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astronomyforastrologers · 30 days ago

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Consciousness Calling ~ 31 Oct 2024

Consciousness Calling ~ 31 Oct 2024, Philip Sedgwick

Could we be on the verge of a consciousness shift? In less that three weeks, Pluto enters Aquarius, encouraging a wider view of how all people get along. Considering that Eris induces virtually every person on Earth (all those with natal Eris in Aries) to feel as if they don’t fit in and are not included in the optimal realm they seek, is not an awareness of commonality beneficial to the collective? And assuming that Aquarius prompting does, in fact, come to realize that all people must get along without fear of having ones “due” compromised, there is promise. So, in a perfect world, absolutely a consciousness shift could be at hand if and only the collective figures stuff out.

As Pluto moves into Aquarius, he hooks up with Haumea in Scorpio through a long, lingering square. Arguably, these two dwarf planets could be considered to be in the quadrature’s orb for the next decade. A short term spark to get people going could do wonders to kindle the process.

And just like that and most fortuitously, a burst of conscious solar attention shines light on all these matters on or about 10 November as the Sun opposes the Perseus-Pisces Supercluster at 19 Taurus 56 and simultaneously conjoins the Hercules Supercluster at 19 Scorpio 15. Sought here is the awareness of how one perceives their performance (or contribution in life) in terms of heroic flourish versus dredging up the vitriol of fans watching their favorite player fail to triumph in a sporting event. Can one hold the ideas that the World Series (misnamed because it involves baseball teams only from North America) brings to our attention? Can one realize that it only takes only one pitch to get the hit that wins the contest? All it takes is relying upon ones disciplined practice, accumulated knowledge and riding the flow of the moment with perfectly instinctive timing.

So for all those social media types out there, grasp the Taurus/Scorpio supercluster polarity propellant. Realize how long the promise of something great can last before announcing the goods. Timing is everything. Those who post strategically, relying upon instinct and knowing that the goods they deliver hold value, merit and range well beyond ethical, get the most business and viral likes from the collective. Hitting the sweet spot of need with an awareness of fulfillment is key.

Must this all happen now? Given the way things are, yes. It could be that the universe presently pings all persons with a blast of consciousness that could take a modest amount of time to assimilate and integrate. But indeed, sooner is better.

In relatively short order, on 1 February, the Moon, Neptune, Venus and the north node do the sardines in a tin can thing and slip around in the oil of Pisces very conjunctly while squaring the Galactic Center’s Sagittarian position rather precisely. Neptune’s in position now. Venus, also one of the sardines of the future, directly aligns with the Galactic Center in a week or so, just before the Sun shines light upon the polarity between above noted superclusters. In another week or so, the insight required for instinctive enhancement and unabated imagination appears because of Venus on the GC square Neptune. The insights likely challenge the veracity of entrenched beliefs. With conscious consideration, a fluid transition from dogma to including inspired intrigue more easily unfolds. Such consideration naturally leads to personal evolution and personal creative discovery. Within the fortnight, triggers and marching orders appear. Between now and the first of February, subtle developmental thoughts continue to enhance all pings and directives. Like brush strokes to a large canvas the painting emerges, and with it the evocative impact of that intentional, attentive expression.

All this occurs as Pluto in Aquarius and Haumea in Scorpio squeeze each other in all the right places. A series of realizations pop out from this squeeze.

Get creative, and each and every day, engage creativity as if it were the last day possible to do so. Given full application of all creative expression, a personal place for display of all talents will be created at the table of life. Ones personal nature is organically full of nurturing instinct and respectful care for those now experiencing downtrodden patches in life. Revenge and retaliation accomplish no good. It is necessary to distinguish between ones soulful inner circle and others, without the need to disqualify or discriminate against those outside ones tribe. Trust in ones self healing abilities and correction skills must remain intact. Rely upon the knowing that despite the hardships of any life crisis, one will emerge with an enhanced allure. Establish a check list for appropriate personal engagement. Engage no activity that does not tick the list. Create an inner instinct for sensing when to show up and the best offerings of ones abilities at precisely the perfect time.

With the application of all galactically fortifying messages received, one may personally, directly and consciously contribute to the evolution of the planet. It may not be simple, but the prompts engaged that serve to better all people, the planet and beyond, are downright heroic… as the solar-supercluster transits underscoring the next two weeks portend.

More soon.

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vgrc-llc · 3 months ago

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ao3feed-deckerstar · 2 years ago

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Protecting Lucifer.

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/k1pQiU2

by Batwoman2019

When Kate breaks up with Reagan she decides to go and see acouple of friends when she gets there someone else shows up in order to get her help.

Words: 4261, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 179 of Kagan one shot series.

Fandoms: Scream (Movies), Lucifer (TV), Batwoman (TV 2019), Pitch Perfect (Movies)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Kate Kane (DCU), Reagan (Batwoman), Sophie Moore, Luke Fox, Mary Hamilton (DCU), Kirby Reed, Tara Carpenter, Sam Carpenter (Scream), Mark Kincaid, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), Linda Martin (Lucifer TV), Eve (Lucifer TV), Dan Espinoza, Calamity (Pitch Perfect), Veracity (Pitch Perfect), Charity (Pitch Perfect), Serenity (Pitch Perfect), Chloe Decker, Gale Weathers, Sidney Prescott

Relationships: Kate Kane/Reagan, Sidney Prescott/Original Male Character(s), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar

Additional Tags: Becalamity Mentioned

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/k1pQiU2

#deckerstar fanfiction #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic

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lazycandysong-blog · 6 years ago

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When you’re parents already have a name for you when you join the family

#obesity is fun #obesity #serenity #calamity #veracity #charity #fat amy #the bellas #pitch perfect 3 #punk girl

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kodzumie-archived · 4 years ago

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Hello! I was wondering if I can request Nagito comforting his s/o who’s insecure of their acne scars? Thanks for taking your time to read this :)

❝I LOVE YOU THERE, TOO❞

Synopsis; If his words weren’t enough to clear the fog of misery, he’d find another way to prove to you that his admiration is sincere.

Featuring; Nagito Komaeda x GN! Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, self-degrading thoughts, low self-esteem, breakdown, and hurt comfort.

Kodzumie’s Note; Absolutely, love! Thank you for your request. I hope you’ve had a wonderful day, and I also hope you know you’re absolutely precious. Take care, my dear! Muah! <3

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ Nagito Komaeda is a devoted lover. He hails you—his lover—for your every action and word, following you to the ends of the Earth as he babbles praise, restlessly.

⤷ He admires you entirely, and values every inch of you. He values your lips as they curl into the smile he oh-so adores; your hands that seem to fit within his like puzzle pieces; your eyes that glimmer as though they were brushed upon with a sheen of stardust, a glow that not even the constellations could rival.

⤷ His heart pulsated with a fondness that he harbored only for you. Intricate conveyance of his love for you muddled within his words; his ramblings that seemed to be phrases crammed together along with the conception of hope.

⤷ Though he tried his utmost best to display to you that he thought of you as perfection personified; what you deemed as flaws he had claimed to be his favorite parts (though he truly loved every part of you equally).

⤷ So he finds it hard to believe that someone as faultless as you would doubt themselves. Every sign seems almost overlooked as he begins to notice the subtle inklings of fragility within your gaze; a gaze that was not directed towards him, but to yourself.

⤷ The idea of you being unable to see the grace within yourself was estranged to him. How could you not see your own magnificence?

⤷ But it’s a truth and one that he struggles to accept. Every undeniable sign that you—his beloved constellation of hope—were truly rendered blind to your allure. Unable to perceive the eloquence of yourself; of the one Nagito swore to himself he devoted himself to, wholely.

⤷ His heart encapsulated a lifetime’s worth of admiration for you; a strung sonnet of affection through his riddling of words, amongst his typical rambles. Though it seemed that his words were interpreted as void; a travesty believed to be induced by your denial. If his words couldn’t convince you of what he finds faultless of your self-proclaimed faults, he’d find a conveyance that’ll help you understand.

⤷ Time and time again, he’s professed to you that his heart is sealed amongst your clutches; devoting himself entirely to you, and to—albeit scum like him is unworthy of such—your love.

⤷ Nagito, though a clutter of questionable motivations and stability, is an honest man. His words a sliver lining brushing upon the canvas of truth with the saturation of hope.

⤷ Yet his hopes of portraying his idealizations of your divinity were fragmented upon the nullification of ontological realization; words can only express so much.

⤷ He’s forced to bare this fact as he’s painfully aware of the falter of relief at each attempt of consolation. For every expression of dissatisfaction, he contorts your words into how he views you; an ethereal blessing of hope amongst a personified, societial of rubble. But, after spending so long in denial of your own repudation, he’s come to discover that the shake of your head is equivalent to the brush of his confession. You don’t believe it.

⤷ You don’t believe his relentless confessions of how astounding he views you; how he truly percieves you as a goddess amongst the pitiful bounts of humanity. You don’t believe it. But of course you wouldn’t. It’s difficult to believe something that he utters as though it was rehearsed.

⤷ Nagito is known for his rambles. It’s a common occurence for the male to mutter on and on about the beauty of hope and its paradoxical conquering of despair. He’s known for his excessive rants, and yet, it fuels your doubts about his insincerity all the same.

⤷ And after long last, he’s aware of this; finally knowledgeable of the way your eyes gloss upon his fervent compliments. He assumed it was spurred in accordance to the swelling of your heart, having satisfied you with his rebuttal to your claims: But he couldn’t have been farther from the verity of the sheen of tears.

⤷ You were suffering; caged within the abyss of the subsequential torment you were forced to bare. Every word, every whisper, it’s as though they mauled at your heart; tearing into the delicate chassis with agonizing malice.

⤷ Nagito was painfully aware of the effect of words, or rather lack of. The vocalized confessions a mere spec of dust amongst the gust of genuinity. But there was a beauty in silence; and a tidal of sincere conveyance through action.

⤷ The lingering notion fixated within the back of his mind as he’s seated beside you once more. He feels as though he’s encapsulated within a trace, his mind fogged with a searing remembrance; deja vu.

⤷ You’re glaring at your lap as your hands brush upon your face, doused in vulnerability as you attempt to conceal yourself from his view. He could hear it; the pluck of pitch as you shakily began to spill your innermost worries; your underlying insecurities.

⤷ “I hate them. I hate them so much, they just... they won’t go, no matter what I do.” His heart ached as with each word that pooled from between your lips, you struggled to maintain your composure. Sinking within the seas of wishfulness; yearning for relief from this grief of being unable to accept yourself as you are.

⤷ Yet you perk your head at the silence in response to your venting; a dreadful silence. Why has your boyfriend—a man who seems to never cease fervent rebuttal—not talking?

⤷ And instantaneously, the tendrils of your doubts engulf you. It hurts, it’s tauntingly painful. Has he finally accepted that there’s no use in persuading the veracity? Has he given up on attempting to convince you—and, per your instilled panic, himself—that you aren’t what you see yourself as?

⤷ The silence is thick; a tense atmosphere in which air has condensed into a fog that neutralizes air. Your lungs burn with the suppression of your sobs as you bite your bottom lip.

⤷ They’ve won, they’ve won, they’ve won; the thoughts and beliefs of your self-loathing have won. and you’re unable to breathe through the weight upon your heart. It hurts; it’s suffering you’ve endured for so long and after such desperation, he seemed to have been subdued as we—

⤷ “...ere.” You falter. The final syllables falling upon your ears as they escaped him, yet you hadn’t caught them. Turning to face him with a visage of poorly veiled pain interlaced with confusion, you ask him to repeat himself.

⤷ Yet you weren’t met with the reptition of mere words. Instead, the sensation of his cold hands cradles the sides of your face, ever-so-gently pulling you closer until you were separated by the proximity of a few centimeters; his breath fanning over your face.

⤷ You feel a gentle weight press against your forehead; his lips. He kisses against the skin with such delicate ministations, savoring the contortion of your expression as he pulls away. “I love you there.” He mutters, a gentle smile upon his lips before he moves onto his next destination.

⤷ A kiss to your left cheek. He lingers for a moment before pulling away, exhaling ever-so slowly. “I love you there.” Once again, he confesses. Repeating the same to your right cheek as he utters the words once more, “And I love you there.”

⤷ His lips glide along your skin as he proceeds to peck your chin, tilting your head slightly to provide ease in accessing such. “I also love you there.” He chuckles, swallowing your anticipation before moving on.

⤷ Upon puckering his lips, he pressed a rather firm kiss against the tip of your nose. You’re able to feel the smile on his lips as he cradles you closer, the urge to embrace you admist the heat of sensuality. “And, guess what? I love you there too.”

⤷ Finally, he hovered above your lips, your breaths melting into one as he gazed into your glossed orbs; the quivering of your lips prominent as he envelops your lips within his own, closing the space between the two of you.

⤷ This time, he loiters against you, parting only to return and engulf your gasps, suckling on your bottom lip ever-so gently. He savors every millisecond; every ounce of your taste. And he savors the salty taste that faintly douses his tongue as tears cascade from your fluttering eyes; crying into the kiss.

⤷ His words unable to convey the sincerity of his admirations due to the plague of repetition, and the ringing of his muddled sonnet of devotion; his expressions perplexing and unable to provide you with the consolation you needed; the security you yearned for.

⤷ Thus, as he pulled away with heavy pants, his eyes softening as you begin to sob; relieving yourself of the pent-up inklings of fogged eyes, unable to detect the flickers of light within the shadows of your self-proclaimed faults.

⤷ The lingering sensation of his lips atop where all you couldn’t stand about yourself induced your heart to swell with a sense of joy; a sense of being able to understand the way he sees you one day. His lasting kisses having filled the air with comfort more than verbal consolation ever could as he finally says, “And I love you there, too.”

#sdr2 x reader #dr2 x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader #nagito hcs #nagito headcanons #nagito imagines #danganronpa hcs #danganronpa scenarios #danganronpa imagines

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wevegottogetaway · 4 years ago

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Thanks fo’ saving my ass (Part 2)

There is a part 3 coming, I think these two deserve the...culmination, but I wasn’t sure if I could have it ready soon enough. Stay tuned for more, hope you enjoy! x

Part 1 - Part 3*

It starts with a resounding bang. A back curving over maple hardwood; taut muscle stretching soft cotton fabric; twin jades squinted in concentration; a shoulder blade protruding briefly for one swift determining movement. Red, blue, yellow, purple, orange phenolic resin scattering across green worsted wool like a dozen pinballs simultaneously kicked in various directions.

It ends with the deep echo. A ball falling into emptiness before meeting rock-bottom; the release of a soft withheld breath; firm flesh unflexing with satisfaction; two sets of glossy eyes meeting in a knowing look. "Nice break, Styles. Stripes it is," y/n happily comments once Harry leans back from the pool table.

Gibson’s is full of rowdy chatters, tipsy laughs and fulsome smiles. Strangers bonding for a night of undiluted carefreeness, clicking drinks after merry drinks in honor to their new ephemeral best friends. All sorrows have been forsaken on the coat rack at the entrance, hung in insouciance, leaving nothing but good spirits to sit at the tables and loiter near the bar. Everything about this place is warm and nurturing, a cosy embrace after a tedious day, a home for the people that lets them nurse bottles and wounds alike, and sees them leave later on, cheerful, relaxed and healing. It took but a second for Harry to understand why y/n is so fond of the place and he was not surprised to find her on a first-name basis with the barmaid, the two of them catching up on life while she was preparing the drinks.

Now, fifteen minutes in, they’ve happily made their way to the vacant timeworn pool table at a secluded corner of the bar, drinks and grins in toe. The space is only lit up by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting daedal shadows along the walls and across the table’s carpeted surface. The subdued light and music crooning in the background make for a suggestive atmosphere, air thick with limitless curiosity and enticing promises.

The corner of Harry’s lips quirks in a wry smile and a bold glint takes residence at the crease of his eyes; the telltale sign of a burgeoning idea brewing up in his cheeky mind. "What’dya say we make this a lil more interesting?" The offer is served with a raised brow, a hand on his waist, and one foot perched on its toes over the other as he leans against the cue.

From across the pool table, y/n is quite endeared at the sight but her response comes out in fake offense,"oh I’m sorry, am I boring you already?"

"Quite the opposite actually." His head tilts the slightest bit to the side, gaze unwavering from her face in a mission for persuasion.

Her lips grimace as she tries to suppress a betraying smile to no avail, "fine, I’m listening."

He grins victoriously at her inability to keep a straight face, his limbs dislodging from his casual pose. "We take turns," his motions at the space between them. "F’we pocket, we get to ask one question. No bullshit answer, jus’ the truth." His eyes are wide as he gauges her response.

"A question, huh?" she takes her time to contemplate the proposition just to watch him squirm in impatience. "Damn, for a sec I thought you were about to suggest strip-pool." She sends him a playful look as she walks the length of the table to step closer to him and have a better look at his chiseled features.

"I mean, m’totally down but might be a bit unfair on your part," his eyes briefly trail down her body in silent conveyance of her single-piece attire. He’s got much more material to shed before exposing skin than she does.

"Wouldn’t you like to know." The suggestive retort has Harry’s stomach churn with humid passion, the question of just how many layers she’s wearing exactly, playing with the most lascivious parts of his brain. "Not that it matters, you’d be butt-naked before you’d get a nip-slip."

"Overestimating yourself?"

"Just giving you fair warning," she shrugs in nonchalance running her fingers along the edge of the table, "so you know what you’re getting yourself into."

When she lifts her head back to connect their gaze again, she finds him biting at his bottom lip to contain his signature smirk, "no worries there, darlin’. M’all willing." He almost punctuates his retort with a salacious wink but decides to save it for a more opportune time. Something tells him he’s in for a long evening, not that it’s any cause for concern. Like he said, he is very much consenting to anything her heart desires to do to him.

"Good to know." Y/n quips back with a smile before leaning on her hand resting upon the pool table. "What’s your question then?"

For a moment, Harry forgets he just broke the rack and successfully sent a plain purple ball in one of the table’s pocket, taking him one step closer to victory and granting him one question as per his own proposition. He quickly gathers his reeling thoughts before settling on an easy inquiry, fingers fiddling with the desire to sketch every bit of her character. "Right um, do you have other hobbies besides playin- or should I say, winning pool?"

She wants to slap- or should she say, kiss the smug look off his lovely face, but her answers airs in the same level tone she employs at work, "yes I do."

It’s not enough for Harry’s archeologic curiosity though. He’s barely dusted off the ground beneath his feet to reveal the hint of new groundbreaking findings; armed with sieves and brushes, he is eager to dig a little further, "and what might those be?"

However, y/n is quick to rebuff him, "uh uh, that’s two questions."

Indignation soars through his straightened posture, as he cries out a faint ’what? no!’ and her own ego grows two size at her cunning deceit, "gotta up your game if you wanna keep that perky bum intact, Styles."

Earlier words resonate in the confines of his outfoxed mind then, you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and he tries really hard not to think about the promise following them. Instead he counterattacks in obvious diversion tactic, "that’s twice you’ve mentioned my ass in the past 5 minutes, perhaps I should read into it?"

"I guess you’ll have to wait and see," she lithely deflects as she grabs her own cue with a determined look etched upon her face, "my turn now."

With powerful strides, y/n navigates around the table to position herself at the most promising angle for a score of her own. Once she has both her target and the cue ball in firing line, she tunes out every last bit of stimulus encompassing her; the muffled sound of the music, the sticky oxygen filling up her lungs with sensual tension, the charming presence of the beau intently ogling her every move.

It barely takes her a couple seconds of intense concentration before a sharp thump is bouncing off the table and piercing through the air. The shot is so accurate, clean-cut, vigorous yet graceful and elegant all out once, Harry finds himself mesmerized by her skills more than the subtle form curving out from her bent posture.

The satisfaction is evident in her traits as she straightens up to face him, a pleased rictus forming at her lips. She doesn’t let any suspense unfurl before she cashes in her prize, "so what’s up with the muffin deliveries? You a stress-baker or summat?"

It’s a puzzle that’s been boggling her mind for while now; ever since the first time she watched him gallivanting around the office, handing out kindness and freshly baked goods for the small price of a friendly smile; it’d been a reoccurring thing ever since. The recollection has Harry’s cheeks warm up to a bashful shade of vermillion at the thought of admitting the reason behind his action: he’d bake a basketful of cakes just so he could give her one without exposing himself. Being straight forward with his infatuation may have been unfeasible at the time, but there was nothing against inconspicuously indulging the sweet tooth he knew she had, right?

"I dunno, just like seein' people smile, and everyone likes a good muffin, right?" His answer teeters on the ledge between veracity and evasion, the genuine ‘they were all for you’ being replaced by a less naked truth.

Y/n nods at his answer and waits until he is about to aim for another shot to voice her musings out loud, "mmm, they are quite delicious." Her attempt to distract him turns fruitful when his ears perks at her sultry voice right as he pointedly knocks the white ball with his cue. It’s off by an inch but a near-hit doesn’t help assuage his frustration, "fuck."

"Oh bummer. Guess you’ll have to pass," y/n can’t help but to tease him.

And the pout on his lips does nothing to quell her amusement, "bollocks, you distracted me."

"I did no such thing," she denies before taking his place at the table. The odds are in her favor, a perfect alignment offering itself to sink the blue striped ball right into the closest pocket. And because y/n never misses a clear shot when she’s handed one, that’s exactly what happens. Tucking the cue back at her side, she mulls over the hundred questions titillating her mind and settles for another pass at him,"is this suit the most extravagant you own and if not, what are the others like?"

Harry scrunches up his nose at yet another dig taken at the expense of his clothes, his voice pitching a halftone higher than usual, "hey, s’nough outta you, leave my suits out of it." There is a pout puckering at his lips and y/n giggles at his theatrics when he brings his hands to his chest in a protective gesture. This man and his suits…

"Somehow I don’t believe you give a single fuck about people’s opinion on your fashion choices."

"Very true. But I do value your opinion." For a brief moment, humor and wit give way to vulnerable sincerity as the two of them lock eyes over the pool table. A shy smile graces y/n’s lips, her heart faltering at his sweet sentiment before Harry gently breaks the consuming stare-off, "well, if you’re lookin’ fo’ more extravagant, I actually have a canary yellow flared suit that goes with a violet dress-shirt." And just like that, they found their way back to confidential banter.

"Damn, now I have to see it."

"One day if you’re lucky," this time he does wink at her, and this time he doesn’t let her enchantress juju distract him from the task at hand. As soon as the balls vanishes from the table, the question flies out of his mouth, "do you really find my suits obnoxious?"

Y/n pauses at the inquiry and tries to read into his eyes. She inspects the bright emeralds for any unsuspected insecurities and when she finds none, she sends him a simple smile, "I love them. I just enjoy too much your reactions when I give you shit about them." Her chuckle tugs at Harry’s lips, before she lets honesty flooding past hers, "you got such a great sense of who you are, Harry, it just shows in the way you dress. I admire that, don’t let that go."

Interiorly, he’s heart is jumping in somersaults at possibly the kindest compliment someone’s ever granted him, the fact that it came from her only sending his beating organ into more acrobatics. Exteriorly, he returns her tender smile and mutters a timorous ‘thanks love,’ before watching her pocket another ball.

This time she doesn’t have to mull it over, "why did you wait?"

"Huh?"

"When we kissed earlier, you said you’d wanted to do it for a while. Why didn’t you?"

Her words are bare of any reproach as they both lean on their side against the table, inches apart from each other. It’s a fair question; one that she doesn’t really own as the word could have easily tumbled out from his mouth instead. It’s him on the spot though, and while he didn’t quite expect to broach such hazardous matters over a game of pool, he appreciates the openness of their bond. "I dunno, you always seemed so attached to boundaries at work, always so professional, I didn’t think you’d want me to make a move."

"I secretly did," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Goosebumps race down Harry’s arms as he takes in her confession and the way her teeth are nipping her lips into a darker shade of pink. His eyes are drawn to them, the urge to close the gap and have her moaning in his mouth growing harder and harder to ignore, "fuck that’s sexy. You’re sexy."

The praise washes over y/n like a cold shower after a scorching day at the beach; startling shivers at first, golden skin tingling, and then all-encompassing relief. She loves how unfiltered he is with her, baring his thoughts to her just as they come, no editing, no secret agenda, no diffidence. Just her pure effect on him plastered across his beautiful face and candy-coating his words with a thick oozing layer of honeycomb syrup.

Leaning the slightest bit towards him, she tempts him with a near-kiss, almost dipping her lips in exquisite spongy fudge, but stops just as their breaths starts blending in one hot mess, "your turn," she purrs against his lips tantalizingly, before stepping away.

Harry looks like he is now the one in need of a cold shower, eyes pinched closed as he tries to compose himself, "right," he clears his throat. It takes him a bit more time to regain enough focus to make a successful go at the game, but once he’s got a good hold on the cue, a stable breath and a clear view of the shot, he takes it with ease and fortune.

As soon as he straightens up, he erases the distance between them, a determined look hardening the subtle lines of his face. "Did you ever think about me like I thought about you? At work, did you ever see me pass in the hallway and it took everythin’ you had not to follow me and kiss me senseless in the copy-machine room while no-one was watchin’?"

"Fuck. The thought might have crossed my mind once or twice," y/n confesses in batted breath. It’s clear the scenario isn’t so much a fabrication of his mind made on the spot as it is a confession of his own experience, and the thought has the air in her lungs going scarce, as though she’s reached the apex of Mount Everest.

Harry isn’t fending off the heated tension much better, fingers twitching around his cue as he’d rather have her underneath his fingertips instead. He takes one look at the ceiling to stave his yearning some and draws in a deep breath."This is killing me," he whimpers while his lips skim over he skin of her forehead. "Go on, take your damn shot so we can be done with this game."

"It was your idea," she reminds him wryly. All of it, really; coming here, playing pool, playing 20 fucking questions, this heated hodgepodge of salacity and virtuous adoration is all his doing.

"I miscalculated."

"Poor you," y/n gently mocks is disgruntled attitude before scoring another ball, or as she likes to regard, another question, another opportunity to further tease at his already crumbling countenance, "what about you, Harry, do you ever think about me? At work… or otherwise?"

She already knows the first half of the answer and only voiced the double-entendre to rile him up, so she’s quite stunned when he whizzes, "too fucking much fo’ my own good."

The pained expression on his face is almost comical for y/n, she can’t resist probing at his despair, "me too." He groans at the flowing visuals he can’t ban from his filthy mind before she gestures towards the pool table in a gentlemanly way, "and that’s your cue," they both share a chuckle at her silly pun.

If Harry wasn’t so lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, he would revel in the way their intellects seem to dovetail on all fronts; humor, banter, seduction, sincerity, nothing is lost in translation, they seem to talk in the same love language. From teasing digs and dirty innuendos to play on words or heartfelt confessions, they know exactly which frequency to tune in.

"Fuck, I can’t see straight," he laughs as he misses a shot for the second time, and y/n quickly takes over his spot around the pool table. Settle, relax, aim, breathe, shoot; another point to her flawless record. She turns to him, looking intently at his blown irises to stir up the flame already inhabiting them, "was it good?"

"Mind-blowing," he answers without unlocking their eyes, and the whole conversation is starting to get to her too. Her thighs rub against together, knuckles turning white around her cue as she tightens her grip and Harry has to bite his lips to contain a moan. He tries to distract himself by taking his turn in the game, and burst out in laughter when he pockets the ball and y/n cries out, "blue ball in the pocket! I feel like their might be a subliminal message somewhere but I can’t quite put my finger on it"

Once they regain their breath from laughing, tears of joy actually peeling from the corner of their eyes, they go back to staring at each other. It’s Harry’s turn to ask a question, and the anticipation had y/n fidgeting under his consuming gaze. She expects him to bounce back on the previous question, but to her surprise he decides to take a different route, "tell me darlin’, if I were to kneel at your feet and look up that pretty dress right now, what color your lil panties would be?"

The question sounds boyish really, yet instead of rolling her eyes at him, her core clenches around emptiness at the thought of having him between her legs right this moment, "can’t answer that, sorry."

"Oh come on love, you gotta say. Them’s the rules," Harry tries to coax the answer out of her but she’s not budging.

"Sorry, Harry. I’d tell you if there was anything to tell." His eyes widen at her lewd implication, the revelation of just how many layers away she is from being in the nude, coming into light. Damn, he would have gotten much more than a nip-slip.

"Fuck me, I need to sit down for a mo’."

She laughs at his dramatic response before picking up her cue, "you do that, in the mean time…" The rest of her sentence is cut short as she positions herself at the pool table, and the next sound cutting through the humid atmosphere comes from the ball falling into its target.

"Jesus, do you ever miss?"

"I don’t play to lose, Styles," she quips back. "Now, what’s your biggest fantasy? Aside from shagging in the copy-machine room, that is."

Harry takes one step closer, gently backing her against the table with one hand encasing her at either side of her waist. As he towers over her, his ardent look ignites a fire at the pit of y/n’s stomach, flame licking all the way up to her heart and down to her toes. Her core throbs before the words fall out of his supple lips like maple syrup on a stack of fluffy pancakes. "Right now? Bend you over this pool table and have my way with you."

"In front of all this people?"

"What d’you think is stoppin’ me from doin’ it right now?"

"Manners?"

The retort earns her a deep chuckle, as he shakes his head in disbelief, "fuck y/n, I lost my manners the moment you kissed me."

The raw admission sends a shiver down her spine, before she regains her full bearings and pushing his cue against his chest for him to grab, "your turn."

Barely moving from his spot nestled against her, he successfully sends the ball down the drain and doesn’t waste any time before asking in the same sultry voice, "favorite position?"

‘Why are y’asking?"

"Future reference," he announces confident.

"Well in that case, kinda like this…" she brushes against him as she bends over the table, ass jutted out on one side, before adjusting the angle of her cue and aiming for the pocket, "…when everything aligns and it just sinks…" bam, she propels the sphere in one strong hit "…right through." She finishes her demonstration with a score and a suggestive smile, only but one ball left for her to obliterate; the eight ball. "Are you ready to lose, Styles?"

"Dunno, is that your question?"

"Yes. I got everything I want to know already."

"Then I don’t fucking care about losin", s’not the game I wanna play anymore," he trails a finger down the skin of her back, goosebumps erupting at his touch. He is stopped by the tip of her cue pressing at his chest, slowly pushing him back from her space, and his hands meet this air in surrender. She’s got a wicked smile on her lips and a title to uphold after all, "last shot, make it count."

Harry takes the shot hastily, half expecting another miss, but the solid yellow ball disappears into the table’s corner in a vibrant crash. Eyebrows raised and shallow breath, he pivots back towards her, "please tell me this is turnin’ you on s’much as it’s turnin’ me on?"

"Yes," she rubs the exposed skin of his chest, eyes leaving his face to trail down his torso. "I’m just better at hiding it," she brings her lips to his ear, "physically or otherwise apparently." Then she leaves a loud smack on his cheek and goes around the table to sink the last ball standing in the way of her victory. In true y/n fashion, she completes a faultless round with one last graceful hit that leaves Harry transfixed by her dexterity.

"Damn, you are the queen of pool, I’m bowing down to you. Any final question?"

She lays the cue down on the table before coming up to him, "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Take me back to my place?"

His head falls back on its neck, eyes closing in deliverance, "fuck yeah." This whole night may have been the most intense and rousing foreplay he’s ever experienced, he can’t wait to deliver good on his own promise.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #reader insert #friends to lovers #coworker!harry #harry styles fluff #creative writing #part2 #flirting

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sleepykittypaws · 3 years ago

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Celebrate the Olympic Spirit

Sure, the Olympics aren’t a holiday, per se, but the every-four-year, or two if you count both Summer and Winter editions separately, massive international sporting events sure seems like a reason to celebrate, especially given their recent, unprecedented delay. And what better way to get into the Games mood, than by watching a sports movie?

Here are my favorite motivating, inspirational, and aspirational tales of athletic derring do…

Favorite Sports Movies

The Cutting Edge (1992) - This figure skating romance was released around the 1992 Olympics, and actually name-checks that year's winter host city, Albertville, more than once. It's not good in the traditional sense of great storytelling or athletic veracity, but I loved it so very much I saw it three times in the theater as a teen. Watching it at some point during every Winter Games is a tradition for me so, yeah, I can’t help it, I love this silly sports movie/romance, which also features a bit of holiday feels.

Wimbledon (2004) - It's a rom-com. It's a sports movie. It's a rom-com sports movie that really should be better known. Notting Hill but set at tennis' best-known event. Paul Bettany and Kristen Dunst have surprisingly great chemistry, and there's more sports-related tension than you'd think.

Friday Night Lights (2004) - A football movie for people who don't really like football. a.k.a. 🙋‍♀️. The TV series it spawned is also brilliant (”Clear Eyes, Full Hearts,” indeed), and well worth a watch, but the original movie, starring Billy Bob Thornton, is, honestly, a masterpiece. Definitely Peter Berg's best work and the original book, written by Berg's cousin, Buzz Bissinger, is a great read.

Muriel's Wedding (1994) - You mean you forgot this Australian export, which made Toni Collette a star, was a sports movie? Yep, one of my all-time favorite movies, of any genre, this absolutely brilliant, ABBA-soaked comedy is not only a girls-night go-to, but also a stealth Olympic sport classic.

Remember the Titans (2000) - OK, football isn't in the Olympics, but it sure does make for a good sports movie setting. Even if this early 1970s-set story is most definitely Disney-fied, Denzel Washington, Will Patton, Ryan Gosling and a baby Hayden Panettiere really sell this sort-of true story.

Invictus (2009)-Rugby isn't an Olympic sport, or even one most Americans know much about, but this Matt Damon-led, Clint Eastwood-directed, based-on-a-true-story tale made me care about a sport I'd only tangentially knew even existed before watching.

Hoosiers (1986)-I grew up in Indiana so, by law, I have to include this basketball classic on any "best of" sports movie lists. Also, it actually is really very good.

Rudy (1993)-Ditto the above. But, again, it's hard not to root for Sean Astin (and Jon Favreau!) in this love letter to the Fighting Irish. Plus, there’s no better scavenger hunt task or TikTok challenge than going into a bar and convincing a patron to allow you to put them on your shoulders and march around chanting, 'Rudy, Rudy, Rudy.'

Miracle (2004) - Given how much more popular the Summer Olympics are, it's weird that the Winter Games seem to get all the good movies made about them, but this Kurt Russell-led true tale is another Disney sports movie classic.

McFarland, USA (2015) - Disney, and Kevin Costner, just really know how to make a sports movie, damn it! This movie made me care about cross country for which it, too, could have carried the title Miracle.

A League of Their Own (1992)-The best baseball movie ever. Yeah, I said what I said. Tom Hanks, Geena Davis, Lori Petty—even Madonna and Rosie O'Donnell are making it work. 1992 was a weirdly great year for sports movies.

Moneyball (2011) - A movie about baseball, and math, and yet it's also great, I swear. In addition to all of the above, it's also a stealth Christmas movie and maybe Chris Pratt's best non-Marvel, movie role.

Creed (2015) - This surprisingly effective Rocky reboot starring Michael B Jordan as Apollo Creed's illegitimate son has spawned its own movie series which, in many ways, exceeds the original Rocky franchise.

Rocky Balboa (2006) - Maybe it's because I was a toddler when the original Rocky came out, so only saw the ever-worse sequels as a kid, but this mid-aughts return to the character for Sylvester Stallone, as both writer and actor, is a triumph.

Eddie the Eagle (2016) - That Hugh Jackman features in as many movies (spoiler alert) on this list as Kevin Costner surprised me, too. This story of the English ski jumper who became infamous for being, well, less than golden, is one of those non-Olympic triumph stories that really works. If you're going to watch one underdog-at-the-Games movie, I definitely prefer this this to the more ubiquitous Cool Runnings.

Love & Basketball (2000) - Only because I'm an anglophile is this great, chemistry-filled Sanaa Lathan and Omar Epps college basketball romance not my favorite sports-movie-meets-rom-com.

I, Tonya (2017) - Margot Robbie and a nearly unrecognizable Sebastian Stan are perfectly cast in this sarcastic, highly stylized look at the Tonya Harding scandal.

Pride (2007) - Apparently I like this swimming movie, which I think almost no one saw, better than critics, but I found this 1970s-set, Terrence Howard-Bernie Mac-starring story of inner city kids excelling in the pool emotional and entertaining.

Field of Dreams (1989) - This Kevin Costner magical realism baseball classic is often goofy and imminently tease-worthy and yet…It also works. Maybe it's no surprise that someone who loves cheesy Christmas movies as much as I do would have a soft spot for Field of Dreams.

42 (2013) - Chadwick Boseman is absolutely fantastic as legend Jackie Robinson. One of those movies that's ostensibly about baseball, but is really about so much more, except not in a pretentious way.

Race (2016) - Before Jason Sudeikis was Ted Lasso, he was famed track coach Larry Synder in this Jesse Owens biopic that is far from perfect, but still important. Plus, I honestly don't think Stephan James got enough credit for his relatively nuanced portrayal of Owens.

Goon (2011) - This overlooked gem starring Sean William Scott as a semi-pro hockey player whose main skill is his ability to take, and dole out, a beating, is surprisingly great.

Real Steel (2011) - This is a robot-boxing movie starring Hugh Jackman that is basically Rocky meets Over the Top—and yet it's actually really good. Yeah, I was surprised, too.

Forget Paris (1995) - OK, so maybe Billy Crystal playing an NBA referee doesn't really make this a sports movie, but it does begin and end (spoiler alert) at real NBA games, and I will die on the hill that this rom-com co-starring Debra Winger is wildly under-rated.

Bend it like Beckham (2002) - This girl-power sports movie has some highly questionable romantic dynamics (the coach is their love interest???) but this Parminder Nagra-Keira Knightley movie is also a heckuva sports movie and an inspiring immigrant story.

Bonus Pick: The Apple TV+ series Ted Lasso is one of the best things I watched in 2020, and I'm sure of that, because I watched it twice since, just to be sure. Jason Sudekis is absolutely perfect as an American college football coach taking over a UK Premier League team. This sweet show with a heart of gold is smart, funny, and absolutely impossible not to love—even for a cynic such as myself.

More Sports Movies Worth Watching

For someone not very into sports, I am, apparently, into watching movies about sports, so while not a comprehensive listing of the entire, vast genre, here are a few more suggestions I personally think are worth watching.

The Miracle Season (2018) - This movie about high school volleyball champs whose star player dies suddenly stars Helen Hunt and is a lot better than you'd think based on its tiny budget and, honestly, fairly small story. Just missed making my Top 25.

The Way Back (2020) - This Ben Affleck as a drunken high school basketball coach movie is a lot better than expected. Released just as the pandemic kicked into high gear, it was overlooked last year, but worth seeking out.

Fighting with My Family (2019) - Does it count if it's a show, not a sport? Either way (but that's why this isn't in my Top 25), this stealth Christmas movie/love letter to the WWE is a lot better than it ever needed to be thanks to some really great performances from Florence Pugh, Lena Headey and directer Stephen Merchant. Even The Rock reins it in.

Warrior (2011) - You couldn't pay me to watch an actual UFC bout, but this Tom Hardy story of (literally) battling brothers is incredibly compelling and well done.

Win Win (2011) - This movie isn't really enough about wrestling, even though its ostensibly centered around the sport, to make it into my Top 25, but it's still really good, and Amy Ryan gives an outstanding performance.

Fever Pitch (2005) - Drew Barrymore and Jimmy Fallon star in this remake of a UK film whose ending they had to shift when the Red Sox unexpectedly won the World Series.

Fever Pitch (1997) - This Colin Firth-starring, Arsenal-centered original is much smaller, more realistic and arguably better than the big budget Barrymore-Fallon redux.

We are Marshall (2006) - A real-life sports tragedy made into a sports-movie tearjerker starring Matthew McConaughy. And my tears were very much jerked by the end.

Coach Carter (2005) - Samuel L Jackson plays real-life basketball coach Ken Carter and, because it's a Disney movie, doesn't use the F-word even once. Now that's a feat worthy of its own sports movie.

Invincible (2006) - Yes, it's Mark Wahlberg, and another based-on-a-true-story, Disney sports movie that hits all the cliches, but dang it, that works on me. It just does.

Glory Road (2006) - If you're sensing a theme with me and Disney sports movies…Well, you're not wrong. This look at the first all-Black starting lineup at the 1966 NCAA Final Four does, unfortunately, center white coach Don Haskins, played by Josh Lucas (though I always mis-remember it as Josh Charles), making the important story it tells less than what it should be, but it still mostly works.

Million Dollar Arm (2014) - Admittedly one of the lesser Disney sports movie entries, and another that centers a white guy in a film mostly about people of color (not a great look), this Jon Hamm movie about a scout seeking an Indian cricket star who can make it in the Major Leagues still mostly worked for me.

The Mighty Ducks (1992) - One of the few movies on this list aimed directly at kids, this beloved peewee hockey saga actually is cute, and mostly does hold up.

Cool Runnings (1993) - Kind of shocked this movie that is part White Savior-movie and part-wacky kids movie essentially making fun of a real group of athletes of color came out in 1993 and not 1973, but the earnest charm of John Candy and a general Disney gloss keep this from being totally unwatchable and mostly just mildly, rather than extremely, offensive. Not really recommending, but feels like it belongs on an Olympic movie list.

Nadia (1984) - This made-for-TV, mostly true biopic, starring Talia Balsam as Nadia Comaneci, was a Disney Channel staple in that network’s early days.

Munich (2005) - It's a movie with the Olympics very much at its heart—namely the 1972 Israeli athlete hostage tragedy—that isn't really about the Olympics at all, but this Steven Spielberg-directed movie about national revenge is compelling, if problematic if you think about it for too long.

American Anthem (1986) - Is this Mitch Gaylord-Mrs. Wayne Gretzky (a.k.a Janet Jones) starring movie good, realistic and/or well-written? No, no and none of the above. But did I still watch it 8,000 times as a kid on HBO? Yes. Yes, I did.

Men with Brooms (2002) - Once, on a business trip to Canada, my husband was stuck in a hotel that only got three channels, and one of them always seemed to be showing curling, which actually got him weirdly into this obscure sport. This movie wasn't quite as fun as I hoped, but it's still a mostly charming, if slight, Canadian classic.

Unbroken (2014) - The harrowing and incredible real-life story of Louis Zamperini deserved better than this Angelina Jolie-directed movie delivered, but it's still a serviceable version of a worthy tale.

Chariots of Fire (1981) - I remember being bored out of my mind by this movie trying to watch this movie on cable as a kid, but no denying that, if nothing else, the score is iconic and indelibly linked to sports-movie magic.

Without Limits (1998) - Jared Leto’s Prefontaine beat this one to the theaters, but this Billy Crudup-starring film is the better of the two movies about the life of running pioneer Steve Prefontaine. There’s also a 1995 documentary, Fire on the Track: The Steve Prefontaine Story.

Personal Best (1982) - Mariel Hemingway’s story of ambition at odds with love, is a sports and LGTBQ+ classic.

Olympic Dreams (2019) - The story of how this small, meandering movie was made during the 2018 Winter Games is, unfortunately, more interesting than the movie itself, but there is some charm in watching Nick Kroll as an Olympic dentist making his way through the real Village, while interacting with real athletes.

Foxcatcher (2015) - This excellently-acted story is more true crime than sports inspiration, but if you're seeking a look at the dark side of the Games—and don’t want to turn on a doc like Athlete A—this is very dark tale indeed.

Seabiscuit (2003) - Every great athlete deserves to have their story told.

Any Given Sunday (1999) - Oliver Stone and Al Pacino take on pro Football. 'Nuff said.

The Replacements (2000) - I mean, the movie isn't amazing, but Keanu Reeves is super charming and Gene Hackman is always worth a watch.

The Program (1993) - Another bit of a dark-side-of-football take, worth it if only for the fantastic cast: James Caan, Halle Berry, Omar Eps, Joey Lauren Adams.

Everbody’s All-American (1988) - Not a movie I particularly love, but this Dennis Quaid-Jessica Lange football story that spans decades has always stuck in my memory.

Bull Durham (1988) - Just let Kevin Costner play actual baseball already.

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fanfictionfaberrycentral · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batwoman (TV 2019), Supergirl (TV 2015), Arrow (TV 2012), Pitch Perfect (Movies), John Wick (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kate Kane/Reagan, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, Calamity/Beca Mitchell Characters: Kate Kane (DCU), Lena Luthor, Kara Danvers, Luke Fox, Ryan Wilder, Jacob Kane, Julia Pennyworth, Sophie Moore, Ares (John Wick), Reagan (Batwoman), Oliver Queen, Thea Queen, James "Jimmy" Olsen, Calamity (Pitch Perfect), Veracity (Pitch Perfect), Beca Mitchell Series: Part 79 of Kagan one shot series. Summary:

What can Lena and Reagan do when James keeps trying to keep them away from Kara will they listen or will go against him?

#Aoo #Supercorp #new

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

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The Irish Lion: The legend of Paddy Mayne and the SAS

The first crop of Special Air Service (SAS) soldiers were a motley crew of bar-room brawlers, public school hell-raisers, eccentrics and misfits but they all embodied the tenets of courage, honour and ingenuity.

Hatched in the desert and borne out of the necessity of World War Two, the SAS or known as ‘the regiment’ was started by the 6’5” ‘Phantom Major’ David Stirling nicknamed him The Giant Sloth for his chronic laziness and fondness for slipping out of camp for nights of carousing. He hated marching, military discipline and disdained authority. By all accounts a terrible soldier but he was brave and cunning.

The principle behind the SAS was simple: To use small bands of irregular elite soldiers who could operate by stealth behind enemy lines, destroying aircraft, supplies and hopefully also enemy morale as a by-product of causing vast mayhem. One perception of the unit at this stage is as a motley band of scruffy and rebellious commandoes striking out of the darkness at the Nazis. The latter part of that is true, the former needs qualifying – all the men were disciplined operators drawn from commando units. They sometimes grew out unkempt beards because they were in the desert and away from camp for long stretches. It, of course, helps glamourise things more that Stirling himself was captured and eventually transferred to the infamous Colditz Castle after multiple escape attempts.

In his absence, responsibility for the SAS passed to his second in command, the larger-than-life Irishman Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne.

Known to be a terrific soldier with tremendous battlefield intuition, Mayne was allegedly recommended to Stirling by his friend Eoin McGonigal. He was brave, unconventional and a force to be reckoned with – the perfect man for the nascent SAS. There was just one problem: He was languishing in prison for striking his superior officer Geoffrey Keyes (or perhaps it was for threatening him with a bayonet?). Curiosity sparked, Stirling went to meet Mayne in his jail cell.

An account of their initial meeting appears in Alan Hoe’s biography of the SAS founder. At first, Mayne was reluctant to join Stirling’s unit, known at that point as ‘L Detachment’: “’I can’t see any prospects of real fighting in this scheme of yours’. There was undisguised scepticism on his face. “’There isn’t any. Except against the enemy’. It was the right reply because Mayne began to laugh. “’All right. If you can get me out of here I’ll come along’. He extended his huge hand. “’There’s one more thing’, Stirling said, ignoring the hand. ‘This is one commanding officer you never hit and I want your promise on that’. He reached out for the hand.

It wasn’t just the partnership that became legendary. On the heels of his stunning military successes, a number of stories about Mayne sprang up that added to the legend.

The son of William Mayne and Margaret Boyle Vance. Robert Blair "Paddy" Mayne was born on 11th January 1915. He was born into a wealthy Presbyterian family and the sixth of seven children, four boys and three girls. He grew up on the 41-acre grounds of the Mount Pleasant estate overlooking the town of Newtownards, County Down in Northern Ireland. Educated at Regent House School, he played cricket, rugby and golf, excelling in each while also demonstrating an aptitude as a marksman in the rifle club.

While at Queen’s in Belfast studying law to eventually qualify as a solicitor (lawyer), he took up boxing and within a matter of months won the Irish Universities Heavyweight title in August 1936. He made his Ireland rugby debut against Wales at Ravenhill in 1937 and the last of six appearances two years later, coincidentally against the same opposition in Belfast. His talent was recognised in selection for 1938 Lions tour to South Africa, where he made quite an impression on and off the pitch. Mayne could tolerate any physical challenge but was unable to cope with boredom and when of a mind to do something expected full compliance from acolytes, willing or reluctant. Breaking hotel furniture during drunken stupors were not uncommon.

His drunken off-pitch exploits couldn’t camouflage his innate ability as a gifted rugby player. Mayne lined out in 17 of the 20 provincial games and all three tests against the Springboks; having lost the first two he was singularly influential in securing a victory for the Lions in the third test.

The late Sean Diffley, rugby correspondent and author, wrote of the talented rugby second-row: “Mayne was a Viking, a throwback to the ancient days of towering warriors, gentle and charming when in repose, but fierce and dangerous when aroused, and a ‘hyphenated’ nuisance when he had a couple of jars. His fierce dark physical outbursts may well have been the stuff of legend, but they were not always fun to those immediately concerned, and they were a great cause of worry to his friends. There was the case of the Irish player for instance, who in 1939, was thrown out of the window of the Swansea hotel by Mayne during the post-match celebrations. Witnesses were thankful that it was a ground floor window and that the player came to no harm, but it was not simply high jinx either that caused the incident, but the result of Mayne brooding darkly on something that is now long forgotten.”

At the outbreak of the Second World War, Mayne received a commission in the 5th Anti-Aircraft Battery, in April 1940 joined the Royal Ulster Rifles and following Dunkirk volunteered for the 11 (Scottish) Commando.

He was mentioned in dispatches for the impressive manner in which he commanded his troop in the Litani River Raid in Lebanon and recruited by David Stirling for his newly formed SAS unit.

There are tales of Mayne shooting the floor around the feet of a bar owner who overcharged and was rude to him, and the 2004 documentary ‘SAS Warrior: The Life of Paddy Mayne’ reports that an intoxicated Mayne once unloaded his pistol into a drinking companion.

The murder is said to have been covered up.

But many of these stories are untrue, or at the very least they require contextual explanation.

Take for instance the story that Mayne was in prison and awaiting a court-martial for striking his commanding officer, Geoffrey Keyes, later posthumously awarded a Victoria Cross, but whom the Irishman considered an upper-class twit. That Mayne had no time for the privileged caste is part of Mayne’s myth making.

Many historians now dispute the veracity of the story. There is no record of Mayne’s arrest and David Stirling, as author Gavin Mortimer and other writers of the SAS Regiment have written, was prone to exaggerate to mischievously feed the legend.

Indeed the story that Mayne was imprisoned for striking his superior officer, Geoffrey Keyes because he wasn’t selected for a raid to kidnap or kill Erwin Rommel makes no sense. The SAS were drawn from Nos 7, 8 and 11 Commandos, operating around the Mediterranean in 1941. (Commando were units containing around 500 well-trained troops). Keyes and Mayne were both in 11 Commando, which was decimated in a mission in Syria earlier that year. By the time it was reconstituted and the Rommel Raid conceived, Mayne had already left the unit. In any case, it’s just as well Mayne did not participate – the mission failed (because Rommel wasn’t there) and Keyes, along with many others, didn’t make it back.

Instead, Mayne, would meet Stirling in North Africa months before, and not in a prison cell either.

It was he who, in fact, recommended his friend Eoin McGonigal to Stirling, not the other way around.

Stirling was not looking for a modern-day incarnation of a Viking berserker. On the contrary, the founding philosophy of the SAS (then known as L-Detachment) indicates a need for extreme heroism but also extreme professionalism: “An undisciplined TOUGH is no good, however tough he may be. Most of ‘L’ Detachment’s work is night work and all of it demands courage, fitness and determination of the highest degree and also, and just as important, discipline, skill and intelligence and training.”

The odd thing is that life in the SAS during World War 2 was perfectly exciting enough. There simply wasn’t any need to make up tall tales. Mayne himself said as much in a letter: “(T)here is no use writing this stuff, people think you are shooting a line – the most fantastic things happen every time we go out.”

A perfect example of this occurred around the time Mayne wrote this. He and Stirling had decided to drive a truck with five comrades right up to an enemy encampment in the desert.

They had a German speaker with them and used him to bluff their way in. When the man was asked for the password, Mayne, who didn’t speak much German, related later what he understood the general direction of the conversation to have been:

“How the – do we know what the – password is, and don’t ask for our – identity cards either. They’re lost and we’ve been fighting for the past seventy hours against these – Tommies. Our car was destroyed and we were lucky to capture this British truck and get back at all. Some fool put us on the wrong road. We’ve been driving for the past two hours and then you so and sos, sitting here on your arses in Benghazi, in a nice safe job, stop us. So hurry up, get that – gate open.”

It wouldn’t be a nice safe job much longer. Mayne, who had a pistol resting on his lap, waited as one of the guards stepped closer to inspect them. Luckily the bluff worked because Mayne realised at the last minute he’d forgotten to cock it.

Once the gate was open, they proceeded to blast the hell out of the trucks and tents that they found within the camp, before also blowing up their own truck (by mistake) and hot-footing it out of there.

By this point, of course, they’d found their stride, but it had been a difficult learning curve. L-Detachment’s first mission called for dropping 60 men by parachute behind enemy lines. But wind conditions were awful and they were scattered hopelessly wide, isolated in the desert and miles from their targets. Most were either killed or captured (one of the dead was Mayne’s friend Eoin McGonigal). Fortunately, there was a solution right under David Stirling’s nose.

The Long Range Desert Group were themselves a kind of special operations unit conducting reconnaissance and the occasional raid of their own. A portion of their men and vehicles were next allocated to assist L-Detachment, and from that point forward Stirling’s force would be conveyed to their targets by their comrades in the LRDG. Gavin Mortimer’s book ‘Stirling’s Desert Triumph: The SAS Egyptian Airfield Raids 1942’ features an exchange between Mayne and one of his subordinates during a mission rehearsal in one of the 30cwt Chevrolet trucks they’d be using:

“’What direction are we driving in?’ (Mayne) suddenly said, turning to the front gunner. “The man stared at the stars, trying to figure out which star was which. At length he replied: “’North-east, I should say, sir’. “’Ha!’ exclaimed Mayne. ‘You wouldn’t get far if you had to walk back.’ “Changing gear, Mayne cast a sideways glance at his gunner and said quietly: ‘Mind you’re certain of your direction by tomorrow night’.”

At first, Stirling’s men were dropped off some distance from their targets and then approached on foot. The favoured method for destroying German planes in airfields – the main objective – was to attach and then detonate Lewes bombs. These had been created by one of their comrades, Lieutenant Jock Lewes.

But then a new method of operation was stumbled upon. During a raid on Bagoush airfield, in the Quattara Depression, Mayne had put bombs on 40 aircraft but only 22 of them went off. After examining some charges left over, he found that the primers had been inserted into their plastic sleeves too early – they’d been in there too long and had become damp.

From this problem came a series of solutions: They should just drive the LRDG vehicles right up to the target from now on to save time; they should, therefore, make sure the vehicles had machine guns mounted for protection; in fact, why not just drive the vehicles into the airfields and use the machine guns to destroy the planes instead?

This all came together in the raid on Sidi Haneish airfield on July 26/27, 1942. Two columns of nine jeeps each burst out of the night and whipped around the rows of Luftwaffe planes, riddling them with bullets before high tailing it back out into the darkness. 30 aircraft were left in ruins.

But the history of the SAS and Paddy Mayne wasn’t all spectacular desert raids.

Following the capture of Stirling and the migration of the war to Sicily and Italy, the nature of the fighting changed.

So too did Paddy.

L-Detachment had been re-designated as 1 SAS Regiment on September 28, 1942, and now Mayne, promoted to Major himself, was its standard bearer in Stirling’s absence. Contrary to his reputation as a stereotypical action hero, Ross says that Mayne’s side as solicitor now emerged as he came to be, in Ross’ view, probably a better administrator than Stirling. To be sure, an authoritarian side also emerged, but this too seems indicative of his care and commitment to professionalism, training and mission prep. He seems to have cared very deeply about men killed under this command and worked extraordinarily hard to prevent their deaths.

The SAS’ next incarnation as ‘the Special Raiding Squadron’ (SRS) was certainly very successful, as it worked its way over defensive positions in Sicily and then up the western side of the Italian peninsula. These actions are noteworthy for two things: Difficult objectives achieved and relatively low casualty rates, a testament to Mayne’s careful stewardship.

Augmented by the American landing in the east at Salerno on September 9, 1943, one of these actions took place at the Biferno river, behind which the Germans were making a stand. The SRS, along with Nos 3 and 40 Commandos were dispatched to Termoli to outflank them. No 3 Commando would establish a beachhead allowing No 40 Commando to capture the town and its harbour whilst the SRS continued on to take bridges. The subsequent fighting would be the stuff of Hollywood Second World War movies, featuring trucks set ablaze and Germans spilling out in alarm, along with encounters with hardened German paratroopers and skirmishes around farm buildings.

Despite the stiff and professional resistance, the Special Raiding Squadron lost only one killed, three wounded and 23 as MIAs. In return they inflicted casualties of 23 killed, 17 wounded and 39 captured, as well as taking ground north of the Biferno.

Next up was France. Here the SRS would be upgraded to 1 SAS proper, a battalion-sized force of about 1,000 men, as it served in the Special Air Service Brigade alongside 2 SAS (led by Bill Stirling, David’s brother) and two French parachute battalions and an independent Belgian parachute company (about 200 men). Just as Mediterranean operations had required the SAS to work under different circumstances and terrain, so too would a return to parachuting and work behind enemy lines in France test the unit. Gone (were the days) when teams of four men with water bottles and a handful of dates, lightly armed – a few grenades in their pouches and Lewes bombs in a haversack – set out to stalk an enemy airfield. They would need more equipment - not only more of what they’d had before, but more equipment than those used to logistical planning for the airborne troops seemed to realise.

Resupply by the RAF was thought about, as were jeeps – better for getting men around but harder to conceal. Men on foot might prove more stealthy in the new rubber-soled boots, but these left distinctive footprints that could be tracked and, in any case, problems had shown up in training (the uppers were known to separate from the soles). Training patterns also needed adjusting. Early on Mayne had fought to prevent the SAS from being turned back into a regular Commando unit.

Now he was fighting amalgamation with the PARAs. Maroon caps were issued and his men instructed to wear them instead of their sand-coloured berets– Mayne told his men to hid the SAS berets in their packs until they could don them later out of sight of officials. On a more practical level too the SAS was butting up against what, by that point, had become conventional methods of training paratroopers. The latter had to learn to land in large groups during the daytime in open country, ready and able to engage in battle immediately. SAS parachutists needed to land in small teams, quietly and at night.

Mayne himself was involved in some of the war’s latter action. Most memorably on 10th April 1945, the push towards Berlin was underway. Near the village of Borgerwald, an SAS unit was ambushed and their commanding officer killed. Mayne took over the Jeep, manning the guns and some say he single-handedly rescued every wounded man by lifting them one by one from a ditch and into his jeep before destroying the enemy gunners in a nearby farmhouse. For this daring feat, he was recommended for the Victoria Cross. The citation was signed off by Field Marshal Montgomery himself but the award would elude Colonel Paddy. He received a 3rd bar on his Distinguished Service Order (DSO) and his name would be remembered as the stuff of legends.

Paddy Mayne’s service with the SAS would end as it began, with his commander Major-General Bob Laycock – who had been the one to recommend him to David Stirling – writing to congratulate him on his DSO:

“My Dear Paddy, “I feel that I must drop you a line just to tell you how very deeply I appreciate the great honour of being able to address, as my friend, an officer who has succeeded in accomplishing the practically unprecedented task of collecting no less than four DSOs. (I am informed that there is another such superman in the Royal Air Force). You deserve all the more, and in my opinion, the appropriate authorities do not really know their job. If they did they would have given you a VC as well. Please do not dream of answering this letter, which brings with it my sincerest admiration a deep sense of honour in having, at one time, been associated with you. Yours ever, Bob Laycock.”

Looking back at his legacy, many have wondered why he didn’t get the Victoria Cross. George VI publicly expressed surprise that Mayne had not been awarded a Victoria Cross. Some say it was because hot-headed Mayne, who’d become Lieutenant Colonel by the end of the war, had punched the second in command in his battalion during one heated exchange. Others say it was down to a technicality - because the raid in question was multiple acts of bravery, not a single act. The official SAS historian Ben Macintyre suggests that Blair Mayne was denied the Victoria Cross either because of his brawling, his anti-Establishment streak or his alleged homosexuality (rumours rather than factually proven it must be stressed). Blair Mayne mistakenly thought Churchill had personally blocked him because of his history of brawling against military superiors and drunken behaviour that perhaps offended Churchill’s purist views of being an officer. The truth seems to be that Churchill was said to have been saddened and shocked by the omission.

In 2005, 50 years after Mayne’s death, an Early Day Motion in the House of Commons supported by 100 MPs, proposed that, “the Government mark these anniversaries by instructing the appropriate authorities to act without delay to reinstate the Victoria Cross given for exceptional personal courage and leadership of the highest order and to acknowledge that Mayne’s actions on that day saved the lives of many men and greatly helped the allied advance on Berlin.” It was defeated.

Perhaps there was no conspiracy though. Some historians of the SAS Regiment have laid out a common-sense case for precisely why one would expect Mayne not to have won the VC: Because doing so required independent witness testimonies of a recipient’s brave deeds from high-ranking officers. Special forces work, by its very nature, made reaching this bar highly unlikely. Heroism would have been commonplace, but, for the most part, it was clandestine and often independent of senior officers.

Mike Sadler, now close to 100 years old, is the last surviving member of the original SAS. His feats of bravery during the war read like a movie script. He was decorated with the French Légion d’honneur at 98 Years old in 2018 . Mike Sadler joined the Long Range Desert Group in 1941 and was based in the North African desert. Lieutenant David Stirling brought the SAS (Special Air Service) into service, and Mike Sadler was transferred to the new unit when they began launching raids in Libya. He became their top navigator as he had a unique talent for being able to navigate vast expanses of desert, without the aid of maps, to guide the raiding parties to their targets. He also served under Paddy Mayne from 1941 until the end of the war.

I have had the privilege to have met Mike on one or two occasions through both my older brother and father with whom they share a common friendship through military veteran circles (but belonging to different eras). Over a few lunches and dinners over the years, I was hooked on his anecdotes and was full admiration for his exploits.

Most memorably Mike recounted the time that while sitting in a restaurant in Paris surrounded by seven or eight soldiers Paddy Mayne took out a grenade, pulled the pin and placed it on the table. Several dived for cover but Sadler reckoned that Mayne wasn’t about to kill himself. He was right; Paddy had previously removed the detonator.

This atypical story added to the Olympian myth of Paddy Mayne. And yet the grenade incident in the busy café wasn’t the random act of recklessness it sounds like. There was method in the madness. Mayne was making an important point. Whilst responsible for French troops who were part of the Special Air Service Brigade in 1944, he’d been horrified by reports of improper handling of grenades. The French troops simply hadn’t been as familiar with infantry training as they should have been. So Mayne used the incident in the café to show it was possible to completely control a grenade if one knew what they were doing.

Sadler explained that like him all the men who served with Mayne had a huge respect and admiration, drawing from his comforting presence on missions. But for all that Paddy Mayne had no close friends, other than Eoin McGonigal, who helped persuade him to join the SAS and who was killed in the Benghazi raid, the very first SAS operation in 1941.

The sad truth is that Paddy Mayne cut a solitary figure, often to be found reading the darker poetry of AE Housman. Mayne was socially awkward with no idea how to talk to women even though they were attracted to this very big, athletic Irishman. He revered his mother and put women on a pedestal, refusing to tolerate swearing in their presence. He was shy until drink initially loosened his inhibitions but then transported him to far darker places. But for all that he wasn’t reckless with the lives of his men. He weighed up situations, was intuitively brilliant in terms of the guerrilla tactics he employed when orchestrating his night-time raids in customised jeeps deep behind enemy lines initially in Egypt and Libya.

Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne was a fighting legend, and a pitiless killer in war. Even his comrades thought him cold-blooded and overly ruthless. Stirling thought Mayne had gone too far on occasions in killing the enemy. And yet Mayne typified the SAS recruitment policy, whose finds were the “sweepings of prisons and public schools”. In countless missions behind enemy lines, Major Paddy Mayne destroyed more aircraft than any fighter pilot on either side during the course of the war between Britain and Germany. He was to go on and become one of the most decorated British soldiers during the war.

Ben Macintyre, author of ‘Rogue Heroes: an authorised history of the SAS’ wrote: “It is not a story of unalloyed British bulldog heroism. These people were tough as tungsten but they were also human and frail and huge mistakes were made.”

Such men of war are not made for peace time.

Mayne sought further adventure in an Antarctic expedition but had to return home prematurely with a debilitating back condition, the origins of which came from his war service.

He took up a position as secretary to the Law Society of Northern Ireland until, returning from a night’s socialising on December 14th, 1955, he clipped an unlit parked lorry, and crashed into a telegraph pole on the Scrabo road, a few hundred metres from his house. Paddy Mayne died at 40 years old. He is buried in Movilla Abbey graveyard.

Hundreds attended Mayne’s funeral. His life was and continues to be commemorated in books, film. A statue in his native Newtownards stands in his honour. The town’s western bypass is also named after him.

A remarkable and complex character, he crammed a great deal into a life largely spent in the service of others, some of whom would have regarded him as a hero, although he, himself, would not.

King George VI asked Paddy Mayne how it was that he had not received the Victoria Cross, and he answered in a manner that sums up this courageous and remarkable man:

“I served to my best my Lord, my King and my Queen, and none can take that honour away from me.”

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