#robert f kennedy x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

h-l-v-kennedy-blog · 29 days ago

Text

Unexpected (how a punch can turn into a meet-cute)

Robert Kennedy x OC

Taglist: @jackiesgirl, @theverystrangegirl27, @fortheloveofjos, @kennediva, @stargiirl27

Trigger Warnings: age gap (around 12 years), no smut (if that's even a warning?), a single punch, harassment, bruised knuckles, swearing.

Extra notes: this is an rpf and not based on any fact, just delusional daydreams from this gal.

Synopsis: It was an unexpected turn for Robert when Ethel chose God over him and left their relationship to join a convent. He understood her to some measurement as a Catholic, yet a part of him thought he had found the one. He decided to dedicate himself not to God but help his older brother on his growing political and government career.

So, in 1949, even with a broken heart he went on with his studies at the University of Virginia. He made a few good friends and befriended Alec Worthing, whose younger sister he ended up meeting in 1958 at a campaign celebration party for Jack after he was re-elected to the Senate after winning against Republican lawyer Vincent J. Celeste.

1958 - 4th of November, Boston, MA

“Now, Bobby, my kid sister’s a bit of nuisance. She breathes poetry and reads too much. Ignore her enthusiasm, it’s her first campaign party.” Alec said sipping champagne from a plastic cup as he and Bobby watch the celebrations. Jack was dancing with Jackie. “She’s freshly 21 and wants everyone to know it and...” Alec got distracted when a redheaded campaign aid came to them and asked him for a turn on the dance floor. Flushed, Alec nodded and left Bobby behind.

Bobby leaned on the back wall smoking a cigar and already thinking of having to soon return to the Senate Rackets Committee where he was chief counsel. He was in deep thought while his eyes wandered around the busy and joyful room. His sight then fixed on a young woman who he had never met before and who seemed to be having some issues with a campaign aid in a corner of the large office space were the campaign office was. The male aid stood close to her; he saw her squirm and so Bobby made his way towards her and the man towering over her.

As he was nearing, he stopped when the woman decked the men and pushed out into the hallway outside the main room. Bobby made a mental note to have that man taken off the management team.

Was she alright?

He decided to find out and saw her in the empty hallway and saw her hold her right hand. She hadn’t noticed him. Music and the warm light crept into the dark hallway where only a single window brought in moonlight. The light bounced back on her blonde hair and light blue dress. She heard his footsteps, and her body went frigid.

Looking at him standing a few feet away from her. “Are you...his friend?” She asked, her voice steadier than Bobby had expected.

“No.” he said.

She nodded her head slowly, “How much did you see?”

“I saw you punch him.”

She muttered under her breath a soft “shit!” while clutching her right hand. “Did anyone else notice?”

Bobby shook his head ‘no’. “I don’t think so. Can I come closer?”

She took a step back. “Why?”

“To see if your hand's alright.”

“You won’t try anything?”

“I don’t want to take my chances. I saw what you did to the last guy.” He tried to joke but saw her expression not change. “I won’t try anything. I promise.”

She looked at him skeptically but walked towards him. “It doesn’t hurt that much.” She showed him her hand, her knuckles bruised with blue and purple.

“How hard did you hit him?” He asked gently touching her hand avoiding the bruise.

She shrugged, “Harder than I thought.”

“You should get some ice on it. Sit here, I’ll bring you some.” He gestured for her to sit down on one of the benches in the hallway.

She looked apprehensive. “What if he finds me? Can’t I come with you?”

Robert nodded and led her to the staff kitchen where there was ice kept in the freezer. He turned on the light and the young woman jumped onto the counter and looked at him as he found a dish towel and wrapped it around a handful of ice.

He put it onto her knuckles holding it place. “You should hold it on for a while.”

She nodded and placed her hand on the cloth as he removed his. He put some distance between them. Several beats of silence later.

The woman broke it: “What’s your name? I’d like to know who to send a thank you card to.”

“Robert Kennedy.” He spoke. A look of recognition passed her face. Her eyes widened in a quite almost cartoonish way.

“Kennedy? I should’ve known.” She said, and for the first time he saw her smile and laugh, “My friends will lose their minds when I tell them Bobby Kennedy put ice on my hand.” Her expression then changed. “You went to UV with my brother, right?”

Now it was Robert’s turn to look surprised. “You’re Alec’s kid sister?”

“That’s me. Ava Worthing.” She said before scoffing, “Though I’m not much of kid anymore, I’m senior at Vassar and much more mature than he can give me credit.”

And so, they talked without noticing the passage of time. It was simple for both, to move from topic to topic. It was strange how easy it was. They hardly knew anything about each other and somehow, they clicked into place.

She was curious about politics and about what was happening in the courts with the Teamsters. Robert showed his passionate side and found himself enthralled at how she kept up with him. She told him about her own interests and that she wanted to be a writer and to better the world in any way she could.

End (for now...)

Dividers: @cafekitsune, https://www.tumblr.com/cafekitsune/761910969259655168/moon-line-dividers-001?source=share

#bobby kennedy x oc #robert f kennedy #robert f kennedy fic #bobby kennedy #rpf #kennedy rpf #rfk #robert f kennedy x reader

24 notes · View notes

kennedyism · 5 days ago

Text

now this looks like fun giggles

Surfin’ USA.

Bobby Kennedy x reader

Summary: Spending a day on the beach with Bobby? Yes please. (Need that!!!!!)

Warnings: This is all just for fun, no need to take this seriously!

Tag list: @jackiesgirl @quietamericans @obsessedwithjohnjr @fortheloveofjos @melancholicstation @rocker-chick-7 @bleatngheart @joansiesbeloved

author’s note: TELL THE TEACHER WE’RE SURFINNNNN SURFIN USAAAAA

“Gee, Jack, I think your age is catching up to you, you can’t even keep up!”

You watch your fiancé run around with the football in the sand, sunglasses covering your eyes as you stare. It makes you laugh seeing the president trying to keep tabs on his younger, more athletic, younger brother. You’re the only… not Kennedy woman yet, but you get the point, here.

“Hey, Baby!” Bobby shouts, making you snort. He’s so corny, but it’s okay since it’s him. He comes over to you, only in his swim trunks, looking down at you, football in hand. “You oughta come play. Jack’s gettin’ his ass handed to him. You could probably beat him.” He snickers, looking down at your face, then your bikini, not in a sexual way, but just to look at how beautiful you are.

“No, I’m alright… go enjoy yourself.”

Bobby then sits beside you in the sand, pressing a kiss on your cheek which makes you giggle. “Oh, stop… Not here.” You laugh, trying to push him away. but he’s a lot stronger than you, making him lean a bit more next to you, practically pinning you with only sitting next to you.

“Not my fault you’re so pretty.” He flirts, which makes you laugh. Bobby is not normally a flirter. That’s his brother, he’s the more logical one, but you’re not complaining about the sudden change of behavior.

Bobby is very unpredictable. You never know his next move, and that’s what makes him all more lovable and attractive. “Okay, lover boy, that’s enough.” You laugh, gently shoving him off you. You then snicker watching him fall gently in the sand.

The attorney general sits up, brushing the sand off his arms, and then he puts his knees to his chest, the wind blowing in his hair as he stares at you with love in his eyes. He then turns his attention to the Beach Boys song on the radio, then back at you. “Well, you gotta stop saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell outta you.” He sighs out, putting his sunglasses on, and looking at you through the dark plastic.

Those words make you blush, and sputter looking at him. There’s no way he just say that. He seems to be enjoying your reaction, though. You then decide to play along with his games. “Alright… if you wanna kiss me, you gotta catch me.” You say as you stand up, and starting to dart off into the distance.

Bobby is taken back by your actions, and it takes about thirty seconds for it to register and click into his mind, but within that time, he’s onto his feet and chasing after you.

“You forget I played Football!”

“In college!”

“Still played—You callin’ me old?!”

And just as he says that, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace from behind. “Got ya.” He pants, trying to hold you in place, but it’s hard to do so with your squirming and laughter.

“Let go!” You laugh, finally getting out of his grasp, and then you pull Bobby into a kiss, leaving a bright red lipstick mark on his lips, and that makes you burst out laughing, so it makes you do it again. “Oh, wow.” You giggle.

“Are ya done?”

“Not yet…”

You then grab the grab the general’s face, your hands on his cheeks as you place kisses all around his face. You then step back to admire your work. “Now that’s a look.” You say, a hand on your hip, proud of your art work.

“Wow, not gonna let me go out like this, are ya?”

“I gotta let everyone see my work!”

“We can put me in a museum, if you’d like.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

#bobby kennedy #rfk #the kennedys #kennedy family #robert f kennedy #rpf #x reader #girl help #i don’t like this lol

26 notes · View notes

poshfind · 4 months ago

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Bobby and Jackie: A Love Story Hardcover Book by C. David Heymann.

2 notes · View notes

misspearly1 · 3 years ago

Text

Millers Retreat

Chapter Three

Chp1 || Chp2 || Chp3 || Chp4 || Chp 5 ||

Pairing: Joel Miller x Y/N (f!reader)

WC: 4k

Warnings: Not a whole lot for warnings. A little bit of Fluff. Definitely angsty vibes & dark themes surrounding the story to 'Bobby' which in turn makes the Miller's a little sad. There's not a whole lot mention Y/N in thus one peeps, more focus on The Miller brothers.

AN: Okay, in regards to the warnings above, this fic is practically a look into the work that Tommy and Joel are doing, it's not all doom and gloom, the angsty stuff is towards the end. I promise we will get to all of the fluffy/smutty parts in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy, my lovelies <33

It’s currently day three into Joel’s and Tommy’s ‘fishing trip’, their last day, and the work still continues, but let’s look back at what they’ve accomplished so far.

Day One

On the first day, it took the brothers a lot longer than they anticipated to get the thick green vines off the two stationary homes properly, even then, the dug well and the surrounding area was heavily covered too, so that took up even more of their time.

Tommy had come across an old newspaper clipping inside the overgrowth, dated back twenty years ago with the heading of ‘Evacuation Procedures Now Underway; death toll in the thousands.’

The brothers looked at that clipping and remembered that some towns and cities got a heads up before the virus hit, unfortunately most didn’t. And it seems as though the town nearby got that heads up and considering Bobby had the newspaper clipping here, Joel wondered if the man left with his family when it was advised.

This place certainly looked like someone had left in a hurry, or as if a storm of infected had blown through it. Pocketing that clipping along with the postcard that he found on the tree, Joel and Tommy shoved their thoughts aside for now and got back to work.

After they had hacked away at every possible blockage covering the caravans, the older Miller put on his garden gloves and began piling it all up to be discarded, grabbing handfuls in his hands and transporting it to a large pile just outside of camp.

As the area around the caravans started to become clearer, he noticed something else under one of them. It was a book, a journal. Pulling it out and reading the cover, Robert Kennedy, the diary belonged to none other than Bobby himself.

Joel didn’t bother opening it up to read the contents inside, but he didn’t throw it away either, instead, he left it to one side to maybe read later and got back to work again. Once his task at hand was dealt with, they both moved on to thoroughly searching all four caravans, to gather up everything that is useful.

One of the caravans that was under the ivy was locked tight and the brothers couldn’t get it open. It was nearing midnight and they left it for now, deciding that they would come back to it the next day.

They both felt accomplished for all the work they had done today, especially after seeing all the difference they have made. Today, they had found three artefacts of information about Bobby and this caravan site, cleared up all the ivy and rubbish in the camp, uncovered the water well, which was sealed, and the place was looking a hell of a lot better since this morning.

So, at eleven pm at night, Tommy and Joel finally sat down after tending to the horses.

Joel did end up getting that chair from Tommy. He sat on it, feet kicked up on the table with a smug smirk to his face and a small fire in the middle of camp. They were tired and hungry, exhausted after the day's activities but it could either only get worse or easier from this point onwards.

Tommy grabbed the bubbling pot from the fire over to where his brother was sitting, he had cooked some tinned meaty soups, quick and easy to whip up and eat along with a few cut up slices of bread that he brought from home.

They both ate in silence, underestimating how hungry they actually are and while soup can sometimes be boring, this soup tasted delicious. After they ate, Joel grabbed his walkie to have a quick goodnight call with his girl, Y/N.

“Baby, it’s me Joel. Are you awake?” He started off the conversation, standing up from his chair and patting his brother on the shoulder to say goodnight then headed into one of the only two habitable caravans in camp.

“Hey, love, yeah I am. Barely, but I’m awake,” her voice croaked through the walkie tiredly after a few moments. Joel didn’t mean to leave it so late at night, he and his brother got carried away with the work, wanting to get a huge chunk done on their first day.

“I’m sorry, girl, I didn’t wake you up did I?” He plopped down on the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes and tossing himself back with a wide smile across his face. It was comfy and her voice was homey to his ears. Joel missed Y/N at that moment and he expressed that to her in between a yawn, “I’m laying down right now, wish you were here with me darlin.”

There was a couple seconds that passed before she came back through the walkie, giggling, “You made me yawn too, but no, you didn’t wake me,” Joel smiled on this side, waiting for her to reposition herself in bed after clearly hearing her shuffle around in the sheets, “I miss you too, handsome. How’s it going out there?”

Doing the same thing as Y/N, Joel repositioned himself in his bed and got under the covers, wishing that he could tell her exactly how things are going out here, but he lied again, “Really good. We caught some steelhead and ate it tonight for dinner. How’s things over there?” He tried to steer the topic of conversation.

Y/N, as well as Joel, was in a position of wanting to tell the truth, but she made a promise to Maria not to say anything yet about Tommy, and she lied too, “The usual, baby. Tea with Maria this morning, I cleared up some of the weeds from the garden and fed the plants,” Joel listened to her voice trailing off about all the things she has done today, making him miss home that much more.

Bringing his hand up behind his head, he rested the walkie on his chest with closed eyes, smiling whilst picturing her face telling him all of this. She finished off with a question, asking Joel if he is staying safe out here, to which he replied saying, “Always, babydoll.”

They chatted more over the radio, sinking further into the mattress and warming up under the covers, until Y/N yawned again and Joel looked at his watch, seeing as the time was nearing one am now, he suggested that they get themselves to sleep.

It took a further half hour for either of them to finish up the call, not wanting to be the last one to say goodnight and after setting the walkie down by his side, he thought that the conversation was over with, but his lady wanted to have the last say and her sweet voice crackled through, whispering, “I love you, Joel Miller.”

He chuckled to himself, mumbling into the covers that he loves her too and turned over to get some sleep. If he picked up that walkie, they wouldn’t ever get off the call, he knows that as well as her.

Day Two

On day two of their trip, Joel and Tommy started their day with bagging up all of the rubbish that was left in a pile at the side of camp and taking it far enough away. Just a quick fix for now, but they do need to find a solid way to rid the rubbish properly for future vacations.

It was roughly a fifteen minute walk outside of camp that they took, coming across a spot to lay out the piles of rubbish that they were dragging along, it was a large clearing inside the thick canopy of trees, and as the men came to a stop, they thought the wave-like sound was from the wind blowing, but it wasn’t. It was water.

Leaving the rubbish where they stood, Joel and Tommy followed the sounds until they came across a river but that wasn’t all they found. The brothers were overjoyed to also find a waterfall. They’ve uncovered another water source, a place to bathe and a place to have fun.

Making the most out of this discovery, the two of them decided to take a dip. They could only clean themselves with a rag and some bottled water yesterday, so today, they’re going to take a bath in the river and get themselves thoroughly cleaned.

After they were stripped down to just their underwear, they quickly headed inside the water and laughed when the other one hooted with the cool temperature.

It was cold at first and Tommy yowled boisterously, eliciting his older brother to laugh at him, but he too found it cold and he thought that the best option was to yell out childishly before throwing himself under completely.

With the sun at its peak in the sky above, it took seconds for either of them to feel the warmth and soon, the chill was gone. Joel popped up from the surface, looking up to the top of the waterfall and wondering if the water was deep enough below to jump in.

Swimming up the river and checking it out for himself, he dove back under the surface and swam below the riverbed. Joel couldn’t even see the bottom, he swam and swam until he finally felt the rocks, and he estimated it to be around fifteen to twenty foot deep.

Coming back up again, he could hear Tommy yelling for him and he hurriedly yelled back, “I’m ok. Just checking how deep.”

“Deep enough to jump off?” The younger man asked, to which his elder brother replied, “yeah, it’s deep enough.”

Swimming back down to his original position, Joel and Tommy indulged in the water for five more minutes, before getting back out and sitting on the side, using the heat and the light of the sun trickling through the trees to dry them off.

They should have brought towels, but they didn’t even contemplate on finding a river out here, either way, it didn’t take them long to dry off as they chatted together in the sunlight.

“This is great, isn’t it? Maria, Ellie and Y/N are gonna love it,” Tommy chirped, while shaking his head like a shaggy dog, droplets splashing everywhere from his blonde long hair.

He reminisced about all the times he used to do this stuff when he was younger with Joel. The memories that they made together. It makes Tommy giddy to make more with his wife, with his brother and his daughter, and maybe even some kids of his own one day.

Getting ahead of himself, he thought about some of the things he could add to this place too, some more tables and chairs, maybe built a little hut of some sort for his family to get dried and dressed properly and privately, with towels.

Joel smiled after seeing his brother clearly in a happy train of thought. He watched the water roll up the side of the riverbank in which he sat upon and nodded to Tommy, “yeah. They’re going to love this place.”

After a couple moments of silence, both brothers just enjoying the comforting peace of nature, Joel stood and grabbed his clothes that were draped over a branch, “They’re going to love it when it’s done, so let's get back to it, bro.”

Taking a mental note of this location and how to find it to himself, Joel began getting himself dressed and Tommy did the same. They headed back to camp and got back to work. Cutting down trees with the chainsaw and then cutting them into smaller pieces after that.

They are going to use this wood in the future for fires or crafting new tables and chairs, mostly for now it’s just clearing the place up and making it look new. That task alone took them well into the evening.

Those trees weren’t so little and the brothers had to be safe about it too of course. When he was satisfied that they had enough wood and had cut down enough trees, Joel started clearing away all of the remaining debris from the dug well.

Thankfully the cover was still placed over the top, otherwise it would be contaminated by now after twenty years. It needed to be cleaned off with water before they opened it, so Joel and his brother had to unravel the bucket from the rope and use it to collect water from the river.

They remembered finding a couple large empty canisters from searching the caravans yesterday, so they grabbed them as well. Finding two long sticks with some rope, they attached the canisters to each of them, along with the single bucket to make it easy when carrying back.

That took some time to do, Joel’s body aches with hard labour, he hasn’t worked this much since his younger days alongside Tommy on the construction site. He liked it. It felt productive and purposeful, but boy did he feel his age.

Secretly, he felt better knowing that Tommy was feeling his age too. He may be the eldest but he ain’t the only old guy here either. Just as if the young man knew what he was thinking about, Tommy shook his head and tutted, “I know. I gotta stay in shape.”

Joel, once again, found himself laughing and bonding some more over this project with his brother.

When they got back to camp, Tommy took half of the water they retrieved to the fire to boil while Joel grabbed some of the cleaning items. With a brush held in hand, he swept away all of the dirt and grime on the outside of the well.

The brick was stained green, which shouldn’t cause much of a problem, but still, he wanted to clean everything just to be sure. It was dusty as hell, covered in green soot that caused him to sneeze a couple times too.

When the water was boiled, Tommy brought it over and used the clean water to wipe everything down. Now that that was out of the way, the both of them started sliding the concrete top off halfway. Joel was thrilled and even a little surprised to see water inside.

Using the remaining water from the canisters that they collected, they used hot water, bleach and scrubbers to clean the caravans thoroughly. Leaving the one that was locked to last, which they still need to get round to opening.

By the time the two men came to that particular caravan to clean - after cleaning the outside and inside of the other three - dark skies had already rolled in but they wanted to try and get it open before calling it a night just yet.

Tommy climbed up on the side to reach the latch for the sunroof but as soon as he peered through the foggy window, the man slung himself back with a fright, “Joel, someone is in there!”

“What?!” Joel fretted. Climbing up the side of the caravan just like Tommy did, he came up beside him and wiped away the dust with a rag. Looking inside, he grimaced and held a hand onto his stomach, “he’s dead. Whoever it is, they’re dead.”

Turning around and looking at his brother, Joel shook his head, “Don’t open this thing up, I think that’s Bobby in there.” The older Miller didn’t want to disturb this caravan, as it is in fact, a tombstone.

Jumping back down to the ground below, Tommy had an inkling to look around for something, maybe another clue to tell them that the corpse lying in the bed inside, is in fact Robert Kennedy.

“Joel, c’mere,” He called out to his brother after walking around the back and holding a flashlight up to the writing that was written along the side.

Tommy felt sick with grief, almost too much grief when Joel came round and read the words out loud, “I’m sorry to whoever finds me like this, I couldn’t wait for their return any longer. To Jenny and my kids, I love you in this life and the next.”

That corpse inside the caravan is Bobby, and his family never made it to their six week vacation, probably didn’t even make it to the airport.

Day 3

That brings us to now. On their third and final day of their restoration project.

After they found Bobby in the caravan last night, both of the men felt too unsettled to carry on with their work at that moment. They needed to take care of him, respectfully.

Taking themselves to bed, Joel only had a quick chat with his lady compared to the night before and after he said goodnight, and that he loves her, he turned over to get some shut eye. Their sleep in the caravan last night was emotionally uncomfortable.

The silence was relaxing, just an occasional bird here or there making its call but the notion of knowing what is sitting beside them just a couple feet away was eerie and depressing. Joel needed to move that caravan away from camp, but he wanted to be respectful to Bobby.

Today is their last day to get as much done as they possibly can before making their way home in the early hours of the morning tomorrow. Three nights is all they could buy themselves and it’s time to get back home to their families.

Waking up extra early today at five am, Joel left Tommy in bed for a little bit longer while he went outside to see what was left to do for the day, but instead, he took a seat at the table after making himself a cup of coffee and decided to read Bobby’s journal, to better understand the fellow.

He smiled and even laughed at some points from what the man wrote. Telling the tale of the happiest events in life with his wife and children. There were pictures too. Joel saw what Bobby looked like and he could feel the joy he held through a simple photograph.

Dark haired, dark beard, small and stocky, the man wore the biggest smile Joel has ever seen. He was standing beside his wife, presumably Jenny, and two young kids. One girl and one boy.

Jenny had red hair, fair skin tone with visible freckles, her smile just as big as her husbands, the kids just the same. All of them looked like your typical happy family and Joel could feel the love they had when looking at each of their faces.

Flicking over to the next page, he came across Bobby’s entries days before the outbreak.

~ 09.15.13 - I've just got here, at the campsite and I’m so excited. I can’t wait for the kids to arrive and see it too. I miss my Jenny a lot but she’s up in Colorado at the moment to bring her parents down here too. Let’s get this place set up for them.

Joel’s eyebrows rose with surprise when reading the first passage, poor Bobby only wanted to rent this place out for the summer for his family and decided to come out early to get it prepared while his wife retrieved her parents.

The man wouldn’t have imagined that the world would come to an end not even then days after. Curiosity pulled on Joel to read more, to learn how Bobby’s fate came to be.

~ 09.20.13 - This place is amazing, there's a waterfall nearby and the kids are coming out in six days, so that’s the first place I’m taking them. I got a postcard from Jenny today, the date is set, the 26th is when they fly out here. I paid for the deluxe package, not realizing that it comes with four caravans. Maybe I’ll let the kids have one each. Maybe.

There’s an ache in Joel’s chest while reading. He envisions Bobby through his words. The man sounded like a great father, a great husband and great son in law who only wanted the best for his family.

~ 09.21.13 - I went into town today, more and more people seem to be leaving because of this virus that’s hit the eastern seaboard of America. Hm weird. I should call Jenny and see if her flight is still good to go just in case.

~ 09.21.13 - Update, I called her, flights are all good.

Joel takes the newspaper clipping out of his pocket and looks at the date written on the bottom, it states, 09.23.13. Two days after this passage Bobby had put into his journal, which has a sizable gap until his next. He flicked over to the next page and the date that was written, surprised Joel. Bobby hadn’t written in almost two years.

~ 09.26.15 - I haven’t seen this journal since I last wrote in it, two years ago, and what a two years it has been. My family never arrived. The day of their flight, was the day the world ended, the day my world ended. I left camp as soon as I heard on the radio that people were being evacuated and I went straight for the airport, to try and get home. Everything was locked down. Jenny wasn’t picking up her phone. So I drove. I drove home, but my home wasn’t there anymore - my family wasn't there. Now two years on, I still can’t find them. I have been searching everyday and found my way back to this place. I don’t know why but I just kinda feel them here with me.

Joel had found himself hunched over, head practically in the book reading Bobby’s words. This is someone's life, yet it feels like a novel, like it simply cannot be real, but it is. Joel has seen these things in his life and he has lived through this man's loss.

His heart aches for Bobby, and for himself, but he must read on, to find out what had happened to him.

~ 12.25.15 - It’s Christmas today and I got stumbling down drunk before the sun came up. Why the fuck not? It’s not that I give a shit about what happens to me anymore. So fuck it. Let’s get drunk.

I’ve been staying in one of the caravans, trying to live I guess but I can’t go into the others, they were for my family. I can't handle the pain so I’m going to have a drink instead.

Where are they?

Why can’t I find them?

I can’t do this anymore.

Joel read every entry, each without dates, and slowly saw this man losing his mind. Totally overwhelmed with the loss of his family, which he understands. The next entry that Joel read from Bobby, was his last.

~ 09.26.16 - It’s been three years since I last saw my family alive, since I last kissed my wife and kids on the forehead. Three years marks the day that the world ended and took the people that I love most with it. If this journal finds anyone then this is my last message. I want to be with my family. Is it wrong for a father to want to be with his kids? A husband to be with his wife?

This camp was meant for a family and there is none here. Goodbye.

Joel stared down at the words on the page, a gut wrenching ache sitting in his stomach, transporting him back to those days that he lost Sarah. Bobby lost his whole world, and Joel feels that.

He didn’t know at what point his breathing became erratic during his daze, but a hand clamping down onto his shoulder pulled him from it.

Tommy took the book from him and pulled Joel in for a hug. Clasping his hand to the back of his head and holding him tight, the young man hugged his elder brother and assured him without words.

It was raw, emotional and needed. Very much needed, Joel appreciated the embrace - more than Tommy would ever know.

Tagging

Permanent Taglist (All story Updates): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20

All Joel Content: @extraneous-trip @readsalot73 @luvmeijii @pale-gingerale @joelsflannel @something-tofightfor @dinsangelx @ponyofmilfmom @hb8301 @squidwell @spideysimpossiblegirl @mooraakath @michele131 @chxpsi @joelmillerscoffee @zeida @wordsfromshona @joelsrifle @swtaura

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller imagine #Joel Miller request #Joel Miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller x y/n #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #Joel Miller angst #Joel Miller fluff #Joel Miller smut #follow 👑 share ❤️ enjoy 🍑#enjoyreaders #pearlyfics

77 notes · View notes

dangerousstrawberryshark · 3 years ago

Text

VOTE! (NOT FOR A FIC BUT A CHARACTER/CELEBRITY)

So, I'm gonna cancel the yandere series, I really like this one (The Pharaoh x male reader). And because I have never seen one that involves Pharaoh x male reader.

Same rules:

PICK ONE CHARACTER! (Don't say [Character 1] or [Character 2] you must pick or I'll choose for you

You MUST put it in the comments. If you can't type in the comments or you want to stay anonymous, send me an ask with your vote and I'll add it in the comments.

Edward Cullen

Carlisle Cullen

Jasper Hale

Emmett Cullen

Jacob Black

Caius

Aro

Marcus

Demetri

Sam Uley

Garett

Tony Stark

Peter Parker (Bumping up his age)

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Thor Odinson

Clint Barton

Pietro Maximoff

Scott Lang

Bruce Banner

Dr. Strange

Loki

Venom

Deadpool

Helmut Zemo

Falcon

Izuku Midoriya

Dabi

Katsuki Bakugou

Mirio Togata

Tenya Lida

All Might

Enji Todoroki/Endeavor

Hawks

Eijiro Kirishima

Shoto Todoriki

Chris Hemsworth

Chris Evans

Robert Downey Jr.

Shawn Mendes

Tom Holland

Jeremy Renner

Sebastian Stan

Henry Cavill

Zac Efron

Colby Brock

Brennen Taylor

Sebastian Stan

Jensen Ackles

Jared Padalecki

Anthony Mackey

Aaron Taylor Johnson

Misha Collins

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

Matt Cohen

Bryan Dechart

Joe Manganiello

Pedro Pascal

Kim Nam-Joon/RM

Kim Seok-JIn

Min Yoongi

Jung Ho-Seok

Park Ji-Min

Kim Tae-Hyung

Jeon Jung-Kook.

James McAvoy

Ryan Reynolds

Robert Pattinson

Hugh Jackman

Johnny Depp

Scott Eastwood

Jared Leto

Ben Affleck

Ewan McGregor

Channing Tatum

Luke Evans

Tom Hiddleston

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

John Winchester

Lucifer

Crowley

Jack Kline

Young John (Michael)

Dean (Michael)

Adam (Micheal)

Archie Andrews

Jughead Jones

Reggie Mantle

Kevin Keller

Hiram Lodge

Malachai

F. P. Jones

Fangs Fogarty

Eren Jaeger

Levi Ackerman

Erwin Smith

Jean Kirstein

Reiner Braun

Kenny Ackerman

Bertolt Hoover

Clark Kent/Superman

Bruce Wayne/Batman

Arthur Curry/Aquaman

Billy Batson/Shazam (Bumping up his age)

Hal Jordan/Green Lantern

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd

Damian Wayne

Tim Drake

Barry Allen/The Flash

Oliver Queen/Green Arrow

Captain Cold

Captain Atom

Chris Redfield

Leon S. Kennedy

Albert Wesker

Carlos Oliveira

Ethan Winters

Karl Heisenberg

Piers Nivans

Mr. X

Cole Young

Johnny Cage

Scorpion

Kui Liang

Damon Salvatore

Stefan Salvatore

Klaus Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Jeremy Gilbert

Tyler Lockwood

Matt Donovan

Tobio Kageyama

Kei Tuskishima

Toru Oikawa

Tetsuro Kuroo

Asahi Azumane

Daichi Sawamura

Wakatoshi Ushijima

Hajime Iwaizumi

Kotaro Bokuto

Satoru Gojo

Kento Nanami

Aoi Todo

Toji Fushiguro

Ryomen Sukuna

Brahms Heelshire

Jason Voorhees

Michael Myers

Stu Matcher

Billy Loomis

Hannibal Lector

Will Graham

Norman Bates

Pyramid head

Sweeney Todd.

Bobby Drake

Scott Summers

Logan Howlett

Erik Lehnsherr

Young Professor X

Scott Mccall

Derek Hale

Peter Hale

Chris Argent

Andy Barber

Ransom Drysdale

Geralt of Rivia

Ian

Mickey

Collin Shea

Johnny Storm

Jake Jensen

Ari Levinson

Tanner Grayton

RK800 (CONNOR)

RK900 (NINES?)

Gavin Reed

#vote #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #male reader imagine

152 notes · View notes

honestlypeter · 4 years ago

Text

The Angel of Queens - Prologue

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: end game kinda (sorry guys), angsty, indirect ment. of suicide, ment. elderly passing, ment. homelessness, i don’t know how diane sawyer works

word count: 965

author’s note: aight this is the beginning of a series i’ve been working on. i haven’t written for this account in years, so i’m v nervous about posting this. i hope you guys enjoy it <3

They called her The Angel of Queens.

The Angel wasn’t quite a superhero per say. She didn’t fight crimes, or battle aliens. No, she was just simply there for those who needed her. When The Angel made her first appearance, right after The Decimation (later renamed The Blip), people were scared. To be fair, who wouldn’t be? A figure dressed in all white wearing a large, matching hooded cape (uhm, Grim Reaper much?) spotted coming out of a small nursing home in the middle of the night and then finding out the next day that two of the elderly patient’s residing there passed away overnight? That’s kind of terrifying.

However, the public learned quickly that the hooded figure wasn’t the harbinger of death, but in fact brought comfort to those who needed it. The dying elderly with no family to spend their last moments with, homeless people in tents under overpasses, people staring down at the waters from the edge of the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge.

So, of course, those who encountered her started talking about their experiences.

“It was the six month anniversary of my daughter’s death,” a middle aged man on the television began, “Lainey, uh, she was all I had and The Decimation took her from me. I didn’t have the energy to live anymore, so I decided that I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t. Not without my baby. And just as I was about to take that step off my apartment building I heard my daughter’s laughter and I-I froze.”

The man paused, taking in a shaky breath, “She was there! She had to be, but when I turned around I just saw The Angel of Queens standing a few feet behind me. The… the thing is, I wasn’t upset when I saw her and not my daughter, because I just felt… happy. For the first time in months I was happy. I was so confused, because where was my little girl? Why wasn’t I devastated like I should have been? And it was like she just read my mind, ‘cause she sat down on the edge of the building, pat the spot next to her and went, ‘Life gets a little easier when a memory that used to be happy becomes happy again.’

“So I sat, and she asked me about my daughter, and I did what I haven’t been able to do in a long time— I spoke freely about her. And as I talked about Lainey with The Angel I didn’t feel the darkness that usually came when I thought about her— it felt like I was finally getting the help I needed. But I was scared, because I knew the feeling wouldn’t last forever. I would go back to the cold darkness again. It was inevitable. So I told The Angel my fear without really meaning to. And not because she forced me to or anything, but because I knew I could.

“I think about her response every day. She said, ‘When winter comes and I get cold, I put on more layers. When I’m surrounded in too much darkness, I light a candle. Sounds easy enough, right?’ and I nodded and she continued with, ‘This obviously won’t be exactly like that. Nothing about this is easy. But this moment, these feelings, they are not fleeting, they are a beginning, and when the time is right, you’ll be able to put on a Mets sweatshirt, light a pumpkin scented candle, and finally be able to breathe.’

“And that whole time— I didn’t even notice this while it was happening— she walked with me from the edge of the building to the door to my apartment. The Angel then gave me a hug that reminded me of my daughter’s and told me, ‘Lainey will be back to give you a proper hug,’ and then she let me go and walked away,” the man finished, tears threatening to spill. He looked down at the ground, clearly trying to compose himself.

“So, what it sounds like to me is that The Angel believes those who perished in The Decimation will return?” Diane Sawyer asked, leaning forward in her chair.

The man managed to reply with a quiet, “Yes,” that wouldn’t have been heard had it not been for the mic attached to him.

Diane hummed, tapping her pen against her chin, “And do you believe that she’s right?”

The man looked up, his once forlorn expression now replaced with genuine hope, “I do. I mean, she knew we were a Mets family, she knew Lainey’s favorite candle scent, why wouldn’t she know this?”

The camera was back on Diane Sawyer and as she opened her mouth to speak, she was stopped by the TV shutting off.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y? Compile whatever information is out there about The Angel of Queens.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

“What a coincidence, huh, Tony?” Happy said, glancing into the rearview mirror to check on his friend as they pulled up to the familiar apartment complex.

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled, getting out of the car, “What a coincidence.”

With that, he shut the car door a little harder than he normally did and made his way to the apartment right across from where the Parkers lived. Well, used to live.

Too distracted by staring down the haunting door, Tony didn’t notice a thirteen year old girl opening her front door until she cleared her throat. That startled the billionaire, him quickly turning around, facing the child who was looking at him with glossy eyes. Is she… crying? Tony thought, the corner of his lips turning downward. He never knew what to do with upset children. Little did he know that her eyes were just a mere reflection of his.

Before Tony could get a word out, the girl beat him to it.

“How did you know Peter Parker?”

#my work #peter parker series #peter parker one shot #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst

46 notes · View notes

thegeekerynj · 4 years ago

Text

An Occasional Attempt to Read, Discuss and Review the Wonders of Comics By: John Rafferty, cranky old man, and Fan of All Things Comics

Fat Guy’s WABAC Machine (with apologies to Jay Ward)

Green Lantern / Green Arrow 76 - 87 (1970 - 1971)

Writer: Dennis O’Neil Artist: Neal Adams

That's right, Lantern... apologize. Grovel in front of that walking mummy.

You call yourself a hero! Chum, you don't even qualify as a man. You're no more than a puppet... and the Guardians pull your strings.

Listen... forget about chasing around the galaxy! And remember America. It's a good country... beautiful... fertile... and terribly sick! There are children dying, honest people cowering in fear, disillusioned kids ripping up campuses. On the streets of Memphis a good Black man died... and in Los Angeles, a good white man fell.

Something is wrong. Something is killing us all! Some hideous moral cancer is rotting our very souls.

[Addresses the Guardians, pointing an accusing finger] And you... sitting on your mudball, preening like a smug tomcat. How dare you presume to meddle in the affairs of humanity, when human beings are no more than statistics to you and your crew.

Come off your perch. Touch, taste, laugh, and cry! Learn where we're at... and why!’ 1970. I wasn’t yet 11 years old.

I had witnessed Kent State on the television, the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Robert Kennedy, and how many thousands in Viet Nam.

Then, I picked up Green Lantern / Green Arrow 76...

Gone were the silly Boxing Glove arrows, the Siren arrows, the Itching Powder arrows. We are introduced to a socially conscious Oliver Queen, “Woke’ before woke was a thing... the Social Justice Warrior he continues to be today.

Thus were we introduced to the amazing writing writing style go Denny O’Neil. He pulled no punches, pulled the day’s issues into the story, and made the story surrealistically real... a gutpunch, if you will, to the reader’s conscience, a kickstart to the youth of America’s zeitgeist.

Any comic fan from this era can name one story from this run of comics, whether because they they remember the stories, the punches leaving memories that the reader carried with them through their lived, or they remembered the artwork. The incredible, wondrous work of Neal Adams, who didn’t just illustrate these stories, he brought them to life.

The story itself, was a simple one, GL saves a man from being beaten by a crowd.

Then, he finds out from GA, the man he saved was a slumlord, and the people attacking him were his tenants, because he wouldn’t fix the basic needs in the building...

Pandemonium ensues.

This run of comics, ends with issues 86-87, issues which Denny O’Neil was recognized for two years ago.

The stories, ‘Snowbirds Don’t Fly’, addressed the heroin problem America, from the most unlikely of places, a hero’s family.

A little preachy by today’s standards, but still on point, describing the drug problem for much of American youth, and American Parents. I found myself rereading this a number of times through my life, three times in particular... when my children were growing old enough to make these decisions, and I was old enough to not recognize the issues.

I cannot recommend these issues enough. DC has recently collected them, I would wholeheartedly suggest reading them. Their like will never be seen again, especially now.

You see, Denny O’Neil passed away on Friday. His last story, that I know of, was a neat little story in the new Joker 80th Anniversary issue. His Legacy, his masterworks must be read.

Honor the memory of our of the GIANTS in Comics Writing, and read these stories. Thank you.

#denny o'neil #neal adams #comic books #comics #dc comics #green lantern #green arrow #speedy #hal jordan #oliver queen #rip denny o'neil

0 notes

nofomoartworld · 7 years ago

Text

Hyperallergic: A Retrospective of Andrew Wyeth, a Painter Both Loved and Loathed

Andrew Wyeth, “Anna Christina” (1967) tempera on panel, 21 ½ x 23 ½ in. jointly owned by the Brandywine River Museum and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, anonymous gifts, 2002 (© 2017 Andrew Wyeth/Artists Rights Society (ARS))

CHADDS FORD, Pa. — Riddle me this: Is the Whitney Biennial a real Whitney Biennial if it goes without protest? In 1960, back when the exhibition was held annually, Edward Hopper urged Andrew Wyeth to sign his letter protesting the near exclusion of realist painting. The artist declined, distancing himself from the New York art world’s socio-political arguments, content with what was in front of him, like Giorgio Morandi with his bottles. Yet, from the late ’60s on, Wyeth would be labeled a reactionary — which is rather like taking issue with a rock for not taking issue with you — and conservative, overlooking John F. Kennedy honoring him in 1963 with a Medal of Freedom for depicting “verities and delights of everyday life” in the “great humanist tradition.” To this day his East Coast critics spend a surprising amount of energy dismissing his relevance.

Jerry Saltz’s 2009 obituary on Wyeth begins by claiming “almost no one in the art world ever thought of or cared much about [him]” thereby slighting Alfred Barr, Elaine de Kooning, and Henri Cartier-Bresson, for starters. More, Robert Hughes did a 180 switch, lauding the painter after his death. “[I]n over three decades in the art world, I have never heard one artist, art student, teacher, critic, collector, or curator mention his name,” Saltz goes on. One wonders whether he missed his wife Roberta Smith’s 1998 New York Times review “New Light on Wyeth’s Outer and Inner Landscapes” on Wyeth’s Whitney Museum show. Was he also completely unaware of photographer Collier Schorr’s obsession with Wyeth’s Helga pictures? “Wyeth was considered so conservative,” Saltz continues, “that even the Metropolitan Museum of Art declined an offer to exhibit his work.” No. The first one-person exhibition the Met ever gave to a living American artist was “Two World’s of Andrew Wyeth: Kuerners and Olsons” curated by director Thomas Hoving in 1976, previewed by Grace Glueck and reviewed by Hilton Kramer in The New York Times, where more argument ensued.

Gwendolyn DuBois Shaw doesn’t ignore art history in her recent piece “Andrew Wyeth’s Black Paintings,” published in the exhibition catalogue for the Brandywine River Museum of Art’s present retrospective on the painter; she rewrites it. It’s not apparent she saw her claimed point of departure: the 2001 “Andrew Wyeth: Close Friends” exhibition of seventy-four works he made of his African-American friends and neighbors over a seventy-year span. But in Shaw’s retelling, Wyeth is a racist oppressor who exploited poor blacks for his own artistic ends. “My issue is more with my field, rather than with the paintings,” Ted Loos cites her as saying, which implies a personal agenda guiding her efforts. It’s helpful to understand this motive, because doing so gives context to the reliably derogatory insinuations and defamatory takes on Wyeth and his art — all free of responsible research.

Shaw makes much of Wyeth’s lifelong black friend and frequent model David Lawrence’s nickname “Doo-Doo,” (which the Wyeth family spelled “Dodo”) to insinuate Wyeth gave him this disparaging moniker. Unmentioned is who dubbed him this — Dodo’s cousin, mom, the mailman? — and that it was only decades later (in the 1950s) “doo-doo” picked up its scatological connotations. So, for the record, Wyeth did not in fact call his best friend “shit.” But Shaw did substantially misrepresent two people’s lives by getting the etymology of six letters wrong. It may seem trivial to address this, but one must select examples of her speculative trivialities when their accumulation is the whole of her piece.

Shaw holds up Senna Moore as the most artistically violated of his models, especially in “Dryad” (2000/2007), where the painter darkens her skin to envelop her within a tree’s shadow. (Dryads are mythological beings that live inside trees.) The incurious takeaway is, in Wyeth’s paintings, “black bodies could be eliminated entirely.” Despite her simplistic reading, Shaw indicates no knowledge that Senna Moore is actually alive — and perhaps available for an interview (as is a male model). In opting out of this exchange, to quote the writer’s own words, Shaw “eliminated entirely” the very black female voice she arrogated herself to speak on behalf of. Knowing none of Wyeth’s models or the artist, Shaw could, to recall her accusation, “exert a great deal of control over how [s]he imagined them.”

Andrew Wyeth painting “Vivian”; still from Andrew Wyeth: Self-Portrait (Snow Hill), directed by Bo Bartlett

In Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania over 100 works by Andrew Wyeth are on display at the Brandywine for Andrew Wyeth: In Retrospect, a comprehensive exhibition covering works from 1936 to his last in 2008, titled “Goodbye.” An agrarian in an age of war, living “farm to table” in contemporary parlance, his subjects — neighbors, the fields, woods, and streams, dilapidated houses, interiors mixed with still lifes, scandalizing nudes, shorelines, boats, and boots — have potential to inspire and disgust, weary and delight, according to the viewer and often the era’s politics.

Were Wyeth not so beloved by the general public, it’s unlikely the critics — mostly writing in the popular press — would have been so committed to scorning him. The policing of borders separating fine art from illustration was first-order, boring business for critics whose opinions on Wyeth were evidently ignored, if they registered at all with collectors and postcard-buyers alike. Surveys conducted in 1973 and 2006, years bookending Wyeth’s most tarred and feathered moments in the press, evidenced no alteration in the museum-going public’s approval: 86% for “enjoyment” of his paintings, according to exhibition exit polls by Wanda M. Corn and Lynda M. O’Leary. Wyeth sought to make images widely intelligible and by succeeding in that, rendered third-party mediation largely irrelevant, surely a sore spot for professional mouthpieces of taste. This meant authoritative interpretation of his art was his own, exemplified by Thomas Hoving’s choice to interview the artist for the 1976 exhibition catalogue, rather than commission essays.

Wyeth, elsewhere, writes: “I think one’s art goes as far and as deep as one’s love goes. I see no reason for painting but that. If I have anything to offer, it is my emotional contact with the place where I live and the people [I know].

This quote is slightly revolting in its sentimentality. We rid ourselves of softer emotions in 20th-century art. But “deep love” is not saccharine if we imagine that Wyeth had been a poet, novelist, or essayist. Think of beauty, for example.

“At some point in life the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough.”

Okay, that one’s by Toni Morrison. See? It’s nice. It’s a literary attitude, perhaps, that’s needed to enter the world of Andrew Wyeth, which is not to say it’s easy. Francis Weiss, in the academic reader Rethinking Andrew Wyeth, posits Robert Frost as akin to Wyeth in artistic aim. “You and I have something in common,” Frost wrote Wyeth, “that almost makes me one wonder if we hadn’t influenced each other, been brought up in the same family.” They both aimed their art at the common viewer, eschewing urbane tastes, crafting work within a familiar tradition.

Despite the criticism claiming Wyeth’s weathered pastorals were escapist, the works are, like Frost’s poems, a space for darker dreaming and experiencing alienation, isolation, and a distinctly 20th-century form of anxiety. “At its most aesthetically convincing,” Donald Kuspit holds, “Wyeth’s art brings us to consciousness of the body’s existence — bodiliness as such, bodiliness as the essence of existence.” This seems right. All of his works, at least from the late 1940s on, are relentlessly focused at an observational level, almost cruel at times, while suffused with a range of moods, from the austere to the theatrical, as if visual facts were a container for fictions. Or, invoking the novelist Émile Zola’s words: “a corner of creation seen through a temperament.”

The Japanese see abstract meanings too. In the new catalogue for the Brandywine exhibition, Shuji Takahashi reveals why Wyeth’s work is collected in Japan more than in any other country but this one, and why Wyeth felt more understood there. His paintings reflect “the Japanese sense of life and death, a belief … that people are part of the great cycle of nature.” The tempera “Thin Ice” (1969) in the show is the most abstract piece, and is exhibited in America for the first time in decades. The orange and brown leaves in a stream under an ice sheet suggest a painter who could’ve been an accomplished abstract artist had he not found the genre dull.

The Japanese never succumbed to the form of western modernity Wyeth’s art rejects, that is, the separation of truth from beauty. Here, what is beautiful cannot be true, and what is true cannot be beautiful. Europe caught this earlier, with the First World War — hence Dadaism — and then this view rose in the United States with WWII. Jackson Pollock and the Abstract Expressionist’s bent toward self-obliteration was incommensurable with a tenacious realism holding forth that humans are inherently dignified. Pop Art then successfully brought back realist imagery, but only by exhausting the meaning of the images’ referents. It’s striking to note Wyeth’s painting of Tom Clark in “Chester County” (1962) was made the same year Warhol introduced his serialized images of Campbell’ Soup. Wyeth was pursuing the human affect in his paintings that Pop Art was laying to rest.

When Robert Rosenblum said in 1977 that Andrew Wyeth was both the most overrated and underrated living American artist, he had it right. The “best” and “worst” artist would’ve been better candidates, but in accounting for collective perceptions, Wyeth did divide. This friction is playing out at the Museum of Modern Art right now. “Christina’s World” (1938), the famous painting of crippled Christina crawling up a hill toward home, was acquired as a work then considered categorically modern, surrealist. But as its popularity grew with the public, the museum’s curatorial thrust instead went toward Abstract-Expressionism, forcing MoMA into its present fix. It keeps the painting at home to do the heavy lifting — it’s their Mona Lisa for ticket sales and merchandising — but rejects displaying it as a great work of art. It’s rarely lent, citing concerns about its condition, a claim contradicted by their relegating it to the heavily trafficked hallway, to be appreciated en route to the toilet. Thus the rub: the museum’s curators let visitors know Wyeth is not a canonical artist, to be put in an legitimate gallery space, while also being substantially reliant on his work for financial support.

The artist’s watercolor landscapes are often considered his best works, or to his dedicated detractors, the least bad — which might in part be due to their purported affinity to Abstract Expressionism. Regardless, they are great works. There are no physical, mental, or material intermediaries between the artist’s spirit and his image. Wyeth’s brush does not represent the subject; it discovers it. The painting is a visual artifact and its process of making are the result of an experiential whole of pointed intention. Mistaking his facility as bravura, which is often done with these works, is like mistaking the beauty in an athlete’s skill — hard won by discipline — for ease.

Given that so much handwringing has been generated about Wyeth for at least the last fifty years, his work is already interesting. The criticisms against him are more rich, varied, and contradictory than any other artist of the 20th century, with him being both lascivious and sexually repressed, impossibly fantastical and boringly descriptive, embarrassingly sentimental and oppressively racist, idyllic and depressed, undeservedly famous and nobody at all. The reasons to like him are less fanciful and few. He was a good guy, made likable pictures, and was a fantastic painter with a rare deftness of touch, able to make innumerable paintings of the same hill and never repeat himself, nail a subject in six seconds or six months, paint from imagination a picture more convincing than a photograph, keep brushes wet for 75 years, and have it in him to paint a “Goodbye” when he knows it’s time to go.

Andrew Wyeth: In Retrospect continues at the Brandywine River Museum of Art (1 Hoffman’s Mill Road, Chadds Ford, PA) through September 17, 2017.

The post A Retrospective of Andrew Wyeth, a Painter Both Loved and Loathed appeared first on Hyperallergic.

from Hyperallergic http://ift.tt/2gIvH33 via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hyperallergic

2 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 8 years ago

Text

15 Times A U.S. President Showed Up in Marvel Comics

Love him or hate him, as of January 20, 2017 Donald J. Trump has officially become the 45th President of the United States of America. However, what you may not have known is that this will also make President Trump the leader of the Marvel Comics Universe’s America.

RELATED: SALES OF MARCH SOAR AFTER DONALD TRUMP INSULTS JOHN LEWIS

Since the company’s humble beginnings as Timely comics, Marvel has made something of a tradition out of honoring American Presidents by featuring them in their comics. Though their appearances are sometimes little more than cameos or passing topical references, some of our nation’s leaders have been key figures for full issues or even in entire story arcs! Since we’ve just begun a new Presidency, there’s no better time for us to look back at 15 of the times an American President made an appearance in a Marvel comic.

DEADPOOL KILLS 31 ZOMBIFIED US PRESIDENTS

Back in 2012, as part of their MARVEL NOW initiative, Marvel relaunched Deadpool with a new #1 helmed by the creative team of writers Brian Posehn and Gerry Duggan, along with artist Tony Moore and colorist Val Staples. The book’s first arc (issues #1-6), appropriately called “Dead Presidents,” finds Deadpool being called in by S.H.I.E.L.D. to fight and kill reanimated versions of 31 US Presidents, spanning from George Washington to Ronald Regan.

Necromancer, a magical former member of S.H.I.E.L.D. with the ability to bring living creatures back to life, decides to reanimate all of the former Presidents of the United States in hopes that their guidance can save America from itself. This plan completely backfires when his magic not only corrupts the former Presidents, but also gives them superpowers. After deciding the best course of action is to destroy the country and start fresh, Deadpool (along with the ghost of Benjamin Franklin) is called in to take them all out and save America. It’s also worth mentioning that 39th President Jimmy Carter also makes an appearance in issue #1, even though he’s still very much alive.

FRANKLIN DELANO ROOSEVELT CALLS FOR BACK-UP

The 32nd President of the United States, Franklin Delano Roosevelt began making appearances in Marvel comics all the way back in 1940 when Marvel was still known as Timely Comics. His first appearance was in issue #10 of Timely’s first series “Marvel Mystery Comics,” a book that featured multiple stories about some of Marvel’s earliest characters like Namor the Sub-Mariner, and the original (robotic) Human Torch.

FDR made his comic debut, in a story penciled by artist Steve Dahlman, that follows Electro (not to be confused with the Spider-Man villain), a Robot created by Professor Philo Zogolowski and funded by the US Government, to fight crime and corruption. When the villainous Cuban scientist Dr. Bruno Varoz develops a synthetic blood formula that allows him to reanimate human corpses, he creates an army of the undead and sends them to attack major American cities. When conventional means fail, President Roosevelt calls in Professor Zog and Electro to deal with Varoz. After defeating his armies and tossing him in a vat of acid, Zogolowski is personally congratulated by FDR for defending his country.

HARRY TRUMAN GETS KIDNAPPED

In a story by Stan Lee and Mike Sekowsky featured in issue #34 of “Human Torch Comics,” President Harry Truman is kidnapped by a two-dimensional being known as B4, who is the leader of his two-dimensional world of Flatula.

The issue begins with the original Human Torch and his sidekick, Sun Girl, watching a baseball game together, when suddenly the ball flattens and disappears mid-pitch. The game is then interrupted by the breaking news that the President has also vanished while addressing the public. Eventually the Torch figures out what’s going on and the duo travel to Philadelphia in time to see the words on the Declaration of Independence disappear. As the Liberty Bell starts to flatten itself, Human Torch and Sun Girl grab on, transporting themselves to Flatula.

After being captured by the locals and taken to B4, the Torch and Sun Girl are taken to a zoo holding everything stolen from the 3-dimensional world. When the Torch finally Flames on, he discovers that since fire is 3-dimensional, he and Sun Girl are immune to the effects of the flat dimension. They then burn everything between them and the zoo before freeing the captives and returning home with B4 as their prisoner so that the Flatulans can never kidnap anyone again.

DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER GETS KIDNAPPED

In “What If?” #9, by writer Don Glut and artist Alan Kupperbuerg, Iron Man calls a meeting with Avengers members Captain America, Thor, Vision, and Beast to show them his newest invention, a dimensional viewer. He explains that the device allows them to see a video feed of an alternate Earth where another group of heroes somewhat similar to the five of them also founded a superhero team called The Avengers, albeit in the 1950s.

F.B.I. agent Jimmy Woo recruits Marvel Boy, 3-D Man, Gorilla Man, the Human Robot and the goddess Venus to rescue President Dwight D. Eisenhower from the supervillain Yellow Claw and his Masters of Evil-style team of villains made up of the hero’s individual nemeses. After completing their mission, President Eisenhower disbands the team, believing that learning about super-powered beings like The Avengers would send the public into a panic. The “Avengers” agree and disband until a time when their world needs them again.

MERLIN TRIES TO STEAL AMERICA FROM JOHN F. KENNEDY

In his last contemporary appearance in a Marvel comic, and just a few short weeks before his assassination, President John F. Kennedy almost has the country stolen right from under him by Merlin the Wizard in “Journey into Mystery” #96, by writers Stan Lee and Robert Bernstein, and artist Joe Sinnott. We learn that Merlin is in fact a mutant who used his powers of telepathy, levitation, and teleportation to fake magic.

Shortly after using his powers to send a missile test off course, Merlin teleports himself to Washington D.C. and storms the White House intending to take control of the country from JFK. Thor and Merlin duke it out on the White House lawn with Merlin using the Washington Monument as a giant spear, and animated the Lincoln Memorial statue with his “magic” for back up. Realizing their powers were pretty evenly matched, Thor decides to throw a Hail Mary and turn back into his old alter ego, Dr. Donald Blake, in an attempt to convince Merlin that he’s a shapeshifter with countless more powerful forms. Merlin buys Thor’s tall tale, so Thor commands him to return to his sarcophagus for another 1,000 years.

LYNDON B. JOHNSON PARDONS BRUCE BANNER

President Lyndon B. Johnson really had his hands full as the President of Marvel’s America. While he was in office S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded, he reunited Nick Fury and the Howling Commandoes, and Kang the Conqueror nearly took over the planet. He was also a fairly prominent figure during a few Hulk storylines back when the character was gracing the pages of “Tales to Astonish.”

In issue #64, written by Leon Lazarus and drawn by Carl Burgos, Bruce Banner finds himself locked up in a government prison after allegedly attempting to steal an invention he created for the army. Bruce is moved to Washington D.C. for a trial, and receives a visit from Rick Jones who tries to convince Bruce to reveal himself as the Hulk. Bruce refuses, believing that exposing himself could put America at risk if their enemies learned who he was and how he got his powers. He remarks that he could only expose his identity to someone who he knew would never let the information get out. This gives Rick the idea to pay a visit to none other than President Lyndon B. Johnson himself. After flashing his official Avengers card, he gets an audience with the President and earns Bruce Banner a pardon.

RICHARD NIXON STAGES A COUP

You may know he was also the Commander-in-Chief during Galactus’ assault on Earth, but are you aware that President Richard Nixon also acted as Number One, the leader of the Secret Empire? Originally a satellite organization of HYDRA, by the time Nixon is their leader, the Secret Empire is an independent group seeking to overthrow the American Government by capturing mutants (including notable X-Men like Beast, Angel, and Ice Man) and channeling their powers into a flying saucer-like super-weapon.

In “Captain America” #175, written by Steve Englehart and drawn by Sal Buscema, we see Cap, The Falcon, Cyclops, and Jean Grey (still acting as Marvel Girl) are able to defeat the members of the Secret Empire, but Nixon escapes into the White House before being corned in the Oval Office by Cap. Rather than accepting his capture, Number One removes his mask, revealing his identity to Cap (but not the reader) as a high ranking government official before committing suicide. Though we don’t see Nixon’s face, the implication was so clear that Marvel tried to distance themselves from the story’s connection to the Watergate scandal in the issue’s letters section. However, writer Steve Englehart has since come out and said he absolutely intended Number One to be President Nixon.

GERALD FORD IS ALMOST ASSASSINATED

In “Incredible Hulk” #185, by writer Len Wein and artist Herb Trimpe, President Gerald Ford is scheduled to visit the Hulkbuster Base to congratulate Colonel Glenn Talbot on escaping from Russian captivity. It just so happens that Colonel John Armbruster has also captured Bruce Banner, tranquilized him, and locked him up deep beneath the Hulkbuster Base. When President Ford arrives at the base later that day, he’s shown around by Talbot, General “Thunderbolt” Ross, and Ross’ daughter Betty. Ross takes the President down to where Banner is being held to brag about his capture, and Bruce even mocks Ford by calling him Vice-President (Ford was VP until Nixon’s resignation, if you recall).

As the trio shows the President around the base, Armbruster learns from a secret report that Talbot’s “escape” was actually a plot by the Russians, and that the man they believe to be Talbot is in fact a Russian spy with a bomb implanted in his chest who was sent to kill President Ford. Without warning, Armbruster bursts into the room and tackles “Talbot” over the edge of a railing. The spy’s body then explodes, killing both of them in the blast.

JIMMY CARTER (AND GERALD FORD) RUN AGAINST HOWARD THE DUCK

In the Marvel Universe, the 1976 Presidential race was between incumbent President Gerald Ford, the man who defeated him, President Jimmy Carter, and…Howard the Duck. While working as a security guard for the fringe “All-Night” Party, Howard learns the group’s leader has recently dropped out and they’re looking for a new candidate. After he discovers a bomb’s been placed in the crowd, Howard rushes on stage during the new candidate’s speech and manages to save everyone by sacrificing the event’s giant cake to smother the bomb, and the group immediately names Howard their new candidate.

Despite numerous attempts on his life and disagreements with members of his party, Howard manages to craft a solid platform. He vows to crack down on pollution, cut military spending, give amnesty to draft-dodgers, strive for bipartisanism and improve education. While neither Presidents Carter nor Ford take Howard seriously, he still manages to poll with 30% of Americans saying they’d vote for him (although 48% said they would kill him), before a doctored photo of Howard taking a bath with his sidekick Beverly begins a sex scandal in “Howard the Duck” #8, written by Steve Gerber and drawn by Gene Colan, that quickly ends his Presidential bid.

RONALD REGAN FIGHTS CAPTAIN AMERICA

“Captain America” #344, written by Mark Gruenwald and drawn by Kieron Dwyer, tells a story where the supervillain Viper (later known as Madame Hydra) poisons Washington D.C.’s water supply with a mutagenic agent that causes people to hallucinate and turn into “Snake-Men.” President Ronald Regan is one of the many people affected by the toxin, and Steve Rogers (then acting as The Captain) fights him inside the Oval Office.

Ronald Regan strips down to his underwear as he succumbs to the mutagen, gaining scales and super powers. He then attacks Cap, who is forced to evade rather than fight back in order to keep from killing the President. Luckily for both of them, Regan sweats enough during their brawl to work the toxin out of his system, and he quickly loses his scales and returns to his human form. We’re shown that he at least temporarily retains his sharpened canines, but unfortunately Regan’s days as superhuman seem to end here.

GEORGE H.W. BUSH HAS PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY

Our 41st President, George H.W. Bush, makes arguably the least significant appearances of all the Presidents on this list. That being said, he did make a handful of fairly notable cameos in the first volume of “Iron Man” during the late ’80s and early ’90s.

He made his debut in the Marvel Universe in “Iron Man” #247, written by David Michelinie and Bob Layton, who also acted as a penciler for the issue. President Bush briefly appears on television to claim he had no knowledge of collusion between the F.B.I. and the crime syndicate known as the Maggia. He later returned to the book in “Iron Man” #277, by writer John Byrne and artist Paul Ryan, when he’s alerted that hidden missile silos across the Midwest have launched nuclear warheads straight at Russia as part of a Soviet plot to begin World War III (Iron Man and Black Widow intervene and save the day, though).

BILL CLINTON EXILES CAPTAIN AMERICA

President Bill Clinton is featured prominently in the four-issue miniseries celebrating Cap’s 50th anniversary, “Captain America: Man Without a Country.” His first appearance in the arc is in “Captain America” issue #450, by writer Mark Waid and artist Ron Garney, when President Clinton charges Cap with treason and exiles him from U.S. soil.

After meeting with Sharon Carter in London and getting a new uniform without the stars and stripes, the duo travel to Moldovia, where the villain Machinesmith has built an Argus Cannon to try and force a conflict with the U.S. While trying to invade the base where the cannon is being held, Cap and Sharon get captured and taken to Machinesmith, who then explains that he’s stolen the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier’s override codes. He directs the carrier to crash into a nearby mountain while he teleports to Camp David to assassinate the President. Cap is ultimately able to foil the Machinesmith and save President Clinton, earning his thanks and the reinstatement of his citizenship and title as Captain America.

GEORGE W. BUSH PASSES THE SUPERHUMAN REGISTRATION ACT

Marvel’s 2006 “Civil War” event kicks off when the New Warriors, a group of superheroes with their own reality show, take on a group of villains way out of their league in a quest for ratings instead of calling in the Avengers. Among the villains they attack is Nitro who during the conflict, explodes and kills over 600 people (including 60 children). Tony Stark is accused of being responsible for the culture of superheroes (due to him bankrolling The Avengers) by one of the children’s parents, so he decides it’s time for him to get involved.

In response to growing public demand for greater accountability from superheroes, President George W. Bush meets with Stark, Reed Richards and Hank Pym in “Civil War” #1, by writer Mark Millar and artist Steve McNiven, to develop the Superhuman Registration Act. He expresses his concern that Captain America is the figurehead for the rebellion, and asserts that they will need their own figurehead before Iron Man steps forward to tell him that they will deal with Cap.

THE CHAMELEON TRIES TO REPLACE BARACK OBAMA

In “Amazing Spider-Man” #583, written by Mark Waid and drawn by Barry Kitson, the supervillain known as the Chameleon attempts to impersonate and kidnap President Barack Obama on his Inauguration Day so that he can take his place as the next President of the United States. The real Obama manages to escape and his Vice-President – Joe Biden drives – him to the inauguration to stop the Chameleon.

Peter Parker is also in D.C. trying to sneak into the inauguration without a press pass. Just as he’s about to be arrested for trespassing, Senator John McCain recognizes Peter as a photographer for the Daily Bugle and gets one for him. Once inside, Peter sees that two Obamas have arrived to the inauguration, so he becomes Spider-Man and exposes the imposter by asking the two of them a series of questions that only the true President Obama would know how to answer.

DONALD TRUMP THREATENS TO SUE LUKE CAGE

President Donald Trump’s appearance on this list is unique because, due to his celebrity status prior to the election, he’s the only President whose appearance happened before his actual Presidency. In what is arguably the least flattering appearance on this list, Trump is briefly shown getting into a conflict with Luke Cage in “New Avengers” issue #47, written by Brian Michael Bendis and drawn by Billy Tan and Michael Gaydos.

When Trump’s limousine is blocking the way of an ambulance trying to respond to an emergency, Luke Cage lifts the vehicle out of the way before carelessly dropping it back on the street. Trump jumps out and threatens Luke with a lawsuit, but Cage responds by slamming his hands on the hood and screaming at him to “Get (his) ass back in the car!” This causes Trump to retreat to his limo and rolling up the window as a crowd of civilians applaud.

Which Marvel series do you want to see President Trump show up in first? Let us know in the comments!

The post 15 Times A U.S. President Showed Up in Marvel Comics appeared first on CBR.com.

http://ift.tt/2kbCq66

#Aion_Rsa

2 notes · View notes

jedihersh · 6 years ago

Video

😂😂😂😂😂 @Regran_ed from @17thsoulja6 - #StanLee Condemns Bigotry Using #Marvel Column He Wrote in 1968 "The only way to destroy them, is to expose them — to reveal from the insidious evil they really are," Lee wrote in 'Stan's Soapbox.' Stan Lee made it clear to #MarvelComics readers of all ages in 1968 that #racism and bigotry were unacceptable. 1968" — a year in which #MartinLutherKing Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated and the Civil Rights Act of 1968 was enacted. "Racism and bigotry are among the deadliest social ills plaguing the world today," Lee wrote nearly 50 years ago. "But, unlike a team of costumed supervillains, they can't be halted with a punch in the snoot or a zap from a ray gun. The only way to destroy them, is to expose them — to reveal from the insidious evil they really are." Lee told fans not getting along was another person was normal, but "it's totally irrational and patently insane to condemn an entire race — to despise an entire nation — to vilify an entire religion." He added, "Sooner or later, we must learn to judge each other on our own merits. Sooner or later, if a man is to ever be worthy of his destiny, we must fill out hearts with tolerance. For then, and only then, will we be truly worthy of the concept that man was created in the image of God — a God who calls us ALL — his children." Lee was known for injecting progressive messages into his work, with the X-Men comics serving as an allegory for the civil rights movement and characters such as newspaper editor J. Jonah Jameson taking pro-civil rights stances. #17thsoulja #blackig17th @17thsoulja6 Spider man putting them paws 🐾 on #cesareborgia behind this on when he could’ve took #donalddump 💇🏼‍♂️ - #regrann https://www.instagram.com/p/BqGgiTPgzXeWIuTz1Lx6se28EshBtN6xOIyCNY0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1wfsd04rrr3v3

#stanlee #marvel #marvelcomics #racism #martinlutherking #17thsoulja #blackig17th #cesareborgia #donalddump #regrann

0 notes

melancholicstation · 27 days ago

Text

summer wine ( and an angel’s kiss in spring ) — bobby f. kennedy

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-vlovesvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

summary: during a party hosted in light of senator john f. kennedy’s presidential candidacy announcement, bobby and you sneak away into the background and have about as much fun as a person can have at a political campaign celebration🍷🛌 …

tags: 18+, making love against a secretary desk, religious imagery, hair pulling, oral ( female receiving ), unprotected s*x, desk breaking

words: 1783

Sure, you’ll bite: a campaign celebration soirée for your husband’s older brother’s presidential ticket wasn’t exactly your idea of a rousing saturday evening but when jack tells you to be somewhere, well that’s just where you’re gonna be: at least that’s where bobby would always be.

It’s bordering on 2:00 am and you’ve just about tried as many old fashions and sidecars as you can stomach for the time being so you switch to a vintage choosing of dubonnet cherry wine.

You haven’t talked to bobby much all day which isn’t so out of the ordinary: evidently he was a man very much in demand. You’d just become to miss him as his frame comes into your periphery. A sight just calibrated for your oh so terribly sore eyes!

You smile and beckon him over, not unlike calling over an excitable puppy, he’s quick to start into quick jog. The squeaks of his leather derbies colliding with the teak flooring, but being quickly drowned out to all ears by the booming, assaulting volume of irish ballads playing from the far side of the gathering hall.

“Hey Sugar how’re you doin’? Has Mrs Bridges been hassling you about going that murder-mystery bookclub again I—by god I can see in your face, of course she has. How many times?”

“Three times” you say through breathy laughs as you fuss over the positioning of the shark-type collar he dons, eventually laying it flat against his collarbone littered with blonde baby-hairs like a garden of baby breaths.

“Three times this night or this hour my dear?” He says while responding to my incessant fixing and prodding’s by grabbing the hair from the nape, splitting it into two with hands much larger than yours, arranging them across your shoulders.

“Three times this hour” You move to lay your head across his collarbone but close was never close enough for you as of late, you would nest yourself in his ribs if you could tucked around his sternum. “Oh god, my poor, poor girl. I extend my deepest apologies that I wasn’t there to run interference: though I don’t believe it would’ve stopped her pursuits much” he says in a condescendingly charming fashion.

“Oh you’re really sorry” “Terribly so” “How sorry are you?”

“Well if you join me in the back I can show you just how deep my sympathies truly lie.” He exclaims in a tone that balances the intimacy of such an offer with a boyish-like spin.

The brazenness of his offer makes you giggle profusely, calling the attention to older couples who interact with their partners like they sleep in separate beds: so you don’t pay them much mind, a tell-tale sign that bobby’s one too many of the amortised wines served was his rare streak of promiscuity that would rear its head. Much to your amusement as his wife.

You scurry off little teenagers running to make out under the bleachers, you allow bobby to lead you as he’s more familiar with the event space than you were. He leads you into an abandoned looking secretarial office, with a hand curled around the crevice of your elbow like a devout would hold a beaded rosary, a loving kind of possession.

strawberries cherries and an angel’s kiss in spring…

You both look around the room quite impolitely in sheer curiosity: opening rusty drawers, flicking through empty filing cabinets until you both land on a particular item resting on the wall parallel to the door. A slanted front writing desk in a deep caramel tinted mahogany wood. A brass handle dangles in the breeze from the slightly draft coming in through the door.

Bobby and you both grinning and make eye contact: immediately moving to pull down the handle to woefully find it particularly barren: no secret notes or diary entry’s. Your face mirrors each other’s pout, as you try to test the sturdiness of the writing desk. To your surprise it holds its own under the full weight of your hand. Noticing this Bobby catches on, asking “Do ya’ think it’s sturdy enough?”

“Looks sturdy enough to me” you grin as you slowly back your behind up and onto the desk. Your legs finding balance resting on the lower portion of Bobby’s thigh. Slowly your Mary Jane black pumps start to find perch higher and higher on his thigh, eventually reaching the mound beneath his dress pants. You decide to tease him a bit and start to circle your foot around the mound, to which Bobby moans under his breath, shyly and throws his head back clearly overwhelmed. He lets you toy with him for a few short moments until you’re sure he had had enough, and moves to wrap your legs and thighs around the width of his hips. “Ya sure you want to do this here, y’know I could tell Jack we’ve had an issue with the babysitter and need to get home. I—I just quite feel disrespectful taking you in a place that has about 5 distinguishable moulds living in it. “Not that I don’t want to, cause trust me my girl I do it’s just—“

my summer wine is really made from all these things…

“Hush, I don’t care if there’s mould spors I need you on me this instance Kennedy. Depriving your wife! My I can’t think of a more disrespectful act can you Bobby?” You say in a bullish-yet feminine tone that immediately snaps Bobby out of his overthinking spiral: a good trait in a campaign manager not in a husband. Great for Jack, not so much for you.

“Okay—Okay I’m sorry baby you know how I get” “Oh I do now clear your mind of it this instance”

take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time…

“Totally clear” he says in a self assured tone as he moves to delicately remove his dress pants throwing them over the side of the large ottoman that most definitely has some form of bed bug inhabitants. Leaving him in his torn boxers: that he refuses to throw in the garbage disposal, holes that allow you to see the mountain of hair littered going from his belly button down to his significant mound.

In stark contrast he handles the undressing of yourself with the care and devotion of a man who knows his woman only has eyes for him, and vis versa. He neatly dissembles your outfit: a billowing ruffled crepe blouse paired with a pleated black skirt and flesh coloured tights. In his excavation of your outfit he uncovers the surprise you’d dressed on yourself for him to find.

Once he got you down to just your stockings he could see what you longed for him to find since you slipped them on: a bikini brief with embroidered lettering spelling out “bobby’s girl” on the front in lapis blue.

and i will give to you my summer wine…

Bobby’s face morphs into the face of a man starved: finally finding a dam in a four day trek through an unforgiving desert. The underwear is quickly pulled off and placed hastily into the pocket of his suit jacket, causing his pocket square to be slightly roughened up. To your surprise, but not shock as Bobby was always the kind to give before he ever received himself, got down on his knees and started to lap at your cunt ferociously: talk about a man starved. You’d heard the rumours of Bobby far before you had met him in the flesh, far before you’d married and had children with him: Bobby was thought to have been a ruthless character with the temperament of a caged pit bull.

But that wasn’t the Bobby you saw that day you met him for the first time, and it wasn’t the Bobby you were looking at now. Now he was worshipping, and at his happiest while doing it.

Soon enough you felt the inevitable wave of pleasure wash over you, and in that bliss reached for Bobby always wanting to bask in that with the man who made it all possible. “Did that feel good baby?” “So-so-so-so good Bobby you should have shed that humbleness with me a long time ago” You say as you soothingly ( for the both of you ) try to smooth down tufts of his hair, now severely roughened up, and clear away the luminescent substance absolutely coating the entirety of his chin and a portion of his plush, bottom lip.

But just as you get your wits about you, he starts to line up and invades you in the most decedent way a person could be invaded.

“Harder”

To which Bobby lays flat a hand on your chin, keeping your attention fully locked onto him as he bullies his large mound into your cunt at a solid pace but steadily increasing in fervour. As a cause of this the desk starts to rock. Continually ricocheting rhythmic sounds of the desk hitting the skirting of the wall over, and over, and over again.

“Dear God, you’re as tight as ever. You’re killing me” Bobby continues to praise how soft you are, how good you are to him, and how he can only aspire and yearn to make you feel as good as he does at this moment.

when i woke up the sun was shining in my eyes…

A mounting shudder creeps upon you like a ghost in the night, following behind you Bobby shudders and then finally stills, still sheathed inside you.

You both take a couple minutes to recoup which consists: of lots of handholding, reassuring, and kisses upon naps of necks.

my silver spurs were gone, my head felt twice its size…

It is only when you get up, as Bobby gathers both of your garments, that you identify a large split in the wood spanning from the hinges. You laugh at it half mortified and half impressed with the two of you’s strength and call over Bobby.

my summer wine is really made from all these things.

To which he comes over, observes the large spilt that definitely wasn’t there prior and searches his pockets. In there he finds a letter opener and to your surprise carved into the rich wood:

“Y/n and Bobby forever 1960-01-02”

the end.

#bobby kennedy #robertfkennedy #fuck rfk jr #rfk #robert kennedy #robert f kennedy x reader #robert kennedy x reader #rpf #political rpf #kennedy family #ethel kennedy #rfk x you #rfk x reader #rfkblogger #rfk jr is weird #kennedy fanfiction #x reader #smut #kennedy smut

47 notes · View notes

h-l-v-kennedy-blog · 18 days ago

Text

Unthinkable (how hard it is to call someone?)

Robert Kennedy x Ava Worthing (OC)

Synopsis: A phone number, from a girl he likes, but Bobby can't make the call. However, fate has a way of bringing people together, like at a wedding.

Trigger Warnings: obsessive thoughts and/or overthinking, otherwise none as far as I know

Word count: 1,279

Notes: here it is, the second part, enjoy!

Winter, 1958 - Spring, 1959

After that night in November, a thank you-card did turn up at Bobby’s apartment in Georgetown. With a telephone number. But he was hesitant. What was she aiming for with the number? Did she...was she...

A million thoughts rolled around in Bobby’s head, even when he was in Teamster hearings, having back-and-forth's with Sam Giancana, Jimmy Hoffa or David Beck.

Afterhours, he questioned the meaning of those 10 digits. 8913588122. Written in a sleek and refined cursive, that the pad of his pointer finger had traced over too many times.

So, he didn’t call. For months. He told himself it was because he needed to focus on the Senate investigations and planning for Jack’s campaign in ‘60. That he didn’t have time to explore what it would be like to talk to someone with who it was easy. It had been easy with Ethel...but she wasn’t Ethel. Ava was blonde, shorter than him, but the similarities ended quite quickly. She was twelve years younger than him, still in college, and the sister of his friend. There were too many variables. His parents' approval, her growing bored of him. Not including the fact, he felt he didn’t deserve it (a possible relationship with a woman? He wasn’t quite sure what ‘it’ was, either), or that he was scared out of his mind. He was detail-oriented, and he had the capacity to overthink.

How could one singular interaction (and a hand-written thank-you card) throw his whole world off balance? Bobby had no idea. But he knew he was going to see her again, call or no call. Alec was getting married in June and undoubtably Ava would be present at her brother’s wedding. Would she even remember their conversation in that staff kitchen, had she thought about him, had she waited for him to call her? The slightly obsessive nature of his thoughts annoyed him.

June 8th, 1959, Newport, RI.

Under a large white tent in the back garden of the Worthing summer home in Newport, was where the wedding reception for Alec Worthing and the new Mrs. Alec Worthing (former-Vogue model, Lydia Kay). Bobby was one of Alec’s ushers. But after giving his best wishes to the very happy (and slightly frisky couple), Bobby’s pale blue eyes searched for another carrying the Worthing last name. First name beginning with the first letter of the alphabet. Ava. Ava, Ava, Ava...every time he repeated her name in his head it sounded fresh. Like the air after a rainstorm or newly mowed grass. Ava. A palindrome.

He saw her, talking with some girls her age, fellow bridesmaids he guessed, by the way they were dressed. Her bridesmaid dress was a deep emerald green, with a full skirt and an off- the shoulder neckline. The slight bareness of her shoulders extenuated the curve of her neck. And her face, looking better in the sunlight than under artificial staff kitchen lights. Her hair was curved at the ends, shining like gold. Bobby swallowed as he tried to tear his eyes from her.

Then they’re eyes met. For a single moment he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes. Bobby couldn’t stand it, his eyes falling to the floor. He didn’t know how long he stared at a single blade of green grass.

Her voice made him jump. “You didn’t call.”

“I...I...um...” He stuttered, still not meeting her gaze. How could he stare down Jimmy Hoffa, but not a girl who he hadn’t called. He was a grown man, for God’s sake.

“I thought I was being quite plain. And Alec told me that you liked people being direct with you.”

Bobby’s Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he slowly met her grey eyes. His throat felt dry.

Ava was still talking. “...maybe I just misread our interaction. My hand was hurting quite bit, but I thought you liked talking with me. Though maybe you just were pitying me.”

Bobby found his voice again. “I... I do. Like you.” Damn, why was he reduced to a nervous schoolboy with her confronting words. He was 33 years old, a counsel for a Senate committee who spent his days in hearings with men more dangerous than this college graduate. And yet, he did feel guilty. “And I wasn’t pitying you. I genuinely enjoyed talking with you.”

“So, what was stopping you from calling me these past seven months?”

“I...” He didn’t want to answer. The truth would make him look pathetic and weak-willed. And a Kennedy was never either of those.

“I know you’ve got the Teamster hearings, but you don’t have even the guts for one phone call to tell me you’re not interested? To tell me not to bother, that I was either too young or too forward. Rejection would have been easier than complete radio silence.” She sighed, running a quick hand through the ends of her hair, slightly mussing her hair up. “That’s all I wanted to say to you. Now that I’ve got it off my chest you can enjoy the party, and I won’t wait around for any sub-par explanations from you.”

Turning on her heel to return to her friends, Bobby said. “I was scared.” His voice was small and meek, and Ava almost couldn’t hear it in the buzz of the reception. “The last time I liked a woman, she left me.”

Ava froze. “Oh...”

“Yes, so, um, I was stupidly scared that it would happen again, and I was foolish enough to think so after one conversation that history would repeat itself and I didn’t want to risk making a complete laughingstock of myself. So, I-” He spoke at a rapid and almost desperate pace, as if worried his time would run out to say what he meant.

“So, you didn’t call.” She finished for him.

“I didn’t call.” He nodded. “And I’ve regretted it, because I can’t get you out of my head. Or your number.” He chuckled sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I memorized it actually.”

“For the phone call you weren’t going to make?” She said, a small...something pulling on her lips.

He nodded, noticing her growing amused expression, mirroring it. “Yeah. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“No, but I’m not blameless. I should’ve made a more direct move-”

“No, no, this is not your fault. You made a very *direct* move, and I was just...an idiot.” He looked down at the ground and then back up at her face. “Can you forgive me for that?”

She waved him off. “Nothing to forgive, you told me your side of things and I understand better now.” She turned her head as she heard her sister-in-law call for her. “I should go, the bride’s demands must be met.”

A look of disappointment faintly crossed his expression, showing best in his eyes with a silent “Must you?” passing to her.

“Save me a dance?” She asked.

“I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Doesn’t matter. No one here is. Except maybe my parents or Lydia...” She shook her head. “I’m rambling, anyway, if you don’t want to-”

“No, I do. I just don’t want to step on your toes.”

“Don’t worry about that. Now, I’ll see you on the dance floor.” She said and went to help her new sister-in-law with whatever she needed.

Bobby was struck in his spot, running over what just happened. She wasn’t mad at him, and he was going to dance with her later. How quickly the conversation had turned.

Later...a picture of Bobby and Ava was taken while they danced inside the large white tent. The first picture of them together, but not the last.

---

The full part is now up, hope it was worth the wait. Now, I've got to start plotting my Jackie fic, and I'll do a poll on a jfk fic that's been on my mind for the past few days.

Taglist: @jackiesgirl, @theverystrangegirl27, @fortheloveofjos, @kennediva, @stargiirl27, @melancholicstation , @bleatngheart , @rocker-chick-7 , @kimcrystal123

Dividers: @cafekitsune

#bobby kennedy x oc #robert f kennedy #robert f kennedy fic #bobby kennedy #rpf #kennedy rpf #rfk #robert f kennedy x reader #robert f. kennedy #h l v kennedy blog #h l v kennedy blog writes

13 notes · View notes

robertmcangusgroup · 7 years ago

Text

The Daily Tulip

The Daily Tulip – International News From Around The World

Thursday 20th July 2017

Good Morning Gentle Reader…. The Costa del Sol is full of tourists from all over the world, cars with license plates from all over Europe fill the roads and highways, bringing with them their bad habits and terrible driving manners.. Fat Cat’s in their Lamborghini's, Ferrari's, what ever screaming past on the highway oblivious to the law, Oligarchs in their black Mercedes with Russian plates park on crossings, on the sidewalk and in no parking zones, leaving a minder to guard the car, people from the UK falling out of the bar and getting into cars, when the clearly have had to much booze, we see it all, the bad side of the tourist that comes to spoil a beautiful country…

CUSTOMS OFFICERS SEIZE PACKAGE FILLED WITH LIVE SNAKES, LIZARDS…. Customs officials in New York said a "snakes on a plane" situation wasn't discovered until later, when five live snakes and three geckos were found in a package. U.S. Customs and Border Protection said officers at the John F. Kennedy International Mail Facility investigated a package from Hong Kong on June 29 that was labeled as containing a "plastic tray" but appeared to contain snakes in round containers when X-ray images were taken. U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service personnel were called in to open the outer box, which revealed Styrofoam casing with rows of holes for apparent ventilation. The FWS officials discovered the parcel contain five juvenile king cobras and three geckos, all of which were alive. "Our CBP officers perform numerous daily tasks to protect the United States from potential dangers. This seizure demonstrates our wide ranging responsibility in protecting our borders and our partnership with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service," said Leon Hayward, acting director of CBP's New York Field Operations.

SWIMMING RATTLESNAKE ATTEMPTS TO BOARD BOAT IN CALIFORNIA LAKE…. A group of friends boating in California Folsom Lake captured video of a swimming rattlesnake that attempted to get on board their vessel. Anthony Baciocco tweeted a video captured by friend Jeremy Evans while they were boating with a few others in Folsom Lake last week. The video shows a rattlesnake swimming beside the boat and bumping the sides as if looking for a way to get onto the vessel. The snake swims to the rear of the boat and nearly succeeds in making it to the deck as the boaters put the engine on full throttle. The snake is eventually washed away from the boat, which speeds to safety. "No more boating on Folsom Lake this year," Baciocco tweeted.

BURMESE PYTHON CAUGHT IN FLORIDA WITH 73 EGGS INSIDE…. A Florida python hunter bagged a 14-foot, 62-pound female that he said was carrying 73 eggs at the time of its capture. Dusty Crum, one of 25 hunters employed by the South Florida Water Management District to catch invasive Burmese pythons in the Everglades, said the mother snake was one of five pythons measured Monday in Homestead. "The problem is that the reproduction rate on these Burmese pythons -- the big snake had 73 eggs in it, and it's explosive to the population," Crum told WPLG-TV. "So we need to take as many as we can out, because they're harming all of our native animals and they're eliminating food sources for our native predators." The district pays the hunters the state minimum wage of $8.10 per hour, plus $40 for each snake up to 4 feet and an additional $25 for each foot beyond 4 feet. Crum previously made headlines in May when he was filmed capturing a 17-foot python with his bare hands.

AUSTRALIAN MAN PLANKS NEXT TO ENDANGERED SNAKE IN THE ROAD…. An Australian man who spotted a massive endangered python slithering across a road did the most logical thing -- planking next to the snake. Tracey Heimberger posted a photo to Facebook on Tuesday showing Matthew Bager planking -- lying flat on his stomach -- next to a Pilbara rock olive python slithering across a road in Western Australia. "Matthew Bager you're a legend!!" Heimberger wrote. "For those of you who aren't aware- the Pilbara Rick Olive Python is an endangered species. Matthew waited with the python until it got off the road safely. For those of you who aren't from the local area- this road is very busy especially at shift changeover & during the day (with tourists & general public). Being aware of the environment you work in is important. Especially when the environment is on Traditional Owner Country & everything on the country connects to Aboriginal culture. Pilbara Rock Olive Pythons are protected & important to Pilbara Traditional Owners. In fact pythons created all the water ways in Australia, according to all of our groups ancestral stories about creation."

GEORGIA GAS STATION CUSTOMER FINDS 3- TO 4-FOOT SNAKE HIDING AT PUMP…. A couple who stopped at a northwest Georgia gas station to fill up their tank sought assistance when they discovered a snake in the nozzle holder. Loren-Stacie Fleener said in a Facebook post they were at the Cowboys Shell gas station on U.S. Highway 278 in Cedartown when they noticed something amiss about their gas pump. "We stopped at Cowboys, and Matthew was trying to get gas and noticed a snake up inside the pump handle. We moved to another pump and a guy Brandon Radke came over and got it out," Fleener wrote in the post, which included video of Radke's snake extraction. The video shows Radke, with a shirt wrapped around his hands for protection, move the 3 to 4-foot snake around with the gas pump nozzle and grab it behind the head. "Once you grab behind the head it can't really reach around and get you," Radke told WSB-TV. Radke said he took the serpent, a non-venomous rat snake, to the woods and released it. "Caution! Look carefully before picking up those gas handles," Fleenor wrote. https://www.facebook.com/mcfleeclan/videos/10213374291899827/

Well Gentle Reader I hope you enjoyed our look at the news from around the world this, Thursday morning… …

Our Tulips today are some incredible Purple ones I found while looking for Tulips and Snakes…

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Thursday 20th July 2017 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus

0 notes

melancholicstation · 9 days ago

Text

god & monsters — bobby f. kennedy

taglist: @jackiesgirl @callmeaftersupper @astro-vibes-bro @lamperry4ever @darcyspirits @absurdlyvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @fortheloveofjos @superzealouscollectordetective @remotewatch @bleatngheart @obsessedwithjohnjr @starsprangledgirl @hisamericanmuse @kimcrystal123

summary: On an October eventide, you are invited to an ordinary Halloween eve soirée. You contract a horrible affliction, a yearning of the heart to end all those before it. All because of your serendipitous meeting with a certain camel haired mortal named Robert “bobby” Kennedy in the grass. For the only the birds and the bees bore witness to what lecherous things you both did with each other on the mead….

tags: 18+ but warning will be given ahead, tiny bit of blasphème sorryyy, rough s*x, fucking in the grasslands, cheating, explicit language, bee sting as repentance, infidelity, you are married but bobby is not.

words: 4,142

my linking should not serve as how you have to imagine this story/world if you do not wish to, these are simply just where I draw personal inspiration.

October 30th 1966

The solitary confines of the seventeen-century estate, all its Provençal grace stood tall unbothered by the many people going in and out of the homestead. Like a glamour queen it seemed entirely unfazed by the many important people within its walls: senators, governors, princesses of niche European constitutional monarchies just to name a few. Now you may be thinking what do all these people have in common? well each got the most coveted invitation to a halloween party hosted by America's very own royal family, or at least that's what The Life Magazine said in their glossy spreads, more specifically the forgotten american prince: Robert F. Kennedy.

And that's exactly how you got here as well. A short week ago you received that same invitation and shared it with your husband: Charles. Charles your husband has been, for years now, vehemently set on a career in politics. Though the farthest had gotten in terms of that had been holding a temporary assistant position at a republican running for state senate. But, turns out grab-handing and meandering around your fair-share of important people eventually you see the benefits. This invite, in Charles head was looking like a decadent, chocolate-covered benefit.

You cringe inside at the thought of chocolate, you've seemed to have a direct affliction to chocolate after a particular 1964 family Christmas in which your husband had had the marvellous idea of bringing his mistress, Kamila, over for Christmas Eve desert. Not like a total unmannered slob, as you would've much preferred, Kamila brought a milk chocolate and toasted hazelnuts bar engraved with a sentence "wishing wealth and prosperity". How gouge. Since then the mere thought of chocolate, or toasted hazelnuts for that matter has utterly repulsed you.

To you this invite was another hellish routine of domestic purgatory. In which you'd smile while dodging questions on why you and Charles hadn't started a family yet with a persistent yearning gnawing, clawing, burrowing in your chest.

"in the land of gods and monsters...

Now parties like the one stamped on the worn card stock weren't all bad. Once you'd met a particularly enticing couple looking to shake up their sex lives with a third. Quite a modern idea you'd thought for the sixties but hey it was eleven pm and the champagne was flowing, and more importantly free.

For the past few days you've been passively doing once, twice-overs on your closet trying to drum up what costume you could make out of the items you already had. High society halloweens were strange in a way. On one hand you would be looked down upon for not dressing up: with people assuming you think yourself to good for such things, on the other if you dressed up in a way unbeffiting of the status you'd be quietly heckled from across the ballroom. You inspected the address on the card more closely, surely there's no ballroom in—you squint your eyes—Château d'Estoublon. Okay, maybe it did have a ballroom if anything was to be indicated from the name. Château d'Estoublon was the creme da le creme of prime-time property in Massachusetts so you were passively excited to gawk at the beautiful exterior.

You decided on recreating Empress Elisabeth of Austria's, or as she'd began to be commonly called 'Empress Sissi', court wedding gown when she married Emperor Franz Joseph. In your eyes it fit the bill, the costume was still playful in its callback to a glamorous Hungarian empress but not so out there that you would look out of place in a billowing cream gown. No doubt many would overshadow you with their elaborate gowns but you didn't mind going understated for the night, you never really felt comfortable 'peak-cocking' like the rest of high society woman did. Though sometimes you wish you did.

,i was an angel looking to get fucked hard...

As you placed the delicate undergarments over your body: a white chiffon one piece - with knickers, linked by satin ribbons and floating chiffon back panels, a gift from a quite eager French man in the fifties. You used to be so encumbered by sexual need and carnal desire, catching the eyes of many: you missed that feeling and you desperately wanted it back. Cutting through the bullshit and to be quite frank you hadn't been truly screwed in about 7 years. Initially the desires of you and Charles had been unendingly compatible, but that compatibility had wavered after marriage and deteriorated like a good piece of cashmere out in the hay bales. Now up until 1964 Christmas you were under the impression that Charles was going through a dry spell and that you would come together soon enough. What you didn't realise was that in fact your husband was not going through a dry spell, no, no quite the opposite. It seemed he was drowning in the orgasmic sap of any woman he could find on his office floor.

If someone had asked you questions on the topic of infidently 10 years ago you might've said some sanctimonious crap on its moral qualms. But now after being routinely cheated on, you finally started to play his game, not often, but play his game all the same when you did.

,like a groupie incognito, posing as a real singer...

Looking at yourself in the baroque gold mirror, an audacious housewarming gift from Charles older brother, you surveyed yourself from the top. Your skin was perfection: slightly unnervingly pore less like those haunted 18th century dolls, your under eyes amazingly betrayed no defining clue that you barely get fours hours of sleep a day. Moving to your décolletage: it was well nourished after a sebum upper body mask wrap last week, beautifully reflecting the breastplate Galliano necklace. Speaking of spa's, funnily enough as a last-ditch effort you had booked a couple spa appointment for you and Charles. Unsurprisingly he didn't show but as fate would have it, another young woman of the name Catherine had done the same with her husband and he hadn't shown either. Incidentally you both wanted to make the most of it and decided to step in for each others husband's. By the strange hand of luck, Kit and her husband had to been invited to the Kennedy Halloween party. Hey, at least you'd have an ally. Moving down your body you'd picked an ivory, red, and gold embellished haute Dior gown as the base of your dress, and billowed it out using a tiered satin padded chemise to mimic Sissi's grand wedding gown. Matched with simple white pumps passed down from your mother.

Despite your pitiful nagging for him to dress as Franz Joseph I so you'd match, Charles decided not to and instead dressed in the polite yet deeply boring combination of a: twill bow tie, vest, backstrap trousers and wool tipping jacket. With a swift look up to you, nothing but a polite smile and a hand on the small of your back, you were both out of the door and into the car.

The first hour of the party proved to be exactly how you expected... pretty boring, vainly you caught the sight of your reflection in the many mirror of the chateau just to keep yourself occupied. You applied a thin, balmy layer of pink blush via a colour stick and applied a hint of lilac hue across the span of your fluttering eyelids, combing your brows back into submission with a pencil. Counting the creeping in wrinkles and frown lines, despite you only being 31, maybe it was all in your head. You looked down at your costume, how sadly fitting. You'd chosen this costume based on a book you'd read on the empresses life during her marriage to Joseph, you'd read her undying battle with an obsession with beauty. And in that way you related to her, in a dying marriage you grapple with anything to have control over. As said as it was you looked forward to the beauty regimes you scheduled and the sacred-rituals you performed on your hair, because it was something entirely your own.

,Life imitates art...

Just as you were about to entire a self pitying comparison between you: an upper-class sixties socialite and the empress of Austria, you see a saving grace in the form of a face. Catherine, finally you thought, what was taking her so long?

Catherine, a woman of striking features and long black-hole like dark hair, "Hey Stranger" she says while brushing an unruly curl from the perimeter of my face with a motherlike tenderness. Speaking of mothers, Catherine brought her 9 month old baby along to the halloween festivities, whom I already known was coming as she'd been complaining to me about how hard it was to find a babysitter to stay after 6pm!

After fussing over Catherine's beautiful velvet tea-length gown and her impossibly adorable babe with wiggling feet and grabby, powdered limbs who had throughly enjoyed your 5 minute game of hide and seek with your manicured fingers in Chanel's shade phénix. Surely enough the guests, including you and Catherine, were all herded like a cattle of sheep into the expansive dining room, suffocated by eighteenth-century French tapestries covering each wall.

First, pisanelli served over friselle crisp bread. Then, a cabbage soup and chou farci. Canned fish and tomato for a side. For desert, pavlova with strawberries, créme anglais and fig-leaf whipped cream. As you took in the delicious aromas, checking in Catherine's baby only to see the bottom of her face beaming with a smile and absolutely covered in the fig-leaf whipped cream.

I don't really wanna know what's good for me...

What was odd however, was not the delicious food, but the absence of the host of the halloween party, Robert F. Kennedy. You had seen some of this family members around, seen Teddy and even the mysterious Jacqueline Kennedy.

Though maybe he was a recluse, hosting parties to keep up the Kennedy name. You didn't pay much mind to it and continued to eat your food.

Hours later, moonlight had descended over the chateau and you, Catherine and her babe had moved under an outside pergola. It was due for the babes feed and Catherine, justifiably, felt uncomfortable revealing herself to a bunch of snobby strangers so the outside it was. In camaraderie you had chosen to forgo the alcoholic beverages on offer and instead bode for a glass of non-alcoholic punch. But looking back down at the punch, after a long chat with your friend, the cup had been drained.

"I'm gonna go over and fill me up another one of these, do you too want anything while I'm up?" gesturing to the smiling mother and babe.

Catherine politely declines and fakes her babe waving to me as I depart the table by waving the sweetlings tiny arms back and fro, to which you childishly giggle in return.

As you traipse through the beautiful grasslands of the estate you come across a large set of oak tables, reminiscent of old-school desks. But instead of notebooks and pens, the tables were now used to display freshly baked breads with individual ribbons on them. A parting gift for the evening no doubt.

God's dead, I said, "Baby, that's alright with me"...

Rounding a stone arch you see a man shrowed in the most beautiful darkness. A kind of darkness that makes you swear of light and go nocturnal simply to marvel at his beauty. His beauty rivalled that of the Gods. His beauty shall live forevermore. His movements are strange until you realise the purpose behind his actions. His large hands peeling open a tuna can, and patiently beckoning a black cat his way. A cat that seemed to be very familiar with the figure as it immediately came and sat at the feet of the man: sapping up the canned tuna.

Though the man has his back to you, you faintly recognised the puffs of smoke coming from his delicate fingertips, could be a hand model this guy! you joke with yourself to starve off the reflex to call out to the mysterious figure. You stare for a creepy amount of time, fitting for the date you guess.

"Sissi right? Empress of Austria" the man calls out in the dark, now his body has turned to your direct attention. And to your surprise it's not just another Harvard graduate with a good back profile, it's the host of the evening: Robert fucking Kennedy.

You stammer out a "Yes-yes, well I've gotta make use of these dresses somehow." An awkward silence grows, as Bobby looks to the moon-cast sky as if he's pondering what to say next

"Sorry I'm very, very rude to not have introduced myself--I'm Robert Kennedy"

"Oh I know who you are"

"You do?"

"Yes sir, quite intimately if reading the New York Times is any metric of intimacy" you halfheartedly chuckle.

"Funny girl. Now funny girl can I get your name perhaps?"

"Y/n"

When you talk, it's like a movie...

"Ravishing" he says in a tone that you can only comprehend as a little teasing but yet kind.

Moments pass as you chit chat about the nights festivities, with him asking you how you felt about the 3-course meal provided, and ask about why Kennedy as a devout catholic decides to throw a halloween party. You politely compliment his choices--

"Oh I didn't choose them. It's all my secretary she's the real brains of this party anyway--she should be here somewhere" bobby states as he looks towards the periphery of the garden.

"Well she has lovely taste, speaking do you know where I could find a bottle of coke? Y'know I saw them about in one those iced buckets but it's location has completely passed me by."

And you're making me crazy...

"I know exactly what your talking about follow me Mon bébé"

The French term of endearment makes your heart flutter, but you simply assume that for these Kennedy men endearment is given out dime a dozen.

You follow him like an obedient cattle dog, catching the stare of bobby as he turns his head to look at you every few moments to make sure you're still there. Some would find that creepy, that you're sure of, but to you it seemed be an unconscious thing for Robert--seemingly not believing in himself to make someone stay.

On the walk you began to become curious on how Robert got your costume so lightening quick "You read up about Emperors and Empresses of Austria or what? How'd you get it so fast"

'Cause life imitates art...

Robert chuckles, looking down slightly "No--Nah, I-I did some reading on them during the Vienna summit. Y'know cause jack wouldn't let me into the meeting, he thought I'd embarrass him or something, so I just had to wait outside. And I don't really like waiting all that much so I went down to the local bookstore and rented a few, took them back in the morning."

You nod and feel slightly taken aback at the mention of his brother, he discussed his brother with nearly no one. No one in the press at least. The last time you could remember bobby talking about his brother directly was that Democratic National Convention in 1964, looking like a wounded deer.

You aren't able to sit in that stupor for too long because you've come to arrive at the coke's, all the bottles laid beautifully in a bucket of decadent, some would say over the top amounts of crushed ice.

While Robert grabs the drinks, you fumble inside the pockets of your dress to find your compact, opening it to inspect the state of affairs on your face.

Robert grabs two: one for you and one for him, you don't miss that he grabs yours before ever thinking of himself.

If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?...

"Shoot!" you say under you're breath: you'd just realised in that moment that you would one hundred percent smudge your lipstick if you drank that coke, and then you'd have to continue the party looking like an absolute idiot because you'd forgotten to pack the lipstick in your clutch.

"What's the matter?" Robert says with a father figure-like concern, despite not having any children: at least to your knowledge.

"Oh it's nothing really I just realised I can't drink this 'cause of my lipstick"

"O-oh okay" Robert stumbles out as he looks up at the sky again, seemingly deep in thought. He does that a lot you think.

Bobby bumbles out "Well if it wouldn't make you to-to uncomfortable. I could Y'know feed you the drink so you don't mess up your lipstick--if you want of course"

You tell me, "Life isn't that hard"...

Taken aback slightly, due to the intimacy of the offer, you freeze for a few seconds but ultimately agree to his proposition. You trust him, a man you've just met today and formally only seen on the news stands, for some bovine reason.

Before you knew it he delicately placed curling, like a willow tree in the string, finger and cupped your chin: pouring the kola nut coloured drink down your oesophagus. Despite the strangeness of the position you two were in it felt right. It felt like what you'd imagined married life to be: the person you love more than anything filling you, and you filling them in return, both metaphorically and literally.

18+ AFTER THIS POINT

There was a certain erotic substance of being feed you'd learned in these past moments. I felt thirsty for him, for his hands, for this chest barely concealed by the Japanese cotton sweater he donned, for his musk that was like if tuberose had been carried on by the sea breeze, for anything and everything you'd be so lucky to receive from him.

I had someone who was hungry for me. I could see it in his eyes, robin's egg blue coloured eyes, as he feed me the coke.

And I was equally, if not more, much more hungry for him. Starved.

He paused the flow of the drink, in order to stop me from completely choking: at least one of us had kept our whits about us.

The hand on your chin never leaves, it lingers and lingers and lingers. My god you are such a fool for a man you've didn't know 12 hours ago.

He catches your eye, looking ever so pensive.

"Do you wanna go messin' around with me, cause I can take you back it's no pressure. I assure you there's no need to give the host any favours" he says in a timid tone expecting, almost wanting to be proven right: that'd you leave. That you'd desert.

"I think we should fuck. Do you think we should fuck?" you say in an incredulous tone, you'd never assumed this kind of attitude but his being had brought it out in you. This carnal, caged animal, woman scorned desire bubbling inside you like a pot of Turkish tea over the stove.

"Yes-yes well I think it's a great idea to fuck actually. It seems like a very good idea in my opinion. Y'know as a U.S senator." his slight arrogance, drunk with power disposition could've scared you. But it really didn't at all, in fact it enticed you to him even more.

All of a sudden, he grabs the skin of your neck and kisses you almost punishably: trying to communicate where have you been hiding for all these years? why didn't we find each other sooner? why have you left me alone?

Messy top lip kisses turn into feverish French and soon you're traipsing further into the countryside of the chateau. He seems to know his way around here: you don't even want to think of the rendezvous he probably has had here.

He leads you to a short alcove in the forrest with tree stumps and a billowing willow tree shielding it from the cruelness of the outside world. A cocoon of sorts.

"Is that a bee's nest"

"No, it used to be but it's been barren after they migrated in the summer. Relax, no one with be able to see not even the bee's. Promise."

You get situated on the ground when Robert drops a bombshell question out of complete left field

"You married?"

"No, are you?"

"No--well not in the real sense, not how marriage is supposed to" Hey maybe that was a bend of the truth but it wasn't a lie, I mean really was it?

From that assurance he immediately pounces on you like a Burmese tiger. His wandering, yearning hands scour your body looking for something you're not quite sure of yourself.

He seemed to like to assume a more dominant position so you let him have his way with you, for so long you had had to hard-shelled around men. But with Robert he had this aroma that just made you want to show your soft underbelly to him, wanted him to care for it like he cared for you.

He manoeuvred both himself and you to be on your sides, your back to his chest. And slowly dipped it in. At first it was only the start, almost knocking at your door: begging to be let in, to get at whatever was inside. And so you welcomed him in the only way you knew how. He wasn't aborally big but he fit like those perfect pair of white tennis shoes that have been worn out just the right amount. His being felt like a return.

"Fuck yeah, give it to me you braves mädchen (good girl in German)"

"I'm giving it. Want to give everything to you, take it from me. Robert, take it all from me now."

His hips moved at a pace that showed a man who aimed to please. A man who aimed to please you, beyond the confines your physical existence.

"This is heaven. This is what they meant" I finally got what made people so devout. They found something to believe in, and in that moment I had to. In that fallen angel taking the form of Robert Kennedy.

Just before his climax, Robert switched positions hoisting your body to now be facing him. A sweetness to the fact that he wanted to share this moment with you, to make sure you didn't feel alone. As he climaxed he reached pitifully at you, pawing but with the determination that he wasn't done until you had gone over that wonderful edge as well.

Soon came your time, and went it came it was the epitome of that beautiful fall from grace. In your bliss you hadn't noticed that Bobby did not share the look he donned just a minute ago. He looked quite concerned, gazing upon the valley of your breasts.

God he's such a man, you thought. But once you looked down you saw a pretty nasty wasp bite right between your two breasts. You weren't all too bothered as you'd experienced stings before: Bobby however looked abjectly terrified. Fumbling through the pockets of the little clothes he kept on to see if he could aid the pain of the sting.

"Bobby It's just a wasp sting. Don't mind it"

"Well I should mind it, You're hurt. Plus now i'm gonna have to explain to the John Jr's night nurse why in the hell I need bee sting supplies at 12pm"

"It's fine, it'll pass" your face betrays that it's not quite fine in the moment. As your post-orgasmic bliss fades and the pain pentrates you.

"No-no, that just won't do. Tell you what we're going to do: we're going to go hop in my car and drive to the clinic and see what they say. It looks pretty nasty honig." (honey in German)

"There's that German again when did you learn that?"

"About five or six, truth be told I stole the language books from Eunice room. She never used them anyway."

Bobbys moves to gather his things and looks at you expectantly.

"Y'know it's kind of funny. Those bee's haven't been seen for months around the likes of here."

"Maybe they wanted to punish me"

"Now what would a girl like you ever do that needs punishing, huh?"

"Nothing" you say innocently. Bending the truth be damned.

"Damn straight." Bobby says with a killer smirk, responding to your held up hands by hoist up and over his shoulder. Crassly patting the flesh of your bum.

"Hey shouldn't the host stay till the end of the party?"

"Nuh-uh. Not tonight they shouldn't." bobby says still carrying you upside down.

The blood rushes to your head. You've never felt so alive in your life.

It's innocence lost Innocence lost

the end.

#rfk x you #rfk x reader #rfk fan fiction #political rpf #rpf #rpf fanfiction #rpf political #robert kennedy x reader #robert f kennedy x reader #kennedy fanfiction #x reader #smut #bobby kennedy #fuck rfk jr #robertfkennedy

32 notes · View notes

melancholicstation · 21 days ago

Text

BOSS!BOBBY KENNEDY AND SECRETARY!READER HEADCANONS

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

warnings: 18+, smut, sleazy yet pathetic boss!bobby you can't help but love, bobby being a service top, and workplace s*x.

words: 1159

i imagine your meet cute to be that he saw you around the department of justice and advertised a secretarial position in the hopes that you’d apply 😭

would try to act normal at first as your boss but would increasingly get more and more desperate for you

abandons the pile of work he has on his desk to bring tea and cakes to your desk ( much like a momma bird brings home food for her babies cause he’s WEIRD like that )

has a problem with not meeting your eye for a solid couple of weeks because he doesn’t want to look like a pervert preying on his younger secretary

but your kind of into it so you tell him that…

his other employees are so confused at how many raises/christmas bonuses you keep getting when you literally spend your work week sitting on the edge of bobby’s desk chatting to him and watercoloring paintings of ballerina’s at your desk

and then turning the paintings into bobby for his praise (bobby would have a praise-giving kink let’s talk about it!) to which he would proudly display them in his office like this:

secretary!readers would be such a bad influence on his work ethic like he’s such a lover boy/wannabe house husband

you have to make the first move because lord knows bobby is respectful enough to not initiate anything

is REALLY into spanking. like a freak amount.

you take him into a s*x shop with paddles and handcuffs just to watch him blush with 0 intent to buy anything

you leave the shop together but bobby makes some excuse to cut your impromptu date short claiming that he got an important call

you find out the true reason when you arrive the next morning to find a very inconspicuous box lying at the foot of your desk wrapped in a green velvet ribbon. you open the box to find paddles, whips, and cuffs ( in sterling TIFFANY silver no less )

likes to make love to you with your knees pressed to your chest on the rug of his office

is totally turned on by the voyeurism added factor of having a workplace relationship and makes a game out of how much he can piss of the old curmudgeon’s that he works for in the justice department

when bobby can’t be with you for whatever reason ( like having an aspiring president for a brother ), you watch the jimmy hoofa hearing on your personal sony television set with your hands inside your jersey boy shorts and once bobby knows he teases you ALL DAY about it (authors note: HE LOOKED GOOD AS HELL IN THOSE MEETINGS WHY LIE?)

you ♥️ to hang onto bobby’s tie when he’s f*cking you cause why not

loves to quote anais nïn erotic passages and pass him notes over his desk… acting like it’s serious business. specifically these ones:

you offhandedly try to baby trap bobby (LIKE THE PERVERTED WOMEN YOU ARE) and think your being so sneaky about it but in reality he caught on immediately and is equally into it

bobby just ADORES to crudely touch and play with fruits that look like a certain female anatomy and give them to you with a look like this

you get mad when Bobby leaves you to do LIFE-SUSTAINING things without you like going to the bathroom, eating etc.

your both so obsessed with each other and feel the need to consume every single thing the other has as a means of fostering a deeper connection

is often thought of as the weaker brother so over compensates in the bedroom by adopting a more dominant lean

punishes you for managerial mistakes like using the wrong stamps, or accidentally sending a letter to the wrong person by waiting till everyone in the office has left and spanks your mound, making you count each and every one

but then makes it up to you by assuring you that’s he’s not mad just disappointed while giving your hair many many scratches upon the head

you fake a fever and call in sick to get bobby’s attention, and you make a miraculous recovery after Bobby’s frustrated voice travels through the landline stating ‘that he’ll be coming over to “sort you out before the day’s done”’

when bobby comes down with the occasional fever he turns into the cutest boy in all of massachusetts! ( as if he wasn’t already ) and sucks on your thumb to go to sleep ( you think it’s weird but your also dedicated to whatever makes him feel better )

you and him decide to visit his sister’s house pat to see her and peter’s new baby while your ovulating… big mistake huge

bobby’s cuddling and holding the new beau and suddenly you’re telling him to give it to you raw the same night

he loves to use your shampoo since he’s hasn’t bought haircare items since never and then people start to say that he smells exactly as you do… way to be discreet

you’re such a messy eater with all your foods and without regard to anyone around you/or the vibe of the event you always demand that bobby likes the remnants off your hand. originally it was a purely utilitarian act as you hate the feeling of sticky hands but you quickly realise that it turns both of you on…

bobby would love to cook, clean and manage the household despite holding down a stereotypically masculine job. he regards you in such high (pseudo-religious) devotion that he wouldn’t dream of making you perform traditional tasks unless you explicitly expressed an interest in it

a huge gossiper and VERY interested in whatever morsels you have on the socialites of massachusetts elite class ( which you only have contact through bobby )

would always take the chance to walk you to and from the office

once he takes you to his favourite church that’s when you know your both in it for the long haul and he is well and truly committed

c*ms from eating your out ( he a munch )

he cries while he c*ms occasionally

he loves to walk around naked ( like please have some decorum )

constantly rips your tights and condescendingly tells you that he’ll buy you some more

you buy lots of little rfk pins from the local pop-up and COVER your bralette in them to the point where the bra is barely showing and then splay yourself out on his bed sheets waiting for him to come home…

you don’t answer his calls cause you fell asleep early and he nearly throws up in worry because he’s a true yearner boy unlike some...

#bobby kennedy #robertfkennedy #fuck rfk jr #rfk #kennedy family #ethel kennedy #rfk x you #rfk x reader #rfk jr is weird #rfk jr #robert kennedy x reader #robert f kennedy x reader #robert kennedy #rfkposting #political rpf #rpf fanfiction #kennedy fanfiction #Spotify

32 notes · View notes