is just genuinely a good person. He protects those he cares about.

Only in private though, will he be emotionally gentle and vulnerable. James is, honestly, quite emotional he just doesn’t show it. But when you two are alone, that is when you can get him talking. Fears, insecurities and worries are released when Barnes is in the safety of your arms.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

If he doesn’t get a hug from you the second you see each other, or when you depart from each other, James will full on pout. I’m talking bottom lip stuck out, crossing his arms, and turning away from you. The only way to rectify this situation is to hug him close, for several minutes.

Bucky loves hugs anytime. Just anytime he can wrap his arms around you is a good time. In the apartment he shares with his sister and mother while you’re helping to make dinner, he’ll wrap his arms around your waist from behind, more than likely being in the way for someone. At the movies or a drive in, his arm is wrapped round your shoulder to pull you in close.

His hugs are the highlight of dating him. Even before the military beefed him up a bit, his hugs are so strong and secure. Growing up as the male of his household, he needed to be strong. Which means that years of reassuring and taking care of his sister and mom, you get to reap the rewards of.

I = I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Earliest? Second date. It’s also the same time that he realizes that he wants to marry you. Keep in mind, these were different times. People got married faster, younger, and longer. So, yeah. Second date, he knew then if he was going to put in the effort for the rest of his life.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Honestly, I’m not sure which way this could go. Bucky is quite secure in his relationship with you, so there would be no reason for him to even get jealous. He probably doesn’t care if some jerk is trying to make a move on you with him nearby, but that’s on the other guy. It has nothing to do with you. He’s so confident in you and your relationship that another man can try to take you from him, but he knows you.

However, if you are really close with another man, talking constantly, and hanging out together without him, James will have a talk with you about it. Communicate with him about stuff like this. Just a simple letting him know about it, maybe let him meet the guy few times, and he’ll be okay.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Bucky’s kisses feel like having a warm cup of cocoa on the coldest of winter nights. It should come as no surprise that he’s a furnace, which helps on the hugging and cuddling aspect. But he truly imparts that warmth to you when he kisses you.

While he, of course, loves to kiss you on the lips, this man’s favorite place to kiss you? It’s your hands. A little weird, but hear me out; Bucky pick’s you up for your first date, going to a dance hall and dinner. He keeps his hands in his pockets, maintaining a respectful distance between you two as you walk, with him obeying the sidewalk rule. James opens the door, takes your coat, and just genuinely is being so sweet to you. And when he asks you to that first dance, he holds his hand out for yours. When you do, Barnes is pulling you towards the floor, and kissing the tops of your hands.

For himself, he loves when you kiss him on his chest, specifically over his left pec. It’s one of the reasons he keeps your photo there, because that is where you kiss him. James likes to think it’s because you are trying to kiss his heart. But it could very well be because that’s where it’s convenient to kiss him given his size.

L = Little Ones (How are they around children?)

James helped raise Rebecca, his little sister; he loves children. He would love to be an uncle, and he’d love to be a father. Bucky just screams “fun uncle” energy.

Now, if he had a son, oh that is going to be an interesting childhood. Teaching him how to be a gentleman, how to properly treat the women in his life, starting with his mother. Showing him how men are suppose to act. He is teaching all things that he wished someone had taught him, which includes what not to do.

If he had a daughter…? You best believe that girl is going to grow up strong and confident. If his son is growing up knowing how to treat others like a man, his daughter is growing up knowing what it’s like to be treated correctly by a man. Don’t mistake it though, she’s gonna be the toughest little girl on the playground, who will beat any boy at the monkey bars, in the prettiest dress.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

A couple of possibilities come to mind. If you’re still in the early stages of dating, i.e. not married, and he’s got the day off, he’ll call the night before to ask if he can take you out for the morning. Brings you flowers and takes you for pancakes at the diner down the way.

If you’re not married and he’s got work, chances are James is dropping something by your place of residence so that you know he’s thinking about you. A flower he found on the way, or a letter that he hand delivers. It’s very similar to what happens when he’s away in the army. Even though you aren’t with each other physically, you both hold close the momentos and letters you have given.

But if you’re married, and he’s not away at a barrack, he likes to wake up a little earlier than he needs to just to watch you sleep a bit. Sometimes he can avoid waking you up, until he’s kissing you goodbye, and telling you he loves you. Other times, James isn’t that lucky and he wakes you up. But that just means that, if you’re feeling up to it, you two can have breakfast together before he heads in for work.

N = Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

Same parameters as before. If you two aren’t married but dating, he’s politely walking you to your door, kissing you goodnight, and going back home.

If you guys are married, Bucky is enjoying a quiet night in with you. Coming home to a nice dinner just waiting for him, and his beautiful wife who made it for him. He doesn’t even care about the fact that he’s doing the dishes later, he’s just glad to be home. And James loves relaxing on the couch with a glass of wine or a finger of whiskey with you on his lap. Don’t get me started on after dinner cuddles in bed right before you go to sleep…

Oh, yeah. One more thing: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes is most definitely, absolutely, 110%, is reading to you the newest book he got before bed. You both try to get through a chapter a night. He reads, while you need to plant that pretty little head of yours on his chest.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

If you’re not best friends to begin with, maybe you got introduced by a mutual friend who wants to play matchmaker, he’d be pretty forthcoming. There is no way that Bucky would hide his current best girls, his mother and sister, from hopefully the one that will take the number one spot. Things like his home life and family, Steve, and easy things like this are reveled pretty quickly.

However, stuff like his fears, that waits till later, like fourth or fifth date when you two are going steady.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Barnes is quite patient. He very rarely ever gets angry, but he does get frustrated. Like if someone just wont stop messing with either of you while you’re out trying to have a date, Bucky will bark at the fellow to leave you both alone. If someone actually touches you, he’s scraping.

That’s with the outside world, with you, he is ever so patient. This man will never raise his voice towards you in anger, nor put his hands on you. Not to say that Bucky won’t go for a walk or be alone for a bit so he can calm down before doing anything he might regret, but he vowed to protect you the second you agreed to that first date.

Q = Quizzes (How much do they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

In the beginning, James kept a pocket notebook that he would write in sneakily every time you mentioned liking something. Jewelry styles you liked, or flowers. If you didn’t like a certain smell or flavor, it was written. As time passed, this would all be committed to memory. But he made sure to try and remember everything. Occasionally, even heroes fall. Bucky would forget that you preferred pancakes to waffles, or that you couldn’t stand the smell of lavender. But anything important, anniversaries, birthdays, allergies; there is no way Bucky is forgetting those.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Your first date, when he took you dancing. That night will forever be magical. The way you dressed, how you did your hair. When he got you on the floor, a slow song had just started up, which meant that he could just sway with you. His hands on your waist and yours on his shoulders. And then when a swing tune played, Bucky could dance with you a bit more lively. That would remain a memory he revisited often, especially when he was behind enemy lines.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Fiercely. James is willing to do anything and everything for you. Nothing is off the table if it means defending your honor and safety.

He’s protecting you physically most of the time. Making sure that you don’t walk home alone in the dark. Obeying the sidewalk rule. Protecting you when you are with him and Steve getting drinks.

Bucky just needs someone to protect him emotionally. Reassure him. And hug him close after a long day away. He’s a big man that doesn’t have those muscles for no reason. But everyone needs protection, no matter how different.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Every day tasks, he’s constantly doing little things to make sure that you know you’re appreciated. Fresh picked flowers, small little notes, a new book. You can tell him not to waste his money, but he tells you the same thing every time. “It’s not wasted if it’s being used for my doll. Only the best for my best girl.”

Dates and anniversaries? Bucky is planning, and you have no say. Okay, you may have some say. But he loves being able to tell you what time to be ready, and what style to wear, while he takes care of the rest. He always makes sure you are treated like a princess, and never feels like he takes you for granted.

Gifts are personalized. James loves to get you something that he has heard you talking about for a while, sometimes waiting till a date or anniversary. Other times he gives it to you that day when he gets home. His other favorite gift is to pay Steve to make a portrait of you, one that takes him days to finish, but it’s worth it all the same.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Bucky has more than once, gotten so lost in a book, that he has completely ignored you for a while. It doesn’t happen often, but it has happened. Notably, this typically happens when you guys go out on a picnic date and he brings a book to read to you. He legit has trailed off in the middle of the sentence when he’s reading aloud to you, because he’s getting so invested in the story.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Just a tad. James really focuses on his hair but that’s about it. He washes his face everyday. The muscles he attainted are just maintained through regular labor throughout the day. All in all, unless he’s in a suit, military or civilian, he doesn’t care what he looks like.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely, this man is counting down the minutes till he can see you again. Bucky doesn’t care if he looks desperate, he loves staring at your picture if he can’t get the real deal.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Bucky loves when you volunteer to hang out with him and Steve. Having both of his favorite people in the same place, it’s perfect. Going to the movies, or going to the dance hall where you do make sure to squeeze in a dance with Steve.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Bucky couldn’t stand people who read books out loud, loudly when in public. He would much rather read the books himself. Not hear about it from someone else. Except you. He’s okay with that.

But in a partner, James wouldn’t be able to take if you insulted his masculinity or how hard he works. He always tries to make sure everyone around him is taken care of, so if you do anything that would disparage that? No go.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

I see him as a white T-shirt and boxers type man. In the wintertime, you might convince him to wear a pair of pants, but if you two are married, he’s using that warmth he naturally exudes to his advantage. Curling around you, bringing you in close. Just call him “Teddy Bear” cause that’s what he’ll be.

[vague-humanoid]

Even in my own mind, I can feel cultural contours blurring as physical architecture disappears. And with it, so many other things are being erased – a sense of rootedness, of continuity, of a future. I look at my children and am chilled by the realisation that the very topography of Sudan, and the Arab world as I experienced it through literature, art and travel, is something they will never know. For them, the ties that bind them to their parents, as they bound me to mine, are being severed.

I sound like an old nostalgic woman now, I know. Singing the blues of exile, idealising a past that was always far from ideal, ready to annoy a new generation and tell them that it wasn’t always like this. Because I was once that new generation, listening to elders smoking Marlboro Reds and drinking tea and telling me it’s a shame you never experienced the heyday, when we used to study medicine in Baghdad for free, go to the theatre in Damascus, host Malcolm X in Omdurman. When we had behemoth publishing houses and a pan-Arab solidarity. I used to think, well, isn’t that failure yours as well? Because your class didn’t manage to translate that into a political project that wasn’t constantly hijacked by military men and dictators.

As the centre of political and economic power in the region shifts to the oil-rich Gulf states, which are becoming concentrated expressions of hyperconsumerism and modernity, I can hear myself also saying: “It wasn’t always like this.” It wasn’t always fashion shows, such as the one the Lebanese designer Elie Saab held in Riyadh last month, which dominated social media with videos of J-Lo and Céline Dion belting out their hits to domestic and global influencers. Or high-octane sports events and extravaganzas of glamour, as orgies of violence unfold elsewhere. It wasn’t always this urge to define our status according to how closely we aligned with superpowers, or this thirst to demonstrate our global tastes.

I am more forgiving now of those elders, and also want to tell them: you didn’t know how good you had it. I can see now that what I thought of as their failure was something far bigger, far more related to global alliances and domestic ones that prevented the emergence of popular uprising, or crushed it when it did rise up. Every protest was pitted against proxies.