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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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Brighter Than a Supernova | Bob Floyd x Phoenix's Little Sister

Summary: Bob planned to simply stop by Phoenix's Hanukkah party for a few minutes before heading back home. He'd hang out with the guys for a bit, even though he never quite felt like he fit in with them, and he'd meet the little sister Phoenix often referred to as annoying. But he had no idea how bright and magical one night could be compared to every other night that had come before.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, feeling insecure, loss of virginity, smut, drinking

Length: 9000 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Phoenix's Little Sister (OC)

This was written for the Winter RomCom Challenge hosted by @bellaireland1981! Check my masterlist for more. Beautiful banner made by @ryebecca

"Bob, you're coming over tomorrow night, right?"

When he turned to look at his friend, Bob couldn't help the feeling of apprehension that washed over him. "I think so."

Natasha sighed and reached for his hand and gave him a little squeeze. He hadn't been at Top Gun as long as everyone else, and he felt like he didn't really fit in with them. Even now, the other guys were all hooting and playing keep away with Reuben's phone while Bob stood off to the side on the tarmac.

"There's nothing to be nervous about. It's just a Hanukkah party," she whispered with a smile. She always seemed to be able to tell when he got lost in his own thoughts, and he would be forever grateful that she was the pilot he got to fly with.

He shook his head and looked over at their Super Hornet. "I've never been to one before," he muttered. "And I'll probably just end up sitting quietly all night."

Now Natasha was squeezing both of his hands. "But we already drew names for our gift exchange. And you won't be the only one newer to the group. My obnoxious little sister, Nova, is coming in from New York, remember? She's graduating from college in the spring? She hasn't met any of the guys yet."

"But-"

"Bob, I really want you to come," she said firmly, looking up at him with her dark brown eyes. He trusted her in the air, he might as well trust her on the ground, too.

"Okay. I'll be there."

But when Bob parked his truck in front of Phoenix's tiny house on Saturday evening, his hands were shaking slightly as he held the wrapped gift. He absolutely hated that he got this way around the guys. They hadn't done anything to make him feel this way, really. He just generally didn't fit in anywhere, something he was very aware of at age twenty eight. But he would do this for Natasha.

He climbed out of his truck with the gift and a bottle of wine and walked up to the front door. Should he knock? Or just walk inside? It sounded noisy even out here, so after he tapped on the door a few times and nobody opened it, he just let himself in.

"Bob's here!" Jake called out from the couch, waving him over to where he was drinking a beer while Javy tried to spin two dreidels at the same time.

"Bob!" Natasha practically shouted as she ran his way. He had to juggle the bottle of wine so he didn't drop it. "Can you help me make latkes? Nova and I have been peeling potatoes for what feels like hours, and now we're heating up the oil."

"I don't know how to make latkes," he told her, but his eyes caught on the woman standing in the kitchen laughing at Bradley. He could only see her profile, but she had long, dark brown hair just like Natasha. Only she was a little taller and a bit curvier, and when she turned to look over her shoulder, he wanted to run and hide.

"It's easy, Bob. It's just a potato pancake. Nothing scary," Natasha whispered, trying to sound reassuring. "Come meet Nova, and you can help us cook."

He swallowed hard, realizing that the brunette goddess holding a potato peeler in one while she smiled directly at him was Natasha's little sister. The one she always referred to as obnoxious and annoying. This was... decidedly not what he had imagined.

Bob didn't know where to look. Every part of her was so pretty. She was wearing black leggings and a cropped long sleeve shirt that was purple and said NYU on the front. He could see some of the soft looking skin just above her leggings, and his eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment. She was barefoot with neon orange painted toenails that for some reason made Bob a little short of breath.

"Bob, this is my sister Nova," Nat told him, rubbing his back gently as his gaze wandered back up along her curves. His eyes landed on her face as Natasha said, "Nova, this is Bob. Please don't annoy him."

"Hi," she said with a little smirk on her face. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and reached her hand out to him. "I've heard a lot about you, Bob."

He was terrified that he would stutter or trip over his words, but he just said something stupid instead. "You don't look annoying."

She laughed as she shook his hand. "Oh, I can assure you, I am." Her eyes were the same color as her sister's, but they were looking at him playfully as she nibbled on her lip. It was easy to tell Nova and Natasha were sisters, but there were some differences, too. Bob had the fleeting thought that he wouldn't mind just looking at her all night until he identified them all.

"Feel free to ignore her," Nat told him as she went to stand in front of the stove. "I usually do."

"I don't see how that would be possible," Bob murmured, and Nova laughed again before he realized what he'd said. He could feel his cheeks flush as he tried to look at anything besides her, but as soon as he did, Bradley dove for her attention.

"So tell me all about New York CIty," he said as if he'd never heard of it before. This was fine though. Better even. Nova and Bradley could just flirt all night, and Bob could help cook and then probably leave soon. That way everyone would win.

After a few minutes, he desperately wanted to ask Natasha if they could cook any faster so he could open his impersonal gift from one of the guys and get going. But he found that making latkes was actually pretty enjoyable.

"That's too much egg," she told him, laughing at his messy hands as his glasses slid down his nose. "You need more flour." But her hands were a mess, too, and Bob was trying to adjust his glasses on his shoulder.

When he turned to the side, he saw Bradley, Mickey and Jake all talking to Nova, but she was actually looking right at him as he very awkwardly shrugged his shoulder against his glasses. "I got you, Bob," she said, closing the distance to him and helping him out. She adjusted his frames on his face, and then she ran her fingers along his hair and behind his ears. "Better?"

He watched her pull her hands away and wished she wouldn't. "Yes," he whispered. "Thank you." Then he just stared at her as she made no move to back away.

"You're welcome. Do you celebrate Hanukkah?"

He swallowed hard as he washed his hands and shook his head. "This is my... first time."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh! Perfect! You can help me light the candles, and I can teach you the prayers."

"Might as well light the menorah now," Natasha told her as she flipped some of the squishy looking potato blobs over in the hot oil. The kitchen smelled like fried food, and there was a huge box of donuts that the other guys already got into. Javy brought the dreidels into the kitchen, and he was currently spinning five at one time. This holiday actually didn't seem so bad. Especially when Nova reached for his hand.

"Gather around," she announced with the kind of confidence Bob would never have, and all the guys followed her to the other side of the island. But she kept Bob right there with her and smiled up at him. "Here you go," she said, handing him the lighter. Then she stuck some candles in the menorah.

"Don't you light them from left to right?" Bradley asked as he sipped a beer and ate a jelly donut while glaring at Bob.

"Yes!" she replied as she put the last candle in for the eighth night.

"You want me to light them for you, Bob?" Bradley asked, and Bob was just about to hand the lighter over when Nova reached for his hand.

"I'm going to say a really pretty prayer in Hebrew about how Hanukkah is a time to celebrate miracles," she told him, seemingly ignoring the rest of the guys as Jake started whining that he was hungry. But Bob was transfixed. He was suddenly dying to hear this prayer. He could see the light smattering of freckles on Nova's cheeks as he stood this close to her. He never noticed before if Nat had freckles.

It would be a Hanukkah miracle if Bob could get through the evening. When she told him to light the center candle and then pick it up, he did. And then her hand joined his as they lit the candles together, but Bob wasn't looking at the menorah. He was looking at her face and the way her lips moved as she almost sang the prayer. Then he kept his hand on hers as long as he could, the warm candlelight making her face glow.

When she dropped her hand to her side, Bob could feel her fingers kind of tangle with his, and he had no idea what to do about it. He was suddenly painfully aware that he'd never had a girlfriend before, and he almost wished she was paying this much attention to someone else.

"Latkes are done!" Natasha announced, and Bob took a step away from Nova. He cleared his throat and then turned to leave the kitchen as everyone else made a dash for the food. When he retreated for the relative quiet of the powder room, he could feel dark eyes on his back.

Bob realized he'd been in the bathroom for long enough that someone might think he was sick, but he couldn't stop splashing cool water on his face. He had been prepared for something else tonight, but not this. Maybe Nova was just an annoying little sister to Phoenix, but to him, she was exquisite. He needed to leave now before he could embarrass himself more.

After he dried his hands, he quietly opened the door, but then he paused. He could hear voices. Two female voices, and he could easily tell them apart as he stood there eavesdropping.

"Natasha, you lied to me," Nova whispered loudly. "You said Bob was kind of nerdy!"

Oh no. She must have thought Bob was extremely nerdy. Perhaps he could make a run for the front door, and maybe nobody would notice he'd gone.

"I mean, he is," Natasha replied softly.

"No, he's not!" Nova hissed. "He's hot! You know I have a thing for glasses and biceps, you rotten liar!"

Now Bob was frozen in place. He was pretty sure they were talking about him, but there was a chance he misheard.

"Nova," Natasha snapped a little louder this time. "Bob is one of my best friends, and he's very kind. Do not toy with him."

There was a pause, but then Bob heard her soft response. "I wouldn't. You can tell how sweet he is from a mile away."

He looked in the mirror one more time before leaving the powder room. It wasn't that he was bad looking, it was just that he was awkward. Compared to the other guys, he was a joke. Maybe Nova somehow hadn't noticed that yet. He forced himself out to the small hallway where the two sisters were standing close together near the kitchen, and the way Nova looked at him just didn't make sense.

"Grab some latkes," she said as he walked past. "I'll save you a spot on the couch for the gift exchange?"

Bob swallowed hard. "Sure. Thank you."

When he ducked into the kitchen, he heard her whisper to Nat, "He has nice manners, too."

Nat groaned. "I can't believe you have a crush on my WSO."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have kept this information from me."

Bob was anxiously piling a plate with more latkes than he could probably finish when Nova flounced into the room, picked up her half empty glass of wine along with an unused one and winked at him. "I'll be in the living room, and I have a glass for you," she said.

He looked down at the potato concoctions on his plate, and they looked good. He tried a bite, and it was delicious, but he'd lost his appetite. Nova Trace had a crush on him, and now he had to go sit with her and drink some wine without looking like a moron.

After a few more bites, he pushed his plate aside and headed to the living room where she was sitting right next to Bradley. He had his arm draped across the back of the couch a little possessively, and Bob froze, blinking at the scene before him. He had the undeniable urge to remove Bradley's arm and wrap her up with own.

"Bob," she called, scooting away from Bradley and patting the cushion. Once he squeezed in between her and Bradley, he realized he was touching her no matter what he did. And then she took his arm and draped it around her shoulders, leaning back against his chest a little bit. "It's a tight fit," she said, handing him a glass of wine.

"Seriously?" Bradley grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. Bob wasn't sure what to say as he had an armful of the cute girl who was in demand. This was all new to him. So he just drank all of his wine and pretended to watch everyone open their gifts.

When he set his empty glass down on the table, Nat handed him a small box wrapped in silver paper. He didn't recognize the pretty handwriting that said To: Bob.

"Oh," Nova whispered, reaching for it. "You don't have to open it."

"It's from you?" Bob asked, and she looked up at him over her shoulder, face just inches from his.

"Yeah, but it just seems kind of dumb now," she muttered, playing with the hem of her top. "Nat made it seem like you were super nerdy or something," she laughed. "And clearly that's not the case. You're hot."

Bob chuckled; this whole entire night was completely absurd. "I've never been called hot before."

Nova rolled her eyes. "You know what? Just go ahead and open your present," she said, shoving the small box closer to his chest while she blushed.

Bob started to carefully tear into the paper when Bradley leaned across Bob and asked, "I'm sorry, Nova, but did you just call Bob hot?"

"Yes," she replied immediately.

Bradley stood and grunted while he put on the hat that Javy just gave him that said 100% Certified Fuckboy. "She picked Bob. Nice work man," he said, patting Bob's shoulder. "Who needs a beer?"

"I do," Nat told him as she eyed Bob and Nova together on the couch with curiosity. Bob wasn't sure what he should even say to her. It wasn't like he was going to date her sister or something. She lived in New York.

"Open it," Nova whispered. "Just open it so I can get my embarrassment over with."

Bob couldn't believe she seemed more embarrassed about the gift than she did about announcing to the room at large that she found him attractive. When he took the lid off the box and looked inside, it was filled with a set of sky blue dice.

"I'm sorry," she said with a laugh. "Nat said you play Dungeons and Dragons, and I found the dice and thought they were pretty, and now I'm noticing that they're kind of the same shade as your eyes." She took the box from him, put the lid on and set it aside.

"Wait," he said, reaching across her to pick it up again. "I do play. And light blue is my favorite color. How did you know?"

"I didn't," she said, cheeks pink. "It's my favorite color, too."

He could see her freckles again as she grinned so close to him. Bob suddenly realized that the living room was getting loud as he held the box between his body and hers. "Thank you. I really like them. I was a little afraid to see what the guys were going to buy for me, so I'm glad it was from you."

"Nat dropped down on the couch on the other side of Bob as she spun the keychain around her finger that Bob got for her. "Thank you," she said, kissing him on the cheek as the airplane charm hit her palm. The guys were spinning as many dreidels on the coffee table as they could while fighting over the mound of chocolate candy coins. "You know, if it's a little too loud, you could always step outside for a minute," she told him, patting his thigh before joining the guys.

"Let's take a break," Nova said as she stood and pulled him to his feet. Bob felt like Nat had just given him some sort of permission. But for what? "I could use a break as well. It's hot in here."

She opened the front door and slipped out into the darkness on the small porch, and Bob joined her, closing the door and stifling the sounds inside. "Aren't your feet going to get cold?" he asked softly, looking down at her neon toenails.

"Good call," she replied before wrapping her arms around his neck and standing on the tops of his shoes. Bob's hands went to the soft curve of her waist immediately, startled by the sudden turn of events that had Nova's body pressed to his. "Is this okay?" she asked casually, looking up at him as she let her fingers trail down his neck.

His body was throbbing in delight as his brain cried out in terror. "Y-Yes. It's... very okay. You're very pretty." His eyes went wide as she laughed, and it sounded too intimate this close. He could feel her bare skin against his fingertips, and it was so soft. Softer than anything. He couldn't help the way he let his palms spread out on her back, as he blurted out, "I like you."

He noticed her soft smile first, and then her eyes closed. Bob was admiring how her eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she said, "I like you, too." And then she kissed him. She just kissed him. It was suddenly time for kissing. And then it was over before Bob really got to enjoy it. Nova was looking up at him like she was trying to gauge his reaction, but he just stood there trying to figure out what to do next.

Her fingers stilled on his neck before she released him and tried to step away, her face falling into a much shyer look. But he kept his hands on her back. Her lips were softly parted, and Bob wanted them on his again. Even though he wasn't quite sure if he was doing any of it right, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers a little too hard at first.

She moaned softly as she brought her hands back up around his neck, and Bob eased himself back a little bit, making the kiss softer. This felt good. She had smooth skin and eager lips, and now her fingers were in his hair as her cheek bumped his glasses. He felt like he was getting the hang of things when she parted her lips and tasted his tongue.

Bob's hands slid down to grab at her hips through her leggings, and Nova laughed softly as she tasted him again. The soft vibrations against his lips had him more aware of his body than he ever had been before, but not in a bad way. He seemed to be making her feel excited as she wiggled her curvy hips back and forth slightly in his hands.

Nova broke the kiss and raked her fingers along his forehead and back through his tidy hair. "You smell good," she told him, leaning in close again and running her nose along his neck. "Like... something outdoorsy mixed with a fried potato."

He couldn't help but laugh as she kissed the spot next to his Adam's apple. "That sounds like it would smell bad."

"It doesn't," she reassured him with a giggle. "It just makes me want to taste you." Bob had to press his lips together and count to ten in his head as Nova ran her tongue in a slow and steady stripe up his neck to his ear. When her lips met his earlobe, his hands on her hips were pulling her body closer to his as she said, "I could eat you up."

She was still standing on the tops of his feet, but now Bob had her back pressed against the doorframe. They were making out, and it was all coming pretty naturally for him. She kissed his neck and told him something sweet, so he decided to go ahead and try the same thing. "I think I love kissing you," he said, his voice raspier than normal as she tipped her head back.

Nova was moaning his name as he kissed the front of her neck, and she pressed her thigh against him. And oh no... Bob had an erection. She didn't seem bothered, but he pulled himself a few inches away from her and looked down at her pretty face. "Do you want to go back inside?" she asked, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath.

"Should we?" he asked softly, sliding his hands back up to her waist as she shrugged.

"Probably. But I'm sure they all know exactly what we're doing out here."

His eyes went wide. "They do?"

She smiled and ran her fingers along his cheek. "Yeah, I'd venture to guess they know we were making out, Bob."

How was he supposed to go back inside now? He thought about just leaving; his truck was parked right there on the street. But he didn't want to go without his new dice. Or Nova.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah... maybe we should go back in."

"Okay." But first she wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and pressed one more soft kiss to his lips. "Just let me know if you want to take another break, because I'd be more than happy to tag along."

Then she opened the door, and the bright light and loud laughter coming from inside were enough to have him reaching for Nova's hand as she stepped down from his feet and onto the living room floor. She looked back at him with a coy smile as she laced her fingers with his. It was so obvious that they had been kissing. Bob knew he was blushing, and her lips looked a little puffy from the way he'd been enjoying them. When Jake fist bumped him as they walked past, Javy winked, and Bradley was on the couch with Nat pouting.

But Nat smiled and shook her head as Nova led Bob into the kitchen. "Want some more wine?" she asked, pulling a bottle from the refrigerator. There was something about the way she looked in the semi darkness as the candles from the menorah burned low. Her face was cast in warm light as well as shadows, and Bob found that leaning down to kiss her again was the most natural thing in the world.

The cold bottle was pressed to his arm, and she kissed him back. When Bob opened his eyes again, his glasses were crooked and two of the candles had burned out. The kitchen was even darker now as she pecked his cheek and then strolled out into the living room. He took a few seconds to consider that now he'd initiated more kisses than she had. The desire to follow her and kiss her again was so strong, he almost tripped when he thought about her going back to New York. Had he ever felt this way about a girl after a few hours? No. Absolutely not.

He knew he should have found another place to sit in Nat's tiny, loud living room, but when he saw the spot on the couch next to Nova was empty, he couldn't force his steps in any other direction. She tracked him with her eyes, clearly feeling no shame about what was happening here.

"How much have the rest of you had to drink?" she asked the guys. Jake was laying on the floor laughing while Javy tried to spin a dreidel on his nose. Bradley's cheeks were bright red, and he was half asleep at the other end of the couch. Mickey actually was asleep in the armchair. The only one who looked okay was Reuben.

"A lot," Javy said. "We turned dreidels into a drinking game, and clearly Nat is better than the rest of us." Nat winked at Nova who winked back. "And Mickey can't hold his liquor for shit."

Nova laughed at him in the armchair. "Is that a WSO thing, Bob? Or can you handle another glass of wine?" she teased.

"I can handle what you give me," he replied before he could consider how that might sound. She gasped softly and kind of nodded as she poured some more into his glass from earlier.

"I guess we'll find out."

She tapped her glass to his, and they joined in the game with the others. Bob had never played before, but he was a quick study. It certainly didn't hurt that Nova kept touching his hands as she taught him what to do. And two glasses of wine later, Bob felt lighter and more carefree. His right hand was resting on her lower back, and she leaned in to his side as the game progressed. And the best part was, Nat seemed more than okay with this.

In fact, as midnight was fast approaching, Nat stood and stretched. "I'm beat. I don't care who stays over, but Nova is in the extra bedroom, so the rest of you can fight over the couches."

Bradley and Mickey both snored in response while Reuben started to gather Jake and Javy off the floor. "I'll drop the two of you off," he said. "It was nice to meet you, Nova. Thanks, Nat."

"Thanks, Nat," Javy and Jake echoed as Nat waved. Nova blew them each a kiss.

Once they were gone, Nat started to gather up the empty wine bottles to take them into the kitchen, and Bob figured he should get ready to go as well. "Do you need help with anything?" he asked his friend, but she just waved him off. "No, I insist," he added.

He picked up some more of the trash the guys left, and as soon as he and Nova both stood, Bradley stretched out on the couch. "Just leave the rest of the mess. It's honestly fine. We can clean it up tomorrow," Nat said as she looked at her sister.

Nova nodded. "Yeah, I'll help you clean everything when we wake up."

They carried the trash they had already gathered in their arms to the kitchen, and then Nat hugged her sister before kissing Bob's cheek. "I'm assuming I'll see you again quite soon," she told him with an amused expression before she headed for the stairs.

Bob wasn't sure exactly what that was supposed to mean, but he wasn't going to dwell on it. Right now he had to figure out a way to say goodbye to the woman in front of him. He wondered if there was some way he could tell her that the few hours he spent with her somehow meant something to him. If she lived in San Diego, he thought he would very much like to take her to dinner. Maybe he could figure out a way to say so without completely ruining the moments they'd shared tonight.

"Nova, I-"

It was time for more kissing. She didn't hesitate at all, almost like she felt as comfortable with this as he did. Her hand found the bottom of Bob's tee shirt and eased the fabric up so her palm could rest flat on his abs. She nibbled gently on his lip before she let him taste her tongue. She was sweet like wine. Then his hands were back on her hips again as she eased his shirt up a little further.

"You had a lot to drink," she whispered with a wink, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. "Maybe you should come upstairs with me?" Bob wasn't drunk in the least, and he thought he knew what she meant. When his posture stiffened, she looked up at him. "It's just a twin bed, but we can both fit. If you want."

"You mean to... sleep?" he asked, embarrassed that he had to confirm instead of just knowing how to do things.

Her hand glided down to the top of his jeans, and she laughed softly. "We don't have to mess around," she said as she kissed his lips softly. "But I don't think I can keep my lips away from yours."

When Bob nodded in agreement, heart pounding rapidly, she took him by the hand. Mickey and Bradley were both sound asleep in the living room where Bob made sure to grab his box of dice. Then he let Nova lead him upstairs.

She looked back to smile at him a few times and tugged on his hand when he started to fall behind. Once they were in the extra bedroom with the soft lamplight and the door closed, Nova seemed a little more hesitant.

"Well, there's the twin bed," she said, gesturing toward it before putting her hands on her hips. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and laughed as she looked at the floor. "And I mean, obviously this was all a ploy to get to spend more time with you. But also, I don't think you should drive home after drinking so much wine." She paused before adding, "But mostly I just kind of thought maybe you and I could keep talking and making out."

Bob smiled when she looked up at him. "Yeah, I would like that."

She bit her lip, and Bob swore he had never in his life seen a woman who was so eager to be around him. He toed off his shoes before reaching for her hand again. And then he decided he was going to go for it. He was going to say what was on his mind as they both sat down on the edge of the bed together.

"Hey, Nova? I..." he paused as he looked at her pretty face, and he had to clear his throat before he kept going. "You're really... I like you a lot, and I just wanted you to know that if you lived in San Diego, I would ask you on a date."

She scooted a little closer and let her hand come to rest on his thigh. "Where would you take me?" she asked, pressing her lips to his jaw as he stuttered.

"I would... I'd take you to um, a restaurant that I like called Starlite. It's in the city. It's really pretty inside at night, and they have fairy lights and champagne. And I think you'd look beautiful sitting at one of the tables with me."

"Oh my god," she moaned against his jaw, and Bob had absolutely no control over how his body was reacting to her. "Tell me more."

He tried to keep talking as she moved her hand further up his thigh, but he wasn't sure he was making sense. "I'd get you whatever you wanted, of course. But the steak is really good, so I'd ask if you wanted that. And. And I'd be hoping the waiter was really slow, because you'd look so pretty with the soft lights all around you. I'd want to keep you there with me as long as I could."

"I want to go," Nova whispered, kissing his ear. "I can practically picture it."

Bob closed his eyes, willing his cock to stop having a mind of its own as her fingers went as high as the bottoms of his boxer briefs. If she kept this up, Bob would have to excuse himself, and he really didn't want to leave her right now. Then she straddled his thighs and wrapped her arms around his neck, and Bob's arms were full of her.

"I wish we could," he whispered, unsure what to do with his hands. "I'd take you there tomorrow, but Nat told me you're flying back east in the evening." He finally let his hands settle on her waist as she nodded sadly.

"I am," she said as her lips brushed his. "But just humor me. Would you kiss me at Starlite?"

"I'd have to," he replied immediately. "It would be mandatory. All the light and shadows on your face... you'd be ethereal. And if you were looking at me, I wouldn't be able to help myself."

"Bob," she moaned against his lips, nibbling on him softly as her fingers went to his hair. "And where would you take me for our second date?"

He laughed as she licked his tongue. "You'd go out with me a second time?"

"You're joking right?" Nova asked, pulling back a few inches as she played with his hair. "This is all hypothetical, and it's still the best date I've ever been on."

"Okay," Bob replied, and he couldn't help but smile as she nodded for him to go on. "For our second date, I'd take you to the Mission Hills Rooftop Theater."

"What would we watch?" she asked, smiling as Bob let his hands drift up a little bit under her shirt.

He shrugged. "Probably a foreign film. You'd think it was cool, but I'd just be watching the way the colorful lights flickered across your face."

She squeaked softly. "Can we pretend we're at the theater now?"

"Sure," he whispered with a smile. "We're at the theater. You look beautiful, reading all the subtitles. But I lost track of the plot of the film already."

"Why's that?" she asked with a grin.

"Can't pay attention to anything except you."

She pushed on his chest until he was laying on his back, her long hair brushing the side of his face as she leaned down to kiss him. She was rubbing herself against his hard length through his jeans and making little sounds that he'd never heard before. His hands were stroking higher, and he could feel her bra with his fingertips. He didn't want any of this to stop.

"Now you seem like a respectable guy, Bob," she murmured. "Would you take me home with you after our second date or make me wait until our third?"

Oh no. Bob loosened his grip on her as he went silent. Nova was still kissing her way across his cheek to his ear when her movements slowed. She eyed him curiously before nudging the rim of his glasses with her nose.

"Bob?"

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "I don't know. I've never... taken a girl home before."

She looked down at him with a soft smile on her lips. "What?" she asked as she pushed her fingers back through his hair.

Bob was terrified that she would stop touching him as soon as he said the words. She was so lovely, gravitating right to him all night just the same way he subconsciously felt like he wanted to be near her. He already recognized that he could fall for his friend's little sister. Maybe he already had.

He took a deep breath as he adjusted his glasses. She was waiting for him to respond, and there was no point in lying about it now. "I'm a virgin."

Nova's brow creased, and her lips parted wordlessly. She examined his face, probably trying to see if he was lying, because there's no way someone his age shouldn't have lost his virginity by now. And it was a million times worse for a guy than for a girl. He knew that. It was all so very embarrassing.

She didn't laugh, rather she kissed the corner of his lips and simply asked, "How?"

Bob shrugged. "I'm awkward."

"No. You're hot," she replied, shaking her head. "That's not it."

He tried to turn his head and look away, but she followed his gaze until he returned her soft smile. "I'm not really sure," he whispered. "I got close a few times, but it just didn't seem right. That sounds dumb."

"No, it doesn't," she replied, surprising Bob as she kissed him again. "Are you picky?" she asked between each soft press of her lips to his.

"Yeah. Kind of," he told her honestly. "Always have been. Picky about who I spend time with.

She brushed her fingers back through his hair again, and Bob melted at her touch. "That makes sense. A guy like you should be picky."

Somehow Nova was making him feel a lot more normal about this as she wasn't shying away from him. "Picky," he confirmed. "And the timing was never right."

"That's important," she said with a smile. "You have to do what feels good to you."

Bob swallowed hard. He was picky, but he really liked Nova. And for some reason, tonight out of all nights kind of felt right. He could easily blame Nat's Hanukkah party and the soft glow of the menorah candles on Nova's face for getting him to this point. She was on top of him, still kissing him, and he didn't want this to end.

"This feels good to me," he blurted out, reaching up to push his fingers through her dark hair. "Tonight feels right."

She nodded, smiling as she crawled off of him, leaving Bob a little cold as he missed the feeling of her immediately. He sat up on the bed as she crawled up to the pillows and whispered, "Come here." She coaxed him along until she was laying on the pillows and he was on top of her, bracing himself with his arms so he didn't hurt her.

"Okay, so, we already went to Starlite for dinner and then to the Mission Hills Rooftop Theater. I'll give you until our third date to make your move," she whispered, grinning up at him as she ran he hands up his biceps. "Where are you taking me?"

He took a deep breath; now was not the time for this wave of confidence to falter. "Cliffs beach. I'm packing a picnic, and we can sit in the bed of my truck and watch the sunset while we eat."

Nova moaned again and hooked her leg around Bob's thigh, pulling him impossibly closer. "Dinner was perfect. But now that the sun went down, I'm a little chilly."

"Well, I could keep you warm." He kissed her. "I'd hold you as I tried to work up the nerve to ask you if you wanted to come back to my place."

"I'm wrapped up in your arms, patiently waiting for you to ask," she replied with a smirk.

He nodded, and he knew he was blushing. This whole thing was kind of silly, but it just made sense. "I really like you. I could probably fall for you. If I let myself," he whispered, and she whimpered softly. "Do you want to come back to my place, Nova?"

"Absolutely."

Her hands were all over his face and in his hair, and eventually she took his glasses off and set them on the nightstand. She kissed him slowly as she rolled her hips up against his, and Bob blushed as he got hard again. When she carefully pulled his shirt off, she set it next to the pillow, and then she explored his body with her hands. But as soon as she pulled her own NYU shirt off and was laying beneath him, she arched her back.

Bob reached beneath her, and he fumbled for a few seconds before he unhooked her bra. As he pulled the black lace away from her body and looked down at her breasts and her confident face, he marked this as the furthest he'd ever gone with a woman. She seemed to sense he needed a moment as she ran her fingers through his hair as he stuttered, "You're gorgeous."

Nova looked up at him with her playful dark eyes, but right now they seemed a little more serious. "I could probably fall for you, too."

Then his lips were on hers, and his hands went to her breasts gently stroking each soft handful. He could fall for this, he was sure of it. He wanted to take her on all of those dates, and he would have if he could have. He was charmed by her, and she seemed equally interested in him.

"Bob," she moaned, breaking the kiss and tipping her head back as he pushed himself against her core. He brought his lips down to taste her breasts, and soon she was rolling her hips a little faster. "That feels good," she whispered as she looked up at him. "I like that."

Nova responded just like that to everything he did. When he kissed the side of her neck, she blushed a pretty shade of pink. She shivered for him when he ran his fingers down her side. When he paused with his hand just above the top of her leggings, she whispered, "Bob, you're making me kind of crazy."

She guided his hand down a few more inches with her own, but she didn't get annoyed when he took his time pulling her leggings and underwear off. His heart was pounding as he looked at her, completely naked. Maybe she could sense his hesitation, because she sat up, too, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'll tell you if I don't like something, okay? And you do the same?"

He nodded. "I like everything so far. I just don't want to mess this up."

"You won't," she promised, taking his face in both of her hands and kissing him softly at first. Then her lips became more demanding, and Bob wrapped one strong arm around her, pulling her on top of him. She giggled against his lips before swiping his tongue with her own.

Her fingers roamed his bare torso and found the light trail of hair below his belly button. "I'm going to take your jeans off," she whispered, carefully unbuttoning and unzipping them. Her hair was already kind of a mess, and he knew his must have been as well. But then all thoughts left his mind as she started to pull his pants down. Bob wasn't dumb; he knew he was at least average size from the amount of time he'd spent in naval locker rooms. But he was surprised by her soft gasp when she pulled his underwear down far enough that his erection sprang free. Then his jeans, socks and underwear were in a pile at the bottom of the small bed, and he was naked, too.

He grunted as she wrapped her hand around him. This was the best thing he ever felt. Until she kissed him there. "Oh god, Nova. Wait," he moaned, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. "Don't we need a condom?"

She responded by licking his length before crawling up his body to kiss his lips. "I can go ask my sister if she has any if you want to use one."

"No!" he gasped, nearly headbutting her as he sat up. "No, don't do that." Bob wasn't sure that Natasha would respond kindly to that question coming from her sister. "Please don't."

But Nova was all smiles as she straddled his waist. "Okay," she whispered as he braced himself with his hand behind him on the bed. "I won't alert Natasha to the fact that we're about to have sex."

Bob sighed in relief and reached out to push her hair behind her ear. "Actually, if you could not mention her again right now, that would be great."

Now she was laughing softly as she scooted up until Bob could feel her wet pussy rubbing his cock. "Promise," she confirmed as he looked up at her face. When he glanced down between them, all he could see was her perfect body and his cock jumping against her in excitement. "I'm on birth control anyway," she whispered, kissing along his jaw. "And I know you're a little nervous, but so am I."

"Why?" he asked, surprised by her words.

Nova hummed as she kissed her way back to his lips. "I want this to feel good for you." She wrapped her arms around his neck as she slowly rolled her hips against him and made the softest sounds. His heart rate picked up as she added, "I want you to think about our hypothetical dates after I'm gone."

He was sure he would be thinking about Nova for a very long time. She was all gentle fingers in his hair and confident smiles. She was beautiful, and Bob could easily get addicted to this.

She guided him to lay back on the pillows as she asked, "You ready?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded hoarse as he looked up at her and pushed her hair over one shoulder. When he let his hands trail over the soft skin of her shoulders, breasts and sides, she shivered as she kissed him. Bob could feel her hand around his length, and then his head tipped away from her as he moaned. "Does that feel good?"

Good. That didn't seem like the right word for it, but now his brain felt a little hazy. Nova's lips ghosted over his as he moaned again. She felt tight and inviting, and when she rolled her hips with him inside her like this, Bob gripped her hip a little tighter. His other hand ended up tangled in her hair as he traced her freckled cheek with his thumb. "Nova," he gasped against her lips before devouring her.

Her soft noises got a little louder, and each roll of her hips had Bob praying that this would never end. Every passing second was better than the last. Every time she whispered his name and tasted his tongue was too exciting. When she ended up on her back, looking up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, he kissed her neck and pushed himself deep inside her.

"Oh," she moaned, and he had to slowly shake his head to keep his focus. Her leg was hooked up around his hip, and he was suddenly very aware that he didn't know how to make her orgasm.

"Nova?" he gasped as she reached for his hand. But he should have known she'd be willing to help him with this as she showed him where and how to rub her.

"Fuck," she whined, taking a few gasping breaths. "That feels so good." He kept moving his hips, too, and a few seconds later, as she was nibbling on his lip and whining, he felt her squeezing around him. "Bob. Bob. Bob!"

Her back was arched off the bed, and her breasts bounced with every wild breath she took, and then he had no idea it would all happen so fast for him. He tucked his face against her neck and shoulder as he bucked into her without finesse. He couldn't control it. He came so hard, his vision looked like a kaleidoscope of colors when he opened his eyes. But she was right there, and she was perfect.

He half collapsed against her chest as she played with his hair, and it felt like it might have been a long time before he moved. Bob wrapped his arms a little tighter around her, and even though he thought he should feel timid, he didn't. He felt so relaxed and almost loved as she touched him like this. When he tipped his face up to look at her, she was smiling.

He was picky, and the timing never felt right before now. But Nova was lovely, and tonight was the right night. "My Hanukkah wish is to go on all of those dates with you," he whispered, and she closed her eyes as she blushed. "And see how pretty you'd look with the sun setting and all the fairy lights."

She leaned up slightly to kiss his lips. "I wish we could."

As she laced her fingers with his, Bob whispered, "Maybe we can trade phone numbers? And talk until you get tired of me."

She nodded and asked, "And what if I don't ever get tired of you?"

Bob studied her face as she ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck to his shoulder. "Then we'll go on the dates for real."

Eventually they fell asleep around four in the morning after talking and having sex again. When Bob woke up at nine, it was to Nova's lips on his neck and her voice in his ear. "Morning, Bob."

He just held her a little tighter. When they went downstairs, nobody was surprised they'd spent the night together, not even Nat. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, and he ended up staying all day, even after Bradley and Mickey both left. He just wanted to be around Nova for as long as possible, but eventually he had to leave so her sister could take her to the airport. So she could go back to New York.

"I'll miss you," she promised when she walked him out to his truck. She took his phone and saved her number for him.

"Should I text you now? So you have mine, too?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, "Fair warning, once you text me, I'll write back and probably never stop."

Bob laughed softly and quickly typed up a text to her while she kissed his neck.

I miss you already, and I didn't even leave yet.

Then he kissed her back until her sister started yelling out the front door about going to the airport. "Bye, Bob," Nova whispered before kissing his cheek and bounding back in the house. As he drove away, his phone lit up in the cup holder with a series of texts from her, and he hoped she was telling the truth when she said she wouldn't stop.

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

Five months later...

"Are you really this nervous to see her again?" Natasha asked him as they walked through JFK airport together. "You've talked to her everyday for months. Hell, you flew out to see her for a weekend in March."

Bob blushed as he thought about those three days when he'd been here during a late winter snowstorm that kept him and Nova inside her apartment for most of the weekend. She'd hardly let him out of her bed. And while they weren't dating, not exactly, Bob knew he wanted to be.

"Yeah, I'm a little nervous. She has no idea I'm here for her graduation. Do you know how hard it was to lie to her?"

Nat laughed as they walked outside in the May sunlight to get a cab to Nova's apartment. Bob was slightly afraid she'd be upset when they got there. Or maybe there would be evidence of another guy. It might break his heart, but he'd have to accept it. But he just couldn't get past that night they spent together during Hanukkah, and he'd been falling in love with her since then. Even over the phone.

"I'm sure she'll be happier to see you than me," Nat told him. It seemed like no time passed at all before they were pulling up to the building he'd only seen once when it was surrounded by a layer of snow.

He got out of the cab and stood awkwardly on the sidewalk as Natasha got her phone out. She looked up at him with a smile as she called her sister. "I'm here," she said before looking at the blank screen. "She screamed and then hung up."

Bob laughed nervously with his backpack on and Nat's hand rubbing his arm in a soothing circle. "If she's not excited to see me, I'll just get a hotel room or try to exchange my ticket for something earlier," he mumbled.

But the next thing he knew, Nova was throwing open the door to her building. She barely looked at her sister before she gasped, "Bob!" and launched herself down the stairs and into his arms.

"Hi," he whispered as she clung to the front of him and shamelessly kissed his lips and neck right in front of her sister. "I missed you."

She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around him as she let her cheek rest on his chest. "You brought me Bob? Is he my graduation present?" she asked Natasha as Bob ran his fingers through her hair and chuckled.

"Something like that," she replied, reaching for the key that was still in Nova's hand. "I'll meet the two of you inside."

As Nat let herself in the building, Nova looked up at him. "You lied to me. You said you had to work this weekend."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll never do it again." She was melting into his touch as he cleared his throat and added, "I know you're still going on interviews and trying to decide on a job, but I took next week off just in case I could persuade you to come back to San Diego for a bit."

She smiled. "Now why would I want to do that?"

Bob shrugged. "I just really think we should go on those three dates before I ask you to be my girlfriend."

"Starlite. Mission Hills Rooftop Theater. Cliffs beach," she said softly.

"In that order," he confirmed. "But I'd be taking you home with me after each one."

"Then yes."

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

Happy Holidays! I'll be thinking about Bob and Nova through the New Year. Thanks to @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls and @ryebecca

@thedroneranger

@theamuz

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@mak-32

@bradshawsbitch

@beyondthesefourwalls

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-magnolia

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@wkndwlff

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@yanna-banana

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@novastories

@xoxabs88xox

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@chicomonks

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@ohgodnotagainn

@smileybouquet

#winterromcomchallenge #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd imagine #robert bob floyd fic #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x oc #robert floyd x oc #bob fucks #bob fluff #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fan fiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #brighter than a supernova

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todaysdocument · 2 months ago

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"The Flower and I" by Ralph Kuznitzki

Record Group 48: Records of the Office of the Secretary of the InteriorSeries: Central Classified FilesFile Unit: 1-5 Refugees (Pt. 1)

This is an English composition written by Ralph Kuznitzki, a 15 year old refugee living in the Fort Ontario refugee camp in Oswego, New York.

The flower and I

The fresh and rather cold morning breeze blew directly in my face, making my ears and the and the tip of my nose, red. I had passed the houses which protected me against it, and now I was crossing a wet lawn. I hurried to pass it. But when I arrived at the next block of houses, I noticed that a small part of it had come along with me. It was stuck in my shoes, that small flower. After having picked it up, I was about to throw it away, when I suddenly came to think of a strange fact. How greatly likely was the flower's life with mine! It may be a stupid idea, but there is something true with it.

Born far away, it stayed in it calm life only for a short time. Where was it born? I don't know. It didn't answer me when I asked it. In its youngest years the wind of nature brought it and the tornado of Nazis brought me away from our mother place. Many things we saw; we passed many strange spots on this earth, I imagine. Then comes the difference between our lives. After a long time it found its place, where to settle down, where to stay for all its life, till the cruel feet of a boy came to take it away. I found a place too; but will this place be my fatherland, my place where I can settle down, develop and finally -- die? I hope so, because I like it and feel the liberty which is here, as the medicine for my illness. The illness of terror and supressed [sic] nights of a man And then when the foot was bones will strike me, I'll be satisfied with my life and my work.

The shrill blast of the sirens awoke me from my dreams. I didn't throw the flower away. I kept it and now it hangs on the wall of my room, as a symbol of hope for a home for myself and a fatherland for me and my descendants.

Robert Kuznitzki

#archivesgov #november 1 #1944 #1940s #wwii #world war ii #refugees #displaced persons

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undying-love · 10 months ago

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Paul being very secure about his sexuality: A compilation

"The reason why we didn’t do Up Against It wasn’t because it was too far out or anything. We didn’t do it because it was gay. We weren’t gay and really that was all there was to it. It was quite simple, really. Brian was gay…and so he and the gay crowd could appreciate it. Now, it wasn’t that we were anti-gay – just that we, The Beatles, weren’t gay."

“It was always obvious Brian was gay and we could talk to him about gay things, but he would never come out with, ‘Hello, Paul, you’re looking nice today.’ I was quite obviously un-gay, due to my hunting of the female hordes. I think we all gave that impression."

Q: You must be very secure with yourself.

Paul: I think it is that. I'm OK with gay people, too, because I'm essentially comfortable with my sexuality. I can goof around with gay people. I sort of know who I am by now. And it's about time.

"I imagine he heard it [Dear Friend]. I think he listened to my records, but he never responded directly. That wasn't his way. We were guys; it wasn't like a boy and a girl. In those days you didn't release much emotion with each other."

"One thing he told us was that one in every four men is homosexual. So we looked at the group! One in every four! It literally meant one of us is gay. Oh, fucking hell, it’s not me, is it? We had a lot of soul-searching to do over that little one."

"There's a song I do called Here Today which is specifically written for John. That sometimes catches me out. I realise I'm telling this man that I love him and it's like I'm publicly declaring this in front of all these people I don't know. I sometimes wonder what I'm doing.

Q: In “Here Today”, you talk about your love for John. Did you ever say that to him, in those days?" Paul: No. I'm sure we both felt it. But that is not something two boys use to say to each other. If they were gay, maybe. Otherwise it is rare that that happens."

"My view is that these things are there whether you want them or not, in your interior. You don't call up dreams, they happen, often the exact opposite of what you want. You can be heterosexual and be having a homosexual dream and wake up, and think, 'Shit, am I gay?' I like that you don't have control over it. But there is some control -- it is you dreaming, it is your mind it's all happening in."

"We were in New York before he [George] went to Los Angeles to die, and they were silly but important to me. And, I think, important to him. We were sitting there, and I was holding his hand, and it occurred to me — I’ve never told this — I don’t want to hold George’s hand. You don’t hold your mate’s hands. I mean, we didn’t anyway. "

"Yeah, I think he [John] did [love me], yeah. It wasn’t actually a spiky relationship at all. It was, uh, very warm, very close and very loving, I think. All The Beatles. We used to say, I think we were amongst the first sort of men to come out openly – and you remember, it was quite sort of strange in those days, we’re talking about a long time ago now when homosexuality was still sort of largely illegal."

"Because he [Robert Faser] was gay, it raised a few small-minded eyebrows, and funnily enough, one or two of them were from within the Beatles: ‘Hey, man, he’s gay, what you going off to Paris with him for? They’re gonna talk, you know. Tongues are going to wag.’ I said, ‘I know tongues are going to wag, but tough shit.’ I was secure about my sexuality. I always felt this is is fine. I can hang with whoever I want and it didn’t worry me. I mean, we didn’t share a room or anything."

"With Robert’s thing of course there would be gayness. But there was no open gayness. If there was to be gayness it would be a quiet phone call that Robert would go and take in the bedroom or something. That was one of the good things, actually, because I knew he was gay and he knew I wasn’t gay so we were quite safe in our own | sexuality. We could talk to each other. "

Lastly, there is this odd anecdote that may or may not mean anything, but here it is:

One of the strangest of these incidents came at the end of 1992 when Mark Featherstone-Witty attended the MPL Christmas lunch. Mark took an accountant friend to the meal, a McCartney fan he'd known for years, which led to a strange and unpleasant row. By Mark's recollection, Paul's manager Richard Ogden summoned him into the MPL office the next day where he read him the riot act for bringing an unwelcome guest to Paul's party. 'What do you mean by bringing someone who was so obviously gay to Paul's Christmas party? Have you any idea about the responsibility you carry in this project?' he allegedly asked. 'What are you talking about?' replied Featherstone-Witty, explaining who his friend was. 'But he was gay, you stupid fucker!' 'No, he isn't.' 'You've got to be careful. You can't do anything that would embarrass Paul...'"

Fab : An intimate Life of Paul McCartney by Howard Sounes

#paul mccartney #Mr “I'm very secure about myself”#mclennon #oh paul #This is a very long post #probably my longest ever #but there is a lot to unpack here

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tavolgisvist · 2 months ago

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'So there's a story...'

I'll buy you a diamond ring, my friend If it makes you feel alright I'll get you anything, my friend If it makes you feel alright 'Cause I don't care too much for money Money can't buy me love <…> I'll give you all I've got to give If you say you love me, too I may not have a lot to give But what I got, I'll give to you <…> Say you don't need no diamond rings And I'll be satisfied Tell me that you want the kind of things That money just can't buy I don't care too much for money Money can't buy me love

(Can't Buy Me Love, Jan/March 1964, A Hard Day’s Night)

… Baby says she's mine, you know She tells me all the time, you know She said so I'm in love with her and I feel fine I'm so glad that she's my little girl She's so glad, she's telling all the world That her baby buys her things, you know He buys her diamond rings, you know She said so She's in love with me and I feel fine

(I Feel Fine, Oct 1964, single I Feel Fine/She's A Woman)

Asked a girl what she wanted to be She said, "Baby, can't you see? I wanna be famous, a star of the screen But you can do something in between" <…> I told that girl that my prospects were good And she said, "Baby, it's understood Working for peanuts is all very fine But I can show you a better time" "Baby, you can drive my car Yes, I'm gonna be a star Baby, you can drive my car And maybe I'll love you" Beep-beep'm-beep-beep, yeah …

(Drive My Car, Oct 1965, Rubber Soul)

I started working at a coil-winding factory called Massey and Coggins. My dad had told me to go out and get a job. I’d said, ‘I’ve got a job, I’m in a band.’ But after a couple of weeks of doing nothing with the band it was, ‘No, you have got to get a proper job.’ He virtually chucked me out of the house: ‘Get a job or don’t come back.’ So I went to the employment office and said, ‘Can I have a job? Just give me anything.’ I said, ‘I’ll have whatever is on the top of that little pile there.’ And the first job was sweeping the yard at Massey and Coggins. I took it. I went there and the personnel officer said, ‘We can’t have you sweeping the yard, you’re management material.’ And they started to train me from the shop floor up with that in mind. <…> One day John and George showed up in the yard that I should have been sweeping and told me we had a gig at the Cavern. I said, ‘No. I’ve got a steady job here and it pays £7 14s a week. They are training me here. That’s pretty good, I can’t expect more. And I was quite serious about this.

(Paul McCartney, The Beatles Anthology)

But Paul would always give in to his dad. His dad told him to get a job, he dropped the group and started working on the fucking lorries, saying, 'I need a steady career.' We couldn't believe it. Once he rang up and said he'd got this job and couldn't come to the group. So I told him on the phone, 'Either come or you're out.' So he had to make a decision between me and his dad then, and in the end he chose me.

(John Lennon, Yoko Ono, St. Regis Hotel, New York, September 5th, 1971, interview with Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld)

I’d brought a version of it [‘Golden Rings’] out to John’s house in Weybridge, and we stalled when we got to the lines ‘You can buy me golden rings / Get me all that kind of thing’. We kept singing that over and over and couldn’t get beyond it because it was so shockingly bad. Part of the problem was that we’d already had ‘a diamond ring’ in ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’. ‘Golden rings’ was unoriginal and uninspiring. We couldn’t get past it. So we left it, went and had a cup of tea. When we came back, we started thinking of the woman as an LA girl. That improved things a bit. Then she wanted a chauffeur. <…> Once you get into creating a narrative and storytelling, it’s so much more entertaining. It draws you forward so much more easily. Now we were dramatising the interviewing of a chauffeur; we got over that dry moment and finished the song. It became one that didn’t get away. And its success had to do with getting rid of ‘golden rings’ and heading to ‘Baby, you can drive my car’. I know there’s a theory that rock and roll couldn’t have existed without the guitars of Leo Fender, but it probably couldn’t have existed without Henry Ford either. I’m thinking of the relationship between the motorcar and what happens in the back seat. We know that people shagged before the motorcar, but the motorcar gave the erotic a whole new lease on life. Think of Chuck Berry ‘riding along in my automobile’. Chuck is one of America’s great poets. ‘Beep beep, beep beep, yeah’. There you go. It was always good to get nonsense lyrics in, and this song lent itself to ‘Beep beep, beep beep, yeah’…

(Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, about 'Drive My Car')

*Paul means Berry's No Particular Place to Go:

Ridin' along in my automobile My baby beside me at the wheel I stole a kiss at the turn of a mile My curiosity runnin' wild Cruisin' and playin' the radio With no particular place to go

etc

for @m1ssunderstanding because

#it's so funny #john and paul #can't buy me love #i feel fine #drive my car #john lennon #paul mccartney #interview: paul #interview: john #the songs we were singing #the lyrics

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 2 months ago

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I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 19

AO3

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58 @justheretoreadthxxs @blakelysco-pilot

A/N: I'm sooo sorry this chapter took so long!! things have been super busy lately and my motivation to write was so low it was literally in hell. But! we got there eventually - please enjoy!! <3

December 1945

Morning sunlight flooded the room, the hustle and bustle of New York sounding through open windows as Frankie pried open a new paint can with a grunt, leaving a smudge of blue in her wake as she raised a paint-stained hand to wipe across her forehead. With each brush stroke, the room grew more alive with colour as everything steadily seemed to come together.

She'd been up since before dawn. Sleep didn't come easily these days.

Hair pulled messily out of her face, Frankie dressed in a pair of Rosie's old pyjamas, the shirt only half-buttoned, left open where it became too small to reach across her swelling stomach. A bassinet remained unassembled in the hall, waiting for its spot to be ready, and the smell of coffee wafted up from downstairs, a surefire sign that Rosie had awoken too, undoubtedly readying for work.

Within a few minutes, he came to her, hovering in the doorway in his suit - the one that was tailored the best, the one that made her melt a little no matter how many times he wore it. "Morning," She called with a smile, adjusting a piece of masking tape along the window frame. The sun caught her at just the right angle, illuminating her silhouette as she straightened.

"You're beautiful," Rosie beamed, crossing the room towards her. Lifting a hand to cup her cheek, he brought his lips to hers, delivering a gentle kiss.

"Ah-ah," Frankie chided, ducking backwards as she lifted her hands in surrender. "Paint hands." He chuckled as she scampered from the room, scurrying to the bathroom to wash away the streaks of wet paint that stained her hands to preserve that excellent suit of his.

He was waiting when she returned, a pleased smile creasing his cheek as she returned the first kiss, one of his palms pressed against her stomach. As she finally pulled away, he raised a hand, stifling a chuckle as the pad of his thumb rubbed at the paint staining her face.

"Don't work yourself too hard, honey," He urged, entirely unable to meet her eye without a smile creeping across his expression.

"Oh, you know me," She teased, straightening his tie.

Scoffing, Rosie shook his head slightly. "That's the problem."

Frankie shrugged. "Eh. Bucky's coming over in a bit, might sit down for a whole ten minutes. I'll drop by the garage for a bit just to check in."

"Have him drive you," He nodded, turning to head for the door.

"I can drive!" She protested. Rosie let out a bark of laughter, swinging back on his heel.

"No, you cannot - for the safety of New York, I beg."

Frankie guffawed, batting a hand in his direction. "Get outta here!"

"Yes ma'am," Rosie grinned, tipping an imaginary cap before disappearing down the hall.

Once again alone in the nursery, she smiled to herself, chuckling as her fingers drummed against her stomach. "Your dad thinks I'm a terrible driver," She whispered as if confiding a secret to the child within her. "Although, your uncle Bucky says it too, so they might be onto something. Either way, it looks like I won't be doing the school run."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A little over an hour later, the doorbell sounded, startling Frankie enough to make her jump, a splatter of paint falling from her brush and staining her sock as she cursed beneath her breath. Waddling slightly as she made her way downstairs, she seized a sweater from the back of a nearby chair, tugging it up over her head to cover her stomach. As she wrenched the door open, gaze settling on the figure standing on the front step, she fought the urge to grin.

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

"Shut up," Bucky chuckled, stepping inside as he wrapped her in a hug. "You look huge."

"You smell bad," Frankie grimaced.

"Late night."

"Oh yeah?" She raised a brow, a smirk curling her lip as he shrugged nonchalantly, a faint splash of colour tinting his cheeks. "Anything to share with the class?" Bucky frowned, side-stepping his way inside like he owned the place

"Oh come on," Frankie groaned, shutting the front door with a slam. "I haven't been out for a drink in months, I need someone to live vicariously through."

"There... may have been a girl."

"Knew it," She grinned, scurrying into the front room to take a seat in one of the armchairs. "Sit, sit, sit!"

"Jesus, you need to get out more," Bucky muttered, perching on the edge of the couch. "That baby's making you weird."

"Not the point. Start talking."

Throwing his hands up in frustration, he let out a sigh. "I don't know! I got drunk and we danced - she was pretty, I think her name was... Jo? Josephine. But other than that I got nothin', so I'll probably never see her again."

Frankie let out a long, agonised groan as she pushed herself back up out of her seat, waddling towards the kitchen. "God, what's the point of living through you if all you do is make stupid decisions?"

"Where are you going?" Bucky called after her, craning his neck to watch as she disappeared into the kitchen. It was quiet for a while until she reappeared in the doorway, a plate of shortbread in her hand, already chewing a mouthful.

"You want some?"

He snorted back a laugh, smiling sceptically. "You made those?"

"They're the only thing I'm good at. Three ingredients." She mused, licking some sugar from her fingertip as she returned, putting the plate down on the coffee table. Lowering herself back into her chair, Frankie let out a groan, the feeling of weight being taken from her practically euphoric. "So. What's the plan for tracking down this Jo?"

Bucky threw his hands up in despair. "I dunno. It's impossible."

Her eyes narrowed slowly. "I don't think I've ever heard you say those words," Frankie teased. "Do it again. Slowly."

"Shut up," He frowned, stuffing a piece of shortbread into his mouth to avoid having to speak for at least a little while.

"I just never knew you to be a coward," She shrugged. "You're setting a bad example for the baby."

Bucky scoffed, a few crumbs blowing loose from his moustache. "The baby doesn't know what's going on."

Frankie felt a stretch within her as the baby kicked out with her tiny foot. "Oh, she begs to differ."

"Oh my God."

"Hm?"

"I just realised there's actually gonna be two of you. I dunno if I can cope with that."

"Oh, don't tell me Uncle Bucky's gonna shirk his duties."

"...Uncle Bucky?"

"Mhm."

He began to grin, chuckling to himself, unable to suppress his smile as he leant back into his seat. "Well... alright. I think I can work with that."

Frankie mirrored his smile, the room falling into quiet for a long moment before she snapped her fingers.

"Ok. You're giving me a lift to work."

"Oh, am I?"

"Yep. Rosie says I'm not allowed to drive."

"Oh, yeah, no, good call actually. I'll get my coat," Bucky nodded firmly, fumbling for his keys as he rose to his feet.

"Well, I was thinking I'd go put proper clothes on first," She pointed out. He turned, taking in her appearance, the sleeves of Rosie's sweater dangling past her fingertips, paint-stained socks peeking out beneath the hem of her pyjama bottoms.

"Seems fair."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bucky's car vanished around the corner as Frankie headed inside through the open garage door, groaning slightly as she craned backwards, stretching her back against the weight it carried. The place was alive with work, her staff bustling away as they tweaked and mended the cars in their custody, a raucous whirr filling the air and bringing her back to the countless hours spent in her father's shop as a girl.

"Mrs Rosenthal," One of the mechanics nodded to her as she waddled past, tipping an imaginary cap in her direction.

"Mornin', Ted," She paused, stepping up beside him as he peered beneath the hood of one of the cars. "How's it lookin'?"

"Think we got a problem with one of the carburettor valves - I'll take it out and have a look, but we'll probably have to order a part."

"Alright," Frankie hummed. "I'm sending out an order later anyway, if you can get it checked today I should be able to get it in fast."

"Thanks, Frank," Ted smiled, the pair exchanging nods as she headed towards the office, which sat tucked away in the far rear of the place, its windowed walls giving her a perfect view of everything that went on.

"Excuse me?" A voice echoed through the garage, barely audible over the roar of machinery, giving Frankie pause as her hand reached for the office door. A woman lingered in the entryway, clutching her purse as she glanced around hoping to be noticed. Her blonde hair was pulled back in neat curls, a pleasant smile curling red lips as she met Frankie's eye.

"Hi!" She grinned, meeting the woman in the middle of the room as they headed towards each other. "What can I do for ya?"

"I'm just here to pick up my car, I brought it in a few days ago."

"Alright, no worries," Frankie nodded, back-tracking towards the office to grab her clipboard "What's the name?"

"Josephine Pitz."

She paused, slowly looking up from her notes, her earlier conversation with Bucky replaying in her head.

"Mhm. Ok. If you could just take a seat, I'll go deal with the paperwork and you'll be good to go," Frankie urged, waddling at full speed back to her office as Josephine found a chair.

Alone in the privacy of her office, she grabbed the papers, fumbling for the phone on her desk as she forcibly dialled the familiar number. Holding the handset between her shoulder and her chin, she scribbled away, deigning not to get too precious about her terrible spelling as she waited for her friend to pick up.

"Hello?" Bucky's voice came down the line.

"I think I've found the answer to your Josephine problem."

She heard him scoff. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"Shut up, she's just come in. Josephine Pitz - blonde hair, green eyes... great legs."

"Oh shit."

"That's what I'm saying! Get down here right now - knock on the back door."

"Alright, yeah - On it."

The line beeped as he hung up, and she couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image of Bucky scrambling to get out of the house, scurrying to his car in a frenzied hurry. Frankie pushed herself closer to the desk, the table's edge digging into her stomach as she signed off on the last paper, only half paying attention as she focused on keeping Josephine firmly in her peripheral vision.

After ten minutes of clumsy stalling, the knock of a fist against the back door came as a welcome intrustion, and Bucky was scarcely able to offer greetings before he found Frankie's lunch thrust into his hands.

"Wh-?"

"Go round the front - pretend I forgot this, and Rosie's asked you to bring it."

He looked down at the crumpled paper bag, nodding firmly. "Good plan. Great plan. Ok."

"Right, go."

Flashing her a grin of excitement, Bucky disappeared around the side of the building, appearing mere seconds later at the front entrace, her lunch held aloft as if in victory. Josephine did a double take, eyes widening slightly in recognition, whilst he seemed to be pretending he hadn't noticed her yet. It struck Frankie as an odd decision.

"Here you are," Bucky declared, holding the bag out to her with a smile as he approached. "Can't keep forgetting this. Feedin' two n' all."

"Oh! Yes, thank you," Frankie nodded. Even when unable to see her own face, she could tell her attempt at appearing surprised was not going terribly well.

"... John?" Josephine's voice intruded. He turned to face her. If Frankie's effort at feigning shock had been unsuccessful, his was worse.

"Jo? Huh! Fancy seeing you here!"

Jo's jaw hung slightly slack, gaze darting between them as the gears turned in her head. Bucky and Frankie stood frozen, waiting for her to speak.

"... Oh my god, you're married?!"

Some kind of terrible squawk escaped Frankie's throat, an awkward middle ground between a choke and a guffaw. "Oh, Jesus, no! No, no - see the Rosenthal & Co. sign outside? I'm the Rosenthal. He's Egan, completely unrelated."

Jo's frown faded slightly, brows still pinched as the shock of what she thought she'd realised slowly wore off. Briefly glancing at Bucky, he offered her an awkward thumbs-up.

"So... Who's the 'Co.'?"

"Right here," Frankie patted her stomach, which barely fit beneath the buttons of her coveralls.

"... Huh."

"We're just friends," Bucky assured. "We worked together during the war."

"This whole thing was just a set-up attempt, cuz he was at my house earlier talking about you," Frankie shrugged.

Suddenly the others were both staring at her with expressions of equal alarm. She paused, clicking her tongue awkwardly.

"I am... gonna go get your car. Just... carry on without me."

"Please go away now," Bucky uttered.

"Yep."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

5th January 1946

Christmas lights still bathed the living room in a flickering array of red and green, the tree long since wilted and thrown away, although neither of them had quite found the time to take down any of the other decorations. There always seemed to be another job that needed doing more urgently, and as the days passed, Frankie found herself more and more open to Rosie's pleas that she simply sit down, rest, and let him take care of it all.

He was lounging in one of the armchairs, newspaper unfolded in his lap, a few dry patched of paint still staining his shirt from where he'd helped her to finish painting the nursery. Padding across the room, Frankie's eyes screwed shut as she let out a yawn, only opening them as she felt his hand gently tugging at her wrist. She hadn't even had to look at him to know what he wanted, hearing the rustle of the newspaper being cast aside as she lowered herself to perch in his lap, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck as his hand rubbed circles against her spine.

"God, I'm bored of waiting for this baby," Frankie sighed. He hummed, breath warming her skin as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, a bubble of laughter escaping her throat.

"Not much longer now," He said, voice muffled against her as he held her as close as he could, the red and green lights reflecting against the polished metal of her ring.

"... You think it's time for the decorations to come down?" Rosie asked, chin resting against her shoulder as he glanced around the room.

"No," She tutted. "I like the idea of it still being Christmas when she gets here."

"You're so sure it's a girl?"

"Oh, yeah. And I'm always right."

"Of course."

A soft finger against his jaw tilted Rosie's face to look up, his eyes softening without delay the moment they landed upon her. Her hair had been messily scraped back into a ponytail, loose strands sticking out at every angle. But her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were bright, and to him, she'd never been more beautiful. Frankie pressed a quick kiss to his lips, their foreheads resting against one another as they both let their gazes travel to her bulging stomach.

"You're gonna be such a good dad," She hummed, barely more than a whisper. He lifted his head, pressing another, longer kiss to her temple.

"She's gonna love you," He muttered against her skin. Frankie shrugged, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve. After a beat of silence, Rosie pulled away, looking her in the face. "You okay, honey?"

"I dunno, I just," She sighed. "I don't remember my mum. I don't really remember how they're supposed to... be."

Sucking in a long, deep breath, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, a frown creasing his brow.

"You're not supposed to be anything. You're already the kindest, funniest, smartest person I know. And you've got your dad - if you're anything like him at all, our kid's gonna be just great."

Rosie chuckled as she wrapped her arms around his head, squeezing it in a vice grip. She kissed his scalp firmly before resting her cheek against his hair. "I love you."

"I love you so much," He said, muffled against her sweater. But she could hear the smile in his voice.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

10th January 1946

Frankie's face was still drenched with sweat, hair clinging to her temples as she cradled the tiny infant in her arms, unable to wipe the grin from her cheeks even for a second. Even as exhaustion willed her eyes to close, she couldn't bring herself to look away. "Oh, there you are," She whispered as a gurgle escaped the girl's throat, her hand so small it could do nothing but wrap around her mother's pinky finger.

Rosie wiped away the sweat from Frankie's brow, hand ceaselessly gentle. "You feeling okay?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," She nodded. He looked down at the baby in her arms, eyes welling with immediate tears. A tired laugh escaped Frankie's throat. "Oh, honey. You wanna hold her?"

Beaming at the prospect, he reached out to softly pry the child from her mother's grip, his hands so big against her tiny frame that it seemed almost impossible that something so small could even exist. "Hi there Maggie," He sang, sniffing loudly as he tried to blink away the tears before they could roll down his cheeks. Frankie reached out a hand, wiping them away with the pad of her thumb.

A soft knock sounded at the door, cautious and restrained as whoever stood outside waited patiently, hesitant to intrude.

"Come in!" Frankie called, voice mellow to avoid stirring the baby.

Creaking slowly open, George's head poked inside, a wide-eyed smile crumbling as she processed the scene in front of her. "God, I said I wasn't gonna cry," She tutted, wiping her eyes as she hovered in the doorway, as if hesitant to make her entrance before she'd fully composed herself.

"Oh, who cares, c'mere," Frankie laughed, holding out her arms as her best friend hurried forward. Passing the baby with barely more than a glance, she enveloped her in a fierce hug, perching on the edge of the bed beside her.

"I'm so proud of you," George choked back a sob, raising a hand to stroke Frankie's hair out of her face. "You smell terrible."

"Just like the old days, huh?" She laughed. "Although I did just have a bloody baby, do you actually want to see her?"

"Oh, shit, yeah," George sniffed, wiping her tears as she pulled out of the hug. Rosie was still standing in the corner with Maggie, a smitten smile creasing his cheeks, seemingly unaware of anything else around him.

"Rosie," Frankie prompted gently, snapping him out of his trance.

"Hm? Oh, yeah," He looked up, edging towards George so that she could get a peek at the child beneath her bundle of blankets.

"Hiya," She whispered, grinning as she leaned closer, lifting her hand so that the baby could wrap a chubby hand around her finger. "What's her name?"

"Margaret. Well, Maggie," Rosie smiled.

"Margaret Georgina Rosenthal," Frankie pointed out, George's eyes widening as she turned to look back at her.

"Shut the fuck up," She blurted, hand raised almost immediately to cover her mouth, glancing nervously back at the baby as if she somehow understood. Rosie began to laugh, the vibration of his chest making Maggie gurgle happily. "You didn't."

He shrugged. "Well, we thought that you-"

"I don't even like that name!"

Frankie snorted. "I know!"

George groaned. "Fine, well, I think she suits it better anyway." She nodded to Rosie, wordlessly asking his permission, and he gently placed Maggie into her arms. "Yeah. She's a cool baby."

"Bucky's coming to see her later," Frankie said. "He'll be mad I didn't somehow find a way to name her after him."

"He's gonna cry," "He's gonna cry," George and Rosie stated simultaneously, lifting their gazes from the baby to look at each other, snorts of laughter escaping them both.

"Alright, that's enough, give me my baby," She grunted, shifting forward on the bed and holding out her arms. Maggie let out a series of gargling sounds as George lowered her into Frankie's arms, tiny eyes staring up at her mother as she held her close. She let out a faint chuckle, stroking her thumb across her cheek.

"Yeah... She is gonna be pretty great."

#fic | i'm your man #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #mota fic #mota oc #oc: frankie #frankie x rosie #oc: george #john egan #mota #oc: maggie rosenthal

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writers-potion · 8 months ago

Note

said is NOT DEAD. our brains have seen it so much that when reading dialogue, it just glosses over it. if you don't want to detract from the dialogue, USE SAID. other words might ground the reader a little too much and lose a bit of immersion.

--this comes from my old tutor who now has a phd in literature

Said Is Not Dead

Of course not! "Said" should still be your go-to speech tag, the benefit being that it flows best. I find it nice to have a larger working vocabulary when it comes to expressing speech, though, and I think many writers would agree! It's one thing to use "said" because you know it's the best word choice and another to keep using it because you can think of no alternative.

Having said that:

". . . Don't tell me your character 'excaimed,' 'stated,' or 'replied.' When in doubt, just use 'said.' That's all. Maybe they 'answered.' They certainly did not 'retort.' You can use 'said' more often than you think . . . it's one of those words that takes a while before it starts sounding repetitive." -- Ariel Gore, How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead

"The best form of dialogue attribution is 'said,' as in 'he said, she said, Bill said, Monica said." -- Stephen King, On Writing

"Mr. [Robert] Ludlum . . . hates the 'he said' locution and avoids it as much as possible. Characters in The Bourne Ultimatum seldom 'say' anything. Instead, they cry, interject, interrupt, muse, state, counter, conclude, mumble, whisper (Mr. Ludlum is great on whispers), intone, roar, exclaim, fume, explode, mutter. There is one especially unforgettable tautology: '"I repeat," repeated Alex.' The book may sell in the billions, but it's still junk." -- Newgate Callender, in The New York Times Book Review

"Editors and critics often refer to melodramatic dialogue tags as 'said bookisms.' They know that these phrases give our story an amateurish look. Your readers might not know what the darn things are called, but chances are that they'll notice them, too . . . In most cases, the word 'said' would work just fine, and using said bookisms detracts from the dialogue." -- Ann M. Marble, "'Stop Using Those Said Bookisms,' the Editor Shrieked."

"[Say is] just too simple and clear and straightforward for many people. Why say something when you can declare, assert, expostulate, whine, exclaim, groan, peal, breathe, cry, explain, or asseverate it? I'm all for variety and freshness of expression, but let's not go overboard." -- Patricia T. O'Conner, Woe Is I

"In journalism circles, said is a virtue--simple, precise, and unadorned--and alternatives to it are considered frilly and silly. You don't have to agree, but be aware that lots of editors hold this view. Choose your alternatives to said with great care." --June Casagrande, It Was the Best of Sentences, It Was the Worst of Sentences

"We're all in favor of choosing exactly the right verb for the action, but when you're writing speaker attributions the right verb is nearly always 'said.' The reason those well-intentioned attempts at variety don't work is that verbs other than 'said' tend to draw attention away from the dialogue." --Renni Browne and Dave King, Self-Editing for Fiction Writers

Side Note: After a month-long hiatus while this uni writer struggled with exams, internships, interviews and multiple mental breakdowns, I am going to resume answering questions that have piled up in my inbox! Get ready to be bombarded with writing QnA!!!! :)

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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honeyed-badger · 28 days ago

Note

Wait what did Robert Peary do?

Oh hi! Ok so here goes (chronological; skip the Minik tangent bracketed in green if you’d prefer, but I think it’s important). If I get something wrong or miss something let me know!!!

Robert Peary consistently faked his diary entries, lied about his travel speeds in ways that could not possibly be true, claimed pictures were taken elsewhere, and denied outside testimonies so that he could say he was the first man to reach the Pole.

In 1894 on an expedition he became the first Westerner to find the Cape York Meteorite, which was absolutely essential for tools and survival resources to the Inuit who had been harvesting fragments of it. He took it for himself back to America to be displayed in a museum, leaving them without materials for hunting and building tools.

During this same expedition he tricked 6 Inughuaq people into joining him on the return trip to America, saying that he would reward them by sending them back the next year with guns and other resources that they had come to rely on from trade with Westerners. Four of the six of them died of Western illnesses either during the journey or shortly after returning to the United States. While they lived, no arrangements were made to house them fairly, so they were kept in the basement of the American Natural History Museum, where visitors could pay a fee to visit them and shake their hands.

The six individuals he chose were the shaman Atangana and her husband Nuktaq, a renowned hunter; their daughter Aviaq and her fiancé Uisaakassak; and another renowned hunter Qisuk and his son Minik. Peary did allow Uisaakassak to return home that July, but only following the death of his fiancée. This left Minik, then 8, then only surviving Inuit left in the United States of the original group(1). [Minik tangent starts here.]

Minik’s father, Qisuk, died in 1898 of tuberculosis, which all six of them contracted. Upon his death, Minik pleaded for his body to be returned to Greenland so that he could be buried with the proper rites which could only be performed by the Inuk. However, Franz Boas, ethnologist of the American Museum of Natural History, wanted to study his body instead of allowing it to leave his custody. For this reason, Peary faked a burial for Minik before giving Qisuk’s real body over to the museum. William Wallace, the museum’s curator, disassembled his body and put it on display in the museum without informing Minik or asking his permission.

Because Minik’s family was dead and he was on his own in the United States, Wallace unofficially adopted him and raised him alongside his own son Willy. He experienced a good deal of news coverage and propaganda harassment as the public wanted to see his “cultural change from a bewildered savage.” When Minik was 11, Wallace essentially went bankrupt, and still under his care Minik struggled to survive. When he was around 16, he learned that his father’s body was still on display in the museum against his wishes, and would spend the rest of his life fighting to gain custody of his remains or have them transported back to Greenland. He died long before this was managed.

Later in life after continued illness as a result of the initial tuberculosis, as well as several suicide threats and no further success in obtaining his father’s body, Peary finally allowed Minik to go back to Greenland when it was convenient for him, without much more than what he was wearing at the time. By then Minik had forgotten Inuktun, his native language, as well as relevant survival skills he had relied on when he was younger. He stayed in Greenland and became a hunter, but was ultimately unhappy and felt he didn’t belong there either, causing him to return to America in 1916. He died during the flu epidemic two years later. [Minik tangent ends here.]

Throughout the years he spent in and around Inuk camps in the North, Peary fathered several children with a 14 year-old girl named Aleqasina whom he met there, even though his wife accompanied him on some of his expeditions.

In 1899, despite significant evidence against his claim and almost none to prove it, Peary stated that he had discovered Axel Heiberg island before the other explorer Sverdrup had. It was universally found to be false but he received awards for his mapping of Greenland anyway.

During his expedition in 1906, he became separated from other navigators and reliable members of his party by a storm on Ellesmere. It is during this period of separation when Peary, having very little reliable navigational skill of his own, and whose diary was lacking any readings leading up to the claim, says that he reached his Farthest North. This would require that he travel 72 nautical miles on foot between sleeping in one period of 24 hours, taking no detours.

In May of that year he claimed to have discovered a new Farthest North called Crocker Land from the summit of Cape Colgate. The 1914 MacMillan and Green expedition proved Crocker Land did not exist, and his own diary states that the day he claims to have discovered it he saw “no land visible”(2).

During his next expedition, in 1909 Peary separated again from the majority of his party in the North, this time intentionally isolating himself and five others. Of the six of them, the only one with sufficient navigational skill and experience to be able to confirm they were at the Pole would have been his first man Henson. Peary included several contradictory, nonsensical, and irrelevant readings in his journals where he claims to have moved beneath and around the Pole quite extensively. Henson moved on ahead separately at one point and returned to Peary stating that he had been the first man to reach the Pole. Peary spent the rest of his career trying to discredit him (3).

Dr. Frederick Cook who had previously served as a surgeon under Peary has actually reached the pole the year before, but Peary claimed to have sufficient evidence to contest this. For the entirety of Cook’s career, he was ignored and talked over, and Peary was assumed to have found the pole first. In 1988, the first in depth analysis of Peary’s own journals found them “lacking in essential data” to such a degree that his claims have since been pretty much universally rejected.

During this examination of his notes many discrepancies were found between Peary’s claims and the significant lack of realistic evidence in his journals to prove them. Additionally, his history of falsifying his own notes and lying to the press, his team, and his family make it terribly unlikely he truly found Farthest North on his own; it would not be surprising to think he stole the accomplishment from Henson, who gets far less credit than he deserves for his navigational skills and exploring at the Poles.

1. Petrone, Penny (January 1992). Northern Voices: Inuit Writing in English. University of Toronto Press.

2. Herbert, Wally (1989). The Noose of Laurels. Atheneum. pp. 206–207.

3. Peary, Robert (1986). The North Pole: Its Discovery in 1906 Under the Auspices of the Peary Arctic Club.

#Robert Peary #Robert Peary hate campaign amen #polar exploration

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lieutenantfloyd · 10 months ago

Text

Love is a mystery | Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal x reader

Word Count: 841

Summary: With Harry’s help, Rosie finds old hobbies and new love in post-war New York.

Warnings: Mentions, of war, implied ptsd and depression, talk of marriage and pregnancy.

Authors Note: I honestly don't know where this idea came from, but I think my brain needed something a bit fluffy after watching all nine episodes of Master of the Air in two days and crying the whole time. [This is based off of the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I have nothing but wholehearted respect for the real life individuals and situations portrayed.]

Read on AO3

In the months following their return stateside, Crosby takes a trip to see Rosie. During a nice casual lunch, he spends far too long dancing around the fact that Rosie is visibly not okay, and eventually suggests that getting back into things he enjoyed before the war will greatly help his readjustment.

Rosie briefly considered placating him with an "I'm fine, really," but he only nods, unable to lie to Crosby.

The truth is Rosie hasn't slept one full night since his first at Thorpe Abbotts and he gladly accepts shaky hands and reddened eyes over the twilight memories of what he saw and those he's lost.

Yet, after a night of particularly bad insomnia, he takes Crosby's words to heart and heads to the library. The pen trembles against Rosie's calloused hand while he fills out the library's card application, but his voice is steady when he asks the pretty librarian for recommendations.

He's too distracted by your shiny, kind eyes to notice how you recognize the distant look in his own. contrarily, You note in your diary that night how you couldn't tell if it was sympathy or his easy charm that made your heart race wildly while suggesting some classics and mysteries that should keep his mind busy.

"you need to get out more, Rosie," Crosby states in a letter one day.

It just so happens that during a now routine trip to the library, Rosie notices a half-hidden flier for an Agatha Christie book club pinned to the community board.

A week later—spurred onward once more by Harry's words—he pulls himself out of bed, has a shower and shave, and attends the meeting.

The cracked glass of Rosie's brown leather watch allows him to see he's half an hour late as he ascends up the small steps in front of the building.

Designated meeting room C is quiet and mostly dark as he pulls the handle. He's three solid steps inside the door when the room's sole occupant looks up at him—you, that same librarian with those same eyes.

He barely has half a mind to choose one of the provided refreshments—a cup of black coffee dangerously close to room temperature—before sinking into one of the many empty seats. The weary but logical part of him says that this is a waste of time, but the remnants of his fun-loving side tell him that he's got nothing to lose.

He takes a sip of coffee and sinks further into his seat.

While exchanging kind pleasantries, you retrieve a well loved copy of Why Didn't They Ask Evans? from your envelope handbag. Rosie quickly follows suit and slips his own newly bought but already dog eared book out of his leather coat pocket.

"So you liked it?" you inquire with joyfully clasped hands and a voice filled with breathtaking earnestness. After nearly choking on a hefty drink of coffee and his fluttery nerves, Rosie lets a bashful smile slip past his defenses.

Ninety minutes pass completely uncounted before Rosie steps back out onto the snowy, bustling New York City streets. He quickly shuffles home, tossing his coat and book onto a chair before dropping down onto his bed. He intends to return the items to their rightful place after a short rest, though the book will find a home on his bedside table after he spots your number jotted on the inside corner in loopy, flowing handwriting.

Spring is well in bloom when Rosie and Harry see each other again.

Rosie spends the following two days giving the Crosby family a tour of the best sights and eats his hometown has to offer.

Their third evening in town has Crosby swaying his young son to the music flowing through the jazz bar while covertly helping Rosie draft his proposal speech. You and Jean are sat within arms reach, though you both pay the boys no mind as you're fully entranced by the music. The night winds on, and the draft becomes a full, completed speech. They share a coy laugh as Rosie slips the notebook back into his vest pocket, knowing that if all goes right this moment will find its way into Crosby's best man's speech.

In this smoky bar just past dinner time, they both accept that they aren't the same men they were before the war. They’d seen a hell no words could ever describe, and yet the world somehow kept turning. They escape to the bar soon after, where Harry tells him that he'll soon be a father once more. Rosie offers his congratulations and jokes that he won't be far behind. The bar is dim, but Crosby still catches a glimpse of the lighthearted playfulness returning to his friend's eyes.

You and Jean coo and fuss over the baby as the men say their goodbyes. Through an especially tight hug, they make each other a silent promise to keep holding on. If not for who they were before but for who they are—and what they have —now.

#masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #mota #mota fanfic #mota spoilers #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x reader #masters of the air imagine

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b-skarsgard · 20 days ago

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Oscar Isaac may have loved Robert Eggers‘ “Nosferatu,” but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a little jealous over the skills on display in the film. Moderating a Q&A in New York City this past week with cast members Lily-Rose Depp, Willem Dafoe, and Bill Skarsgård, Isaac praised the craft of “Nosferatu,” offering particular appreciation for Depp’s incredibly physical performance and the work Skarsgård did to achieve the haunting voice of the undead Lord Orlok.

‼️‼️mild spoilers under the cut‼️‼️

A taping of the whole Q&A is provided at the link

“That pisses me off,” said Isaac, upon finding out that no effects were added to achieve Orlok’s timbre. He continued of Skarsgård’s performance, “I think what really strikes me is when you say you’re ‘an appetite.’ At one point, Willem’s character says that it’s a force greater than evil cause evil, it’s quite binary, right? This is something even beyond that.”

Skarsgård echoed Isaac’s assessment of Orlok, expressing the difficulty of embracing such a figure, especially at the beginning of the process when he was trying to authentically find the character.

“It’s a very abstract role to undertake, cause you’re sitting in your hotel room or living room working on it, looking like yourself and trying to explore the voice and everything and you’re losing your mind,” Skarsgård said. “You have to be crazy to do what we do, I think, but the pieces with the prosthetics and the costume, all of that makes it feel real when you’re performing it.”

In working to capture the evil Orlok exudes, Skarsgård focused his efforts on becoming as inhuman as possible. As Orlok is often featured in the shadows and can only be defined by how he communicates, Skarsgård focused much of his time on creating a voice that felt otherworldly. To achieve that, Skarsgård established a method to put more bass in his voice, while at the same time adding more resonance.

“The voice was something that I knew that he wanted it inhumanly deep, and I don’t think my normal voice is very deep, so it was, ‘OK, how can I access a depth that I didn’t know I had in me?'” Skarsgård said. “That was a wonderful exploration and working with an opera singer trying to lower the voice as deep as possible and trying to be as relaxed as I could and I explored with it and I worked on it so much that I’ve built out this little routine for myself that I knew that, ‘OK, my voice is great when I’m really relaxed.’ So I used this 20-minute routine that I would do to be in the place where the voice was resonating and coming from me as opposed to feeling like I was putting on the voice.”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #nosferatu promo #nos nyc #nosferatu premiere #q&a #oscar isaac #robert eggers #lily rose depp #willem dafoe #indiewire

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monkberrymoonsdelight · 1 year ago

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A Monkberry Moon Delight lyrical analysis because it is the greatest song of the 20th century

Monkberry Moon Delight is a song from Paul McCartney's 1971 album Ram. The song is generally considered to be surrealist 'nonsense' lyrics a la Lennon's late Beatles work like 'I am the Walrus' and 'Glass Onion'. But if we know anything about Paul (and Lennon-McCartney in general), he tends to put deeper emotions into his songs, often with out meaning to and without his direct knowledge:

"I don't write anything consciously, Sometime when I'm pissed off with John over Apple business a line might creep in." - Interview with Disc And Music Echo (Nov. 20, 1971)

"Songwriting is like psychiatry; you sit down and dredge up something that's inside, bring it out front." - Interview with Robert Palmer for the New York Times (April 25, 1982)

" But in a song, that's where you can [share your innermost thoughts]. That's the place to put them. You can start to reveal truths and feelings." - Interview with John Wilson fork BBC 4's (May 24, 2016)

And my favorite because it's y'know...in a song: "And when I'm gone, I leave my message in my song" - Beware My Love (Wings at the Speed of Sound, 1976)

All that being said, in my opinion, Monkberry Moon Delight is a projection of Paul's feelings of anxiety about his post-Beatles public/critical reception and his reaction to John Lennon's antagonism post-divorce. Specifically, he details his writing of Too Many People as a response to John's antagonism and the making of Ram as an attempt to recapture public attention/praise.

For context: Monkberry Moon Delight was first written/demoed at some point from May-August 1970 on his farm in Scotland. Paul's late 1969-1970 Scotland era is complicated. He often describes it as being one of the most difficult periods of his life because of the break-up of the Bealtes, the Apple financial troubles, his frayed relationship with John, and starting a whole new life which all compounded into a deep depression and alcohol abuse.

Let's start with the title and chorus. In Paul's own words, Monkberry Moon Delight comes from his kids mispronunciation of the word 'milk' and establishes MMD as a fantastical drink like 'Love Potion No. 9'. I think Paul obviously hides behind the surrealism of the lyric but its association with family and domesticity makes an interesting contrast. Though he is happy to be in his escapist domestic fantasy in Scotland, he juxtaposes this with the underlying pressure to be acclaimed (especially after being considered the greatest artist in the world for ten years). Though the song has a peppy, jaunty beat there is an air of anxiety developed through the songs key of C minor and the staccato of the piano and bass parts. His vocals also have a similar strained desperation like 'Oh! Darling'.

The lyrics:

So I sat in the attic, a piano up my nose

And the wind played a dreadful cantata

Paul starts with himself, writing. 'The attic' may be a reference to John Lennon's recording studio that he had built in his attic in Weybridge where he and Paul would often go to write.

"We nearly always went up to his little music room that he'd built at the top of the house, Daddy's Room, where we would get away from it all. I like to get away from people to songwrite, I don't like to do it in front of people. It's like sex for me" - Many Years from Now. Whether or not this is a direct reference to 'Daddy's Room', Paul is known to prefer small, confined spaces for songwriting.

'Piano up my nose' to me shows a rapt attention, leaning so close to his piano its almost up his nose. He is intently and passionately composing his 'dreadful cantata', this cantata I believe refers to "To Many People". Based on this record of the order of demos on the Ram cassette, it seems that Too Many People may have been written (or at least recorded) before Monkberry, which furthers my belief that Paul is making a meta narration of the writing of his song which he recognizes was very pointed or dreadful.

Sore was I from a crack of an enemy's hose

And the horrible sound of tomato

Here he describes what spurred him to writing this song, and this album as a whole. The 'crack from an enemy's hose' could refer to Allen Klein's treatment of Paul during the final months of the Beatles and his attempted mishandling of the release of McCartney (1970). (Note: The crack could also be from Phil Spector, the press, Ringo, George, Yoko or John; Paul is kind of getting shit from all sides right now). The 'sound of tomato' implies the idea of throwing tomatoes at an artist to express dislike or dissatisfaction, referencing the poor critical reception of McCartney (1970).

Ketchup, soup and puree

Don't get left behind

Ketchup, soup, and puree; liquidy tomatoes because splat, splat, splat go the critics. And ketchup because catch up pun.

Don't get left behind is the central theme of this song. He is worried that the public is going to forget about him while he's depressed, away in Scotland, and making critical flops. This is him desperately clinging onto the hearts of the public. Because we all know how much Paul needs to be liked.

When a rattle of rats had awoken

The sinews, the nerves, and the veins

The 'rattle of rats' could be any of the number of people who were getting on his nerves, sinews, and veins (pissing him tf off) in 1970. This could again be referencing the great "Let's all gang up on Paul McCartney" game of 1970 but because of the subsequent lyrics, I think this may be more specifically about John (and Yoko). Either way, it was these rats who annoyed him into getting to work.

My piano was boldly outspoken

And attempts to repeat his refrain

'Boldly outspoken' again connects this song to TMP. The line is similar to the TMP lyric 'This is crazy and baby, it's not like me' in the sense that both show how audacious he sees this songs as. In 'attempting to repeat his refrain' I think Paul is using the 'well he started it' justification for TMP because he's sees it as a repeat, of him rising to John's level of insults.

So I stood with a knot in my stomach and I gazed at that terrible sight

Of two youngsters concealed in a barrel, sucking Monkberry Moon Delight

Ah yes my favorite moment in all of music ever. This is the verse that really convinced me that this song may be referencing JohnandYoko. The 'youngsters in a barrel' alludes to John and Yoko's bag piece, where they would get into a black bag for...peace? As seen in Get Back, this particularly irked/disturbed Paul. "Go get in your bag. The Merseybeat award for couple of the year, goes to John and Yoko" (Get Back Episode 2). He also refers to them as 'the young lovers' in Get Back during the infamous January 13th 'and then there were two' conversation. Even though it makes him nervous and sick, part of Paul releasing TMP and Ram is to face up to the JohnandYoko powerhouse which was a non-insignificant portion of his early 1970 criticism.

Well I know my banana is older than the rest

and my hair is a tangled baretta

Here I think he is reasoning to the listener, the public, over why he thinks they've abandoned him. Paul recognizes that he has been in this music game a long time (so people may have grown bored of him) and has been depressed (and thus out of the game), his tangled 'baretta' of hair like the wily depression beard he grew out while in Scotland.

Also banana = dick, just so everyone is clear (can anyone find that banana poem from his poetry book? Also this just perpetuates my tinhat theory that all the banana milkshakes Paul got in Paris were just **** **** but I digress). Also something about Paul likening songwriting with sex so him not being 'musically desirable' is because...his music dick is old? Ok Paul.

I leave my pajamas to Billy Budapest

And I don't get the gist of your letter

This is the one lyric I am pretty unsure about. Not that every line has to fit perfectly into my interpretation but I genuinely could not make heads or tails of it. My initial interpretation was that this was referring to Billy Shears, and how during this period the Paul is dead theory regained popularity. This reference adds to the feeling of dissolution he builds in this verse.

But mike on the Beatles Bible seems to remember Billy Budapest as being a children's pajama designer though I have found not evidence of this. However going with this shot in the dark, leaving his pajamas to Billy Budapest could draw back to the theme of his current domesticity and occupation with his children.

The letter in question I believe refers to the infamous letter John and George wrote to Paul changing his McCartney release date that they had Ringo deliver which really set Paul off and kind of began the messiness of the divorce.

Catch Up, cats and kittens

Don't get left behind

Finally we get the pay off to the ketchup-catch up pun and see the resurgence of the theme; Paul feeling like he's falling behind his contemporaries and desperation to catch up.

In typical McCartney fashion, Monkberry Moon Delight is a seemingly shallow and superfluous song but actually reveals a lot about his inner turmoil at the time. Him dealing with the rejection by the critics and John by turning to his piano and creating the absolute banger that is Monkberry. This is why MMD is one of Paul's best, because of how quintessentially Paul it is. Veiling tough emotions behind ambiguous and surreal lyrics masked by a fun and light melody. Oh, the juxtaposition! Oh, the Lennon-McCartney of it all.

Anyways this is a barely organized rambling of thoughts but Monkberry Moon Delight deserves a mega analysis because it is genuinely one of the best songs Paul McCartney has ever made.

#song analysis #monkberry moon delight #Ram (1971)#paul mccartney #linda mccartney #john lennon #yoko ono #allen klein #thank you for coming to my tedtalk #seriously can someone find that banana poem it's driving me crazy

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technicolorfamiliar · 3 months ago

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D O U B L E F E A T U R E !

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari Dir. Robert Weine 1920 // Orlacs Hände (The Hands of Orlac) Dir. Robert Wiene 1924

I recently watched both, Caligari specifically because I was invited on a friend's podcast to talk about the film (I was totally normal about it and definitely didn't make color coded note cards about the making of the movie… I did, I did make color coded note cards). So I figured I would lump these two in one post to switch things up.

--- Even though we talked about the movie for an hour and change, the conversation we recorded for the pod easily could have gone longer. There's so much to unpack about The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Between its historical, cinematic, artistic, and cultural significance and legacy, but also the various players on and off camera, not to mention the film's genesis from concept to page to screen -- there's no shortage of rabbit holes to go down.

Something I wish I had brought up during the recording was the score: The score matters! These updated silent film scores really do affect the viewer experience, and they're so often hit or miss. Of course, the original score for Caligari has been lost to time, but I read that the premier of in New York had classical music (Prokofiev, Stravinsky, etc) played along to the screening; part of me thinks this would be fun to try to recreate. I have no memory of the music when I first saw the film in 2009, but when I rewatched Caligari about a year ago, early in my Conrad Veidt journey, I chose a version on Internet Archive (which is, as of late October, sadly still out of commission *cries in nerd*) and the updated score was almost entirely minimal strings, which created a suitably eerie effect. I couldn't find that exact version elsewhere, so I this time opted for the 2014 restoration that's on Kanopy. The 2014 score is… fine. It’s very busy, trying too hard to sound like a traditional movie soundtrack. There's another version with a really painfully bad guitar-heavy score that I couldn't sit through even 5 minutes of, and still another that's entirely synths. Apparently the new 4K UHD/Blu-Ray that was just released has two new options for the score -- hopefully at least one of them doesn't totally suck!

I noticed deep into my third time viewing the film that I hadn't reached for my phone once. These days, I'll occasionally pick it up and mindlessly scroll through social media while watching a movie. But I think Caligari and a few other silent films require closer attention since they're a purely visual medium. I found myself greedily devouring every frame of Caligari. No shot or scene feels wasted. Honestly, I feel like every movie should be 90 minutes long or less. Anything longer should be turned into a miniseries. But in all seriousness, Caligari is another film I want to physically walk into. It would be pretty easy to recreate these sets, life size in grayscale black and white. The more I think about this, the more I need it. So, so bad.

I also came away this time with a lot of questions, mostly about the main part of the narrative, the story Franzis is telling. But the framing device makes the questions pointless. If the main story is just Franzis's delusion, then the absurdity of the script is totally fine I guess? Except the script that Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer wrote didn't have Franzis as a patient at the asylum, they hated the framing story twist that was forced on their movie, so all those weird parts of the script and character choices that I'm overthinking and reading too much into are rendered meaningless. It's all in Franzis's head! The story and the characters in it don't matter! Or else are just part of his subconscious! Face palm. Eye roll.

Does the movie even work without the framing device? It would be interesting to show an edited version of the movie without the first and last scenes to someone who's never seen it. And if the twist ending was supposed to dumb down the anti-authoritarian message of the script, I don't know that it's successful. In the end, I still have empathy for Franzis. And we still have an ambiguous ending: Caligari/The Asylum Director looks at Mad Franzis and says, "I know just how to cure him," and there's a creepy iris wipe in on Werner Krauss's face that maybe leads us to think Franzis isn't as delusional as we think he is. So like… even if the whole Dr. Caligari with his sleepy twink in a box story is fake, whatever is happening at the asylum is probably just as messed up if not worse.

Speaking of the twink in a box, I love that Conrad Veidt's German Expressionism is totally different from Werner Krauss's German Expressionism. They both trained and performed with Max Reinhardt, so their foundations as theater actors in the 1910s and 1920s were likely similar. But, regardless or in spite of that shared experience, they are diametrically different human beings and that comes across in their performances in this movie. These two actors are like the textbook definition of "showing" your art vs. "being" your art. Krauss as Caligari is like "ooOOOoo look how ooky spooky and evil I am!", whereas Connie's performance as Cesare, even though it's hyper-stylized, is infused with something deeper, something primal that feels believable in the context of the film.

If Cesare has been asleep his whole life, waking only to be fed Chunky Campbell's Soup and commit murder at Caligari's bidding, then no wonder he reacts the way he does when sleeping Jane finally brings him out of his trance. When she freaks out, he freaks out too because he's had no opportunity to learn how to behave like a human or how to filter his primal emotions in a socially acceptable way. He hasn't lived his life except to be a madman's puppet. He reacts to Jane's panic on instinct and impulse, his desire and fear feel feral, like he's more creature or an animal than a human man. He may not actually want to hurt Jane, but he reacts violently because fight or flight is a basic human stress response! He runs away and eventually collapses because his body can't handle the sudden onslaught of stress and emotion he's never before experienced! And this internal, instinctual tendency to violence is subtly alluded to in the final scene when Asylum Cesare both caresses and slowly picks apart the flowers he's holding. Ahhhhh, I have so many FEELINGS.

And that said… Connie's performance here is wild, but it's real in a way that Werner Krauss's work could never be because Connie was a spiritual humanist who cared deeply for others and Krauss was an anti-semitic piece of shit who therefore could NEVER dig deep enough into his soul or into the collective unconscious the way Connie did to breathe life into his characters. So everything Krauss is doing here and in The Student of Prague is all surface, it's "showing" the audience his training and his actor toolbox rather than bringing a level of honesty and in-the-moment groundedness to these roles.

This is not to say Connie's intense commitment to his work couldn't be, uh, excessive. I really hope Lil Dagover was being serious when she said he would lurk around the studio in character when off camera. Can you imagine? You go up to the craft services table for a snack. Suddenly you feel like you're being watched. You look up and he's looming over you in the shadows, his unblinking glazed eyes boring into your soul. God, I hope this happened and I hope whoever it happened to peed themselves a little.

I also wish we had a behind the scenes photo of Connie in costume with the Cesare dummy. I can't believe someone actually had to make that prop. It'll haunt me forever. (The 1920 Cesare Dummy isn't real, the 1920 Cesare Dummy can't hurt me.)

Bottom line: It's an important film, I appreciate it for both its timelessness and timefullness. But it's not a movie I need to revisit often, regardless of how enchanting Connie's nostril acting may be.

---

The first time I watched The Hands of Orlac, I was floored by the visuals, the staging, and the heavy eroticism. Up until that point, I hadn't seen very many silent films, certainly few as visually striking. I think my initial impressions of this film were somewhat muted on a second watch, but that may just because I knew what to expect.

This time, I wasn't as swept up in the magic of silent era German Expressionist cinema, although stylistically I'm still absolutely 100% obsessed. Art direction wise, this is my favorite between the surviving Wiene-Veidt films (I haven't seen Furcht and I don’t plan to). Orlac is like the darker, sexier, more grown up sister to Caligari's mall goth teen. It's Vampira vs Lydia Deetz.

Orlac is just as much if not more of a cinematic feat than Caligari. The production design and art direction alone feels more mature and in itself tells more of a story.

Very early in the film, we're thrown into a very impressive, very realistic train crash. Opening the movie this way was a really interesting choice -- we don't get to meet the characters before the accident that starts Paul and Yvonne Orlac on their doomed and bizarre trajectory. There is a brief establishing scene of Yvonne reading a really horny letter from her husband, and one of pianist Paul at his final concert before returning home. Then there's a very long sequence of the aftermath of the train crash that almost kills Paul, and this scene brings a level of realism you don't really get in other films of this genre/done in this style. The set construction looks expensive; the mangled train cars piled up in heaps may have been fabricated in the studio, but because of the lighting in the night scene, the billowing smoke from passing locomotives and fires from the crash, it looks pretty damn real for 1924. It's extremely effective and harrowing, especially as Yvonne races to the site of the crash and climbs through the wreckage to try to find her husband. The chaos of the scene, made all the more disorienting by the movement of search lights and the haze of smoke and steam, feels true to life. People are running around, pulling bodies from the ruined train cars, carrying them away on stretchers. Survivors look around dazed, clutching their belongings in shock. It's such a well directed moment in the film, but maybe not the first thing people remember about it. And I think it's inclusion is important because it offsets how weird the movie's about to get.

And boy, does it get weird. However, the doctor does say Paul suffered a skull fracture, so it's not a huge stretch to think he also has some kind of brain injury. So I wonder if that has something to do with how the filmmakers chose to show Paul's intense fear and paranoia, as well as the movie's shift in tone and style after his accident. The nightmarishness of the film, from the exaggerated performances to the set design, feels like an extension of whatever might be going on in Paul's head as a result of his injury.

Regardless, I love the choices the art director made. The set, especially the Art Deco mausoleum the Orlacs have for a home, is so perfect. The huge, cavernous rooms are completely unnecessary, but they make the characters look and feel so helpless, like dolls in a doll house. The lines of the walls and the furnishings draw the eye through the frame with just as much intention as the painted sets of Caligari. Even places outside their house become symbolic and iconographic. The news stand is just a window cut out of a massive wall of loose sheets of newspaper that takes up the entire frame. The interior of Orlac Sr.'s house is like a old, drafty castle, looking more like the home of an evil, miserly king. The tavern where Paul is confronted by Nera feels dank and subterranean, just a lamp or two removed from literal catacombs. The outer world is fully a reflection of poor Paul Orlac's inner torment and despair and I AM LOVING EVERY MINUTE OF IT.

The new music composed by Paul Mercer is perfect, too. It's all skronky violins and cellos, ominous percussion and piano. It's just atmospheric enough, creating moments of soundscapes, echoing footsteps, aural suggestions of the oppressive cave-like rooms where the story unfolds. There aren't really any memorable themes like in the updated score for The Student of Prague, but that works for this movie. I would buy this soundtrack and actually listen to it on its own, it's that good.

Everyone in the ensemble is basically on the same page in terms of acting style, no one feels out of place or miscast. Connie of course steals the show, but Alexandra Sorina as Yvonne gives him a run for his money. She's a good match for him, delivering an appropriately desperate and hysterical (and deeply, deeply horny) performance as the touch-starved wife. Their scenes together are maybe some of the best on screen romantic moments of Connie's silent film work because these two are wildly hungry for each other. This movie is so funny, it tells you immediately how horny it is; in the first 30 seconds of the movie, Yvonne gets a letter from Paul that says, "I will feel your body beneath my hands," like they're telling you straight up this is going to Horn Town. And the way she grabs at him, presses her open mouth to him, hovers over him in his hospital bed, she is DTF anywhere any time. And no shame, no shade, good for her. This is a sex positive film, and we love to see it. But she's not just the sexy wife, she's also totally ride or die for Paul. She truly trusts him and believes his absolutely buck wild story about being blackmailed by a dead psycho killer. What a gal.

Then there's Paul, aka Eraserhead Baby… because when he wakes up from surgery covered in bandages, he looks like the Eraserhead Baby. Connie is doing some of his finest nostril acting in this role, I have to say. As always, I am fascinated by his physicality and the choices he's making with movement and gesture. When his bandages are finally removed, he reacts as though drugged, his movements slow as though underwater or in a dream. And when he confronts his surgeon after discovering the original owner of his newly transplanted hands, he holds them out and away from his body as if they were coated in something dirty or disgusting. As Paul's life and sanity unravel, his hands and fingers are in almost constant motion, curling, twitching, clutching; his body language becomes more creature-like, moving in a way that calls up Cesare the sleepwalker -- interestingly, the two characters both seemingly at the mercy of forces outside their control.

We don’t get to know what Paul was like before the accident, how much this traumatic event changed him. There's something this movie is trying to say about trauma and how it affects people. The doctor tells Paul, "Nature and a strong will can overcome anything." But if Paul sustained any kind of serious brain damage, who’s to say his personality wasn't affected, or that he wasn't fragile and suggestible to begin with? Either way, in the wake of the accident, Paul's vulnerability and circumstance makes him a perfect target for Nera's grift.

Even without being targeted by a sick weirdo con artist, it's no wonder Paul's really going through it. He tortures and punishes himself relentlessly for something that wasn't his fault! (Been there.) He puts on a recording of one of his old concerts and crumples in grief for having lost not only his livelihood but also his outlet for creative expression -- not being able to do what you used to creatively because of trauma is REAL. He's trapped in his misery. Even his handwriting is different, now a violent scrawl he imagines is due to the murderous acts his hands supposedly committed. He secretly retrieves the planted murder weapon in order to further convince himself he's somehow become evil, wielding it as through he committed the crimes of the dead man whose hands now belong to him. And the scenes where Yvonne comes to him, wanting to both devour and comfort him, he cannot bring himself to touch her. Clearly they love each other very much and their relationship was very physical, so the agony and yearning in his face when she embraces him is UGH IT'S SO GOOD. It's heartbreaking. There's a lot to unravel here about trauma, body dysmorphia, and intimacy that I'm interested to dig into during subsequent viewings.

Final thoughts: There's an annoying part of my brain that wants the movie to make sense, for the timeline to be clearer, for loose ends to be tied up. But I know that none of that really matters because this movie is better received as a dream or a nightmare. And by that logic, it doesn't have to make sense. The Expressionist beats are being hit particularly hard, but the surreal quality allows the filmmakers and cast to get away with it. For fans of Conrad Veidt, this is a must-watch, even before Caligari -- he gets more screen time in this film, gets to play with his silent film artist's palette, and gets to do pathos like he's the king of tragic, pathetic characters. He's gangly, glassy-eyed, and trembling like a small wet dog the whole time and it's superb. Despite not really getting a chance to know the Orlacs before they're thrown into their own personal hell of body horror and credit debt, they're both pretty sympathetic. From psychological commentary to the erotic visuals and tension, it's all very ahead of its time.

#my writing #conrad veidt #the cabinet of dr. caligari #the hands of orlac

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year ago

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The Odyssey | 0.7 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Doing things simply because you want to do them feels better than expected. Bradley wants this trip to work out.

Warnings: to lovers, power imbalance, professor / student relationship, age gap ( 22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity, them actually getting along for once?, kissing, wc: 3.3k

…

With Bradley busy with his research, Pasquale assumes the responsibility of leading the group. He’s much more lax than Bradley, his only instruction is to meet him in the lobby before nine-thirty and be prepared for a short walk.

It’s the first morning that you aren’t even a little bit late. You’ve been up since six with no chance of getting back to sleep. For a while, you had just laid on your back and stared out of the window at the street view. It’s always cooler in the mornings, it’s nice to leave the window open.

Even with the nice view, the breeze — you just can’t relax enough to try to get back to sleep. You’re uncomfortable to the point of practically squirming thinking of how you had behaved last night. It’s not even like you can really blame the wine. Well, you could, it was a lot. But you hadn’t felt drunk when you had kissed Bradley.

Simply, you had just wanted to kiss him. It’s hard to remember the last time you had done something just because you had wanted to.

Malcolm was your first kiss when you were fifteen. Those soft kisses in the passenger seat of his brand new car. Things with him really haven’t progressed much further since then.

Every now and then things will progress to some neck kissing, some hands under shirts — but it’s been eight years. Three weeks with Bradley and you’re practically throwing yourself at him.

His absence feels heavy as Pasquale takes all of you on a guided tour around the city. Especially when he walks you up those familiar steps and shows you the same viewpoint that you had sat on last night, with Bradley’s heavy arm around your shoulder.

It’s worsened by the fact that everyone around you is growing closer to each other. They have inside jokes. They’re affectionate. You’re borderline invisible. So, wandering along a little side road that Pasquale insists will lead somewhere important, it’s not surprising when you’re struck once again by the sudden desire to just do what you want.

What you want, at that exact moment in time, is ice-cream. A little bit after one, the sun’s almost at its highest point now and traipsing through the city in the heat just doesn’t sound like fun.

Bradley’s tutoring you now, you spend your free times reading all of the books that Pasquale could lend you. As you see it, being taken to see old buildings with people that don’t like you, is just a waste of time.

It turns out, it’s much more fun without them. It could have been an opportunity to think about who you are and what you’re doing, but that’s far too complicated for just today. Taking spoonfuls of caramel flavoured gelato, your Walkman is plucked from your bag and you’re listening to a mix that one of your friends had made you.

Taylor Dayne guides you through the city. You look up and around you, taking it all in. It’s probably the most relaxed that you’ve felt since Malcolm kissed you goodbye back in New York. The music plays loudly as you round a corner into another plaza. Licking a smidge of the gelato from your bottom lip, you slow slightly.

If Pasquale was here, he would probably be able to tell you which tourist trap you have stumbled across. But, he isn’t, so you walk forwards by yourself. Through the crowds of women, ditching the remnants of your dessert into a nearby trash can as you lean closer to read the sign.

La casa di Guilietta. Even with your lack of revision, you know what that means. A small smile plasters itself across your lips as the next tracks plays on. Robert DeNiro’s Waiting, Bananarama. Penny’s one request had been for you to bring her back a picture of a hunky Italian, maybe this is her idea of inspiring you to do so.

Walking under the stone archway, you cross through into the cobbled, crowded courtyard and look up at the stone balcony. Pushing your hands into the pockets of your blue gingham shorts, you come to a complete stop. It’s debated if Shakespeare ever even went to Italy, so he probably never saw this.

Now that you have, you can understand the inspiration.

Glancing down at the brown leather watch on your wrist, you have about an hour and a half left until you’re supposed to meet Bradley back at the hotel for the afternoon.

Looking back up, your attention is caught by a woman sitting on a bench. She can’t be much older than you. Her breath catches in her throat, wet tears rolling down onto the notebook in her lap as she sobs. It’s rude to stare, that was instilled into you at a very early age. But you can’t help but watch as she tears the page from the book and crosses to the wall by your right.

She tucks it between the bricks and brushes past you, trembling. Brows knitting, you walk forwards to examine the wall, littered with pages and notes. Touching a pink-tinted page with your index finger, you push it back just enough to read it. By some blind luck, the first one that you touch is written in English. Dear Juliet.

Emma details her relationship with a man called Marcus. A sixteen year long marriage, falling apart at the seams, and a lifetime of doubt. She details the heartbreak and hard work, the pain of just not knowing. The second that you read her sign off, you move on to another letter.

“I just wish I had a few more days here, the Capitolare is so impressive.” Bradley hums as he walks alongside Enzo, one of the treasurers of a nearby museum. He has been helping Bradley with his research through the morning, it’s because of him that Bradley had access to texts which aren’t supposed to be available anymore.

“I could get you in earlier tomorrow, since you can’t do this afternoon. Get you an extra couple of hours, if you don’t mind the early wake up time.” Enzo offers with a quick shrug.

“That would be…” Bradley catches a glimpse of blue to his left and turns his head, his voice starting to trail. White tennis shoes, brown leather shoulder bag, blue gingham shorts. Alone. “Sorry, can you give me a sec?”

Brows furrowed, your eyes scan the page as a Tears for Fears track plays in your ears. This letter is fresh. The name on it is Annabella. It starts off so happily. She’s married, she has a daughter, and she and her husband are so happy together. But it’s not enough. Your lips twist into a small frown as you read on.

Bradley reaches out and takes hold of your headphones, pulling them off of your ears and letting them fall to rest around your neck. Before he has even let go, you’re already gasping loudly and spinning towards him.

The interaction catches the attention of several of the women writing around you. Bradley drops his hands back down to his sides and looks to the wall behind you, then around at where he is.

“What are you doing here? — Where’s Pasquale?”

You look him up and down. It’s eye-level, but that’s not what causes you to stare at the loosely fastened half-Windsor knotted tie around Bradley’s neck. You didn’t even know he owned a tie.

“I don’t know. What are you doing here?” You flip the question, finally lifting your gaze to look him in the eye with your hands crossed behind your back.

“I had a meeting and I saw you here on your own. Did they ditch you?”

Your lips press together swiftly. It’s embarrassing that he knows they dislike you so much but, in a way, also endearing that he’s concerned enough to have come over and check. Quiet, you lean around him to see another smartly dressed man in a bespoke suit staring over at the two of you. As you lean in, Bradley inhales the scent and jasmine. He swallows as you pull back to look at him again.

Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened, his hair fluffy and pushed back off of his forehead. No suit jacket, but he is wearing a belt. His shoes look like real leather. It’s a step above smart casual. He looks handsome. Grown up. Too old for you probably, when he finally dresses his age.

“No,” You answer him back, pushing you sunglasses up into your hair to look at him. “I was bored, so I left.”

Bradley stares at you, silent for a moment before he finally lifts his brows expectantly. “You what?”

“I just went for a walk.” You tell him calmly.

“On your own.” Bradley isn’t even asking you to confirm, he’s just mulling it over by himself. He looks around once more, giving a soft shake of his head. “You didn’t think that that might have been kind of dangerous?”

Leaning around him again, you peer through the archway curiously. The look on your face as you pull back tells him that you have no interest in entertaining this conversation. And, he’s right. “Your friend looks like he’s getting kind of impatient.”

“You can’t just wander off. Pasquale could be looking for you.” Bradley chides, his face twisting into a stern frown. You give another small shrug of your shoulders, crossing your arms over your chest. He narrows his eyes at you. “You’ve been here all afternoon?”

“For a while, yeah.” You answer calmly.

“You know how to get back to the hotel from here?” Bradley asks. There’s a brief pause as a smile starts to creep its way onto your lips.

“Sure…” You shrug once more. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I could figure it out.”

He opens his mouth, then promptly closes it again. You watch patiently as Bradley shoots a definitely impatient look towards his accomplice. He sighs. “Come on, troublemaker. Let’s go tell Pasquale you’re alive.

You gesture to the wall behind you. You didn’t get to the bottom of that letter. “Oh, actually, I was just—“

“Now.” Bradley interrupts, placing his hand on your shoulder and spinning you towards Enzo. He watches the dirty look you shoot back at him, relieved as you decide to start walking anyway.

You walk silently between them as Bradley has a conversation with Enzo on the way back to the hotel. They don’t bother to include you, you don’t bother to interrupt. Bradley watches as you lengthen your strides, wandering a few steps ahead of them, setting your headphones back over your ears.

“Girlfriend problems?” Enzo whispers, smiling softly as he looks over at Bradley.

“What? — No, she’s a student.” Bradley breezes over the question in a way that surprises him. He hasn’t ever considered himself to be a very good liar. He usually tells the truth without caring who it will hurt. So, that was believable. He wouldn’t have guessed that Bradley left your room last night with his dick straining against his jeans.

“Then she has a crush on you.” Enzo replies with a chuckle.

It’s not a crush. You’re both attracted to each other, Bradley knows that as well as he knows that it’s not smart to feel that way. But a crush is something different. He’s not sure that you like him enough for it to be called a crush.

“Call it six for tomorrow morning? — I’ll meet you by the steps?” He changes the topic swiftly, knowing that Enzo’s a smart enough guy to pick up on that. He doesn’t really have another choice. Enzo shoots a quick look towards you, then looks back to Bradley with a smile, giving a curt nod of his head.

Bradley adjusts the leather strap of his bag against his shoulder, walking faster to catch up to you. Even with your headphones on, you don’t startle this time. He’s less abrupt about it, casually slipping his palm into yours and overtaking you.

Your lips quirk into a smile as he guides you towards the stairwell. Being thirty minutes early, you both know that means that Pasquale and the others aren’t back yet. You push the headphones back and let them rest around your neck as he slips his room key from his pocket.

The lock clicks open compliantly and Bradley takes a step back, motioning for you to go ahead. Dropping your bag onto Luke’s bed, you untangle yourself from the Walkman and its wire, then drop that down too. There’s a perfectly good desk and this room has three perfectly good chairs. Bradley closes the door behind him as you sit down on the edge of his bed.

He glances down at his watch. Your heartbeat picks up as he lifts his head and crosses to sit beside you. And then, he pulls open his satchel and pulls out a bundle of papers. Fuck, the exam. Truthfully, you hadn’t been expecting any real work to happen.

Your lips part as you stare down at the circled 73 scrawled on the front of the practice exam.

“Are you serious? — A C?”

Bradley lifts his gaze and smirks. Just like that, you’ve switched from batting your eyelashes to looking like you’re deciding whether or not to hit him. He can’t pretend he isn’t amused.

“It’s better than an F.” He points out, starting to loosen his tie as he leans one palm on the sheets behind him. You turn your head and squint, displeased with his answer clearly.

“Better than— you know what, I - I should just—“

Bradley catches your wrist as you stand up from the bed swiftly, letting the exam paper fall to the bed. He tugs you back towards him, catching your hips and guiding you between his knees. He studies your scowling face.

“You’re really not used to not being perfect at everything, are you, honey?” He muses. You push at his shoulders and move to step back, rolling your eyes at him. With minimal effort, Bradley squeezes at your hips and keeps you right there. “It’s alright. Just sit down, we’ll take a look.”

“I don’t want to take a look. It’s stupid.” You shake your head, shoving at his shoulders again. Bradley gives your hips a small tug, spreading his knees as he guides you down onto his thigh.

“It’s not stupid.” He tells you. You narrow your eyes at him as he smooths his hand softly along your back. His lips quirk up into a smile. His hand curls around the nape of your neck, making sure that you turn your head to look at him. “You’re not stupid. I was impressed.”

“Impressed by a C? — Bradley, stop it.” You sigh, pushing at his hands and trying to stand up again. It’s clear that you’re not going to stop trying to run away any time soon, and Bradley’s not done making his point.

His hands curl tight around you hips and you yelp as he lifts you and turns at the same time, dropping you down onto his bed and pinning you there. “You went from an F to a C in three weeks. That’s why I’m impressed. I’m not messing with you.”

Your eyes flicker between his face and the gold chain threatening to slip out from inside of his neat button-up. You exhale softly.

“I thought I did better.” You admit. Shame coats your features, you’re avoiding his gaze, your hands are pinned rigidly at your sides. Bradley sits up a little, giving you some leeway to move.

“So let’s talk about it.” Bradley says calmly. You stare back at him, finally looking him in the eye. He can tell that you want to get up and run. Leaning down, one of his hands comes to grip your hip as he kisses your lips slowly. He pulls back, and raises his brows expectantly.

“Okay.” You agree quietly.

He shoots you a quick smile, then stands up, grabbing the exam paper from the bed as you push yourself up. He sits at the end facing you as he quizzes you once again through the first page. For the first time, you don’t feel scrutinized by him.

“Alright, the Latin unseen translation is where you lost a lot of points, but uh — it’s alright. We can work on that.” Bradley scratches at the back of his neck as he studies the excerpt. You’re quiet, toying with your cuticles. He continues. “The information you’re given is that a farmer is entertaining three gods, incognito, in his cottage until Neptune inadvertently gives them away. Do you pay attention to this stuff at the top when you’re translating?”

You swallow. No, not really. Really, you had recognised a few of the words and assumed that you would be okay. “Of course I do.”

He looks up at you over the page, quiet like he’s giving you a moment to rescind your answer. “This isn’t going to work if you lie.”

“I’m not lying.” You rush defensively, crossing one knee over the other. Bradley exhales slowly and sets the pen down on the bed between the two of you. He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not!”

The door bursts open before you, and the moment is over. The two of you stare, side-by-side, as Luke is backed into the room with Robin’s tongue in his mouth. From Bradley’s vantage point, he can see her hand inside of his jeans

“Luke!”

Luke groans as Robin ribs her hand back. He pants, turning to face the man, wiping lipstick from his face. “Oh, hey, Bradley. I, uh — um, how did that meeting with Enzo go?”

You glance across. If Luke knows whatever the hell Bradley was up to today, you should probably know too. Luke isn’t even that good of a student and he knows. But, he does idolize Bradley.

“Robin has a room to herself now, you know.” You point out, trying to save them from the pain of getting lectured by Bradley any more than they already have.

“Who asked you?” Robin bites back.

Bradley stares at her. He presses his lips together in a line. In the years that he has been running this trip, he hasn’t ever had to babysit this much.

He pushes himself up and walks over to her, then brushes right past. Your eyes widen, craning your neck to watch as Bradley slams his fist into the door beside his. Robin and Luke stare on, confused as he walks along the hall doing the same until all of his students pour out into the hallway.

“Everyone come here, make sure you can hear me because I’m only going to say it once.”

From now on, if you make me treat you like children, I’ll treat you like children. The first one of you to upset someone here will deal with me. You’re going to start getting along like adults.

You fiddle awkwardly with the corner of the exam paper as he continues on, knowing that this is all your fault.

“Starting tonight. At eight, you’re going to meet me in the lobby and we’re going to get dinner together. You’re going to get along whether you like it or not. Understood?”

…

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