In 1943, you were brought to Thorpe Abbott, England to aid in the great war against Nazi Germany by your father, Colonel Neil "Chick" Harding. His idea to bring you in as a mechanical engineer, have you be under the command of chief of the ground crew, Seargent Ken Lemmons, was controversial. Biased against your identity of sex, it took twice the effort to prove nepotism didn't always mean they didn't earn their right of position. Consider years of training undergoing by your father's command, it created a thick shell around you. Despite it all, one man. Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal, had managed to not only be a decorated wartime hero, but the key to the locket of your heart.
Chapter
1,2
Tags
Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal/Reader, Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal/Female reader, Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal & Reader, Action/Adventure, Angst, badfic, Dark(-fic), Fluff, Friendship, Enemies, War, Bomber Crew, 100th Bomber crew, World War II, Alternate Universe - World War II, Humor, Romance, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Alternate Universe, canon-divergent, Missing Scene, Soulmates, Reader-Insert, Female Reader-Insert, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Kinks, Blood and Gore, Gore, Jealousy, Alcohol, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Torture, Father-Daughter Relationship, Awkward, Major and Mechanic relationship, mechanic, Plane, bomber plane, Suicidal Thoughts, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Corny, 1940s, 19th Century
Warnings
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, sexually explicit.
Notes
To star this note off, as a woman of color-I am clear of the discrimination in the early 19th Century that were apparent and high, whether you're part of any marginalized group, I don't want to take away the honor and spotlight from the Tuskegee Air-Men, and how they were put in a racist system, having to beat the odds, only to prove the racist's entirely wrong about them. I admire them, very happy when I found out the show has implemented their stories as well. By, in a simpler term, removing racism, I do not intend to erase history whatsoever. It is a personal option, as a Woman of Color, to welcome any scenarios into this story-line without any trouble regarding somebody's ethnic identity. Yes, it always makes me sad, to really sit down and ponder how things were back in the day. So, by writing this-I try not to think about the bad part, as a way to cope with the shitty past. I've always cared about inclusivity, whether in my personal illustration or self-reader-inserts. I want a person, of any physical characteristics, to stumble upon on my bad written fan fiction, and hopefully feel as though they are actually seeing themselves in the scenario. Well, apart from personality wise, that's entirely different. I think reader-inserts, gives you an opportunity to take the author's choice of action and dialogues, to go along whatever the fuck they choose to write for the reader. But mark my words, I will never fall under the stereotype of genders. Never bash any other women's characteristics, and do create an environment of love and kindness to the fictional (Realistic-ish) Characters. "But why is the oppression of gender still prevalent in the story." Because god, I love nothing more than beat the societal prejudice with plain old equity. The best thing to do, is prove the oppressors wrong, in regard to the subject of any type of discourse, of course. Anywho, enough talking for me. Just know, I try not to be a shitty person and hopefully, that's good enough for you. Also, I am not sure if I want to go over the horrors of the war, since it's a lot for me to take. But hey, join me for the ride.
Word count & rating.
2.7k & 18+
Having to obey the law is easy, complying with protocols before sending the bird away is manageable, why is it so difficult for you to listen to your father.
Oh.
Maybe because he’s the wanking Colonel of the 100th base.
Tight wouldn’t be an understatement of the dress you wore. It felt like the lady who’d tailored the garment had a bone specifically to pick with you.
“Oh dear, you’re quite dirty!”
Okay, so…fucking what.
Now you’re walking through the hallway behind your father, and other decorated officers surrounding the area. Glancing around, every décor the government had managed to cushion this place in. England was bleak to say the least. Wasn’t your favorite, but I mean, you’re not exactly here for a vacation.
Walking through the passaged door, the hangar shimmered with strings of bulbs, music spilling from a corner where a gramophone had been dragged in. Pilots laughed, mechanics clinked mugs, and the faint scent of smoke and musk captivated the air.
Captain’s Dye’s 25th mission celebration is the main event. You made sure to send his best wishes and regards, he reciprocates it back. His wife, showing immense amount of gratitude and happiness—probably because her husband didn’t get killed.
Stares were on you, longing for potential answers to their curiosity. Keeping your head and steps steady, you pause when your father does, you greet when he tells you to, you take a piece of food (you get the point) when he offers. Obey his wishes so you can dillydally out of there early.
Forms of entertainment were apparently restricted here, five years of jail time and grub that’ll floor ya if ya dared of any fun. So you do what every girl at prom does when she either gets stood up or be plain…bored.
Line the rim of the cup you’re poisoning yourself with, have your back turned away from the crowd. Take chances of scanning the area for potential Nazis…every teenage girl ever (you think).
The room’s filled with exuberance as the lively tunes of jazz entangles people into light dance rhythms. Not good ones, but who are you to judge?
Before you could take another sip, midway of placing your alcohol troubled lips to the glass rim. You feel a heavy and sturdy thud against your very tightly packed bum.
“Rosie, come one, man.” A man calls out, you turn around. It was either the way the person who’d bumped into you had his lips tighten shut or how bruised your tail feels, that made you feel sore.
“Mind where you’re goin’.” You let it out more gruffly than you had intended. Before you could process the tone of your voice, piercing blue eyes magnetized your soul. Sharp enough to quipped that running mouth of yours
Gorgeous man, you thought— but essentially still a dope. Though not just any goof of that sort. Lieutenant Robert Rosie Rosenthal. You had read him in the database, profoundly different from the rest of the gunk crew. Never had a proper meeting, till now.
“My apologies Ms.-“ he took your hand, slightly positioning it close before placing a soft kiss against the back of your hand. Out of habit, you’ve given your last name.
His surprise isn’t as shocking to you as it was to himself, he straightened casually, smoothing his uniform. You glance down at your hand, letting it hang beside you. The memory of his cushioning lips lingered, forcing you to bite down any foolish impulse.
“Usually people introduce themselves as well, ya know.” You blurted. Leaning back on the counter, you admittedly tried to hold a more professional feel. Failing to do so by the hugged tight fabric.
A fly smirk tugged the corner of his mouth, “Spunky mouth for a dish of a woman.”
Your brow lifted, just a notch.
“Oh, so the Lieutenant's got jokes,” you mutter into the glass. “Guess I’ll have to inform the boys you’re capable of human speech.”
That earned a short laugh from him, low, unguarded, like he hadn’t meant to let it out. He leaned an elbow on the counter beside you, postured easy but deliberate. The sort of stance that told you he was used to being the center of attention without even trying.
“Word travels fast around here,” he said, amusement tugging his mouth. “I’ll take it you’re one of the mechanics my men never shut up about.”
“Depends,” you replied, turning your head slightly toward him. “Are they complainin’ or singin’ my praises?”
“A bit of both,” he admits, smirk deepening. “Mostly wonderin’ how you talk circles around men twice your size.”
You took a slow sip, letting the liquor burn before answering. “That’s easy. They keep underestimatin’ me.”
He studied you, that sharp, deliberate look of a man who didn’t hand out respect lightly. For a moment, the music filled the space between you, a grainy saxophone, a pair of boots stomping out of rhythm somewhere afar.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said finally. “Spunky, sharp, and not half as scared of brass as she should be.”
You tilted your head, meeting his gaze head-on. “And you? Always chatty with the help, Lieutenant?"
That earned another chuckle, softer this time. “Only when the help calls for trouble.”
You smiled, faint, crooked, amused and knocked back the rest of your drink. “Then I guess you’re in for a long night, Lieutenant Rosenthal.”
While you both held that tensed look, it was cut shortly from the bark of your name across the room. “Oi, we’re celebrating or what.” The transition from Rosie’s sparkling energy to your annoying comrade is’ distasteful. But you align yourself where duty calls.
Leaning forward, your shoulder slightly brushes against his, “Try’ not to bite the ground, Lieutenant." Rosie’s not one to be affected easily, his spine sending waves of exhilaration, claims differently.
You felt a little bold, being to whisper something audaciously to a higher ranking officer. I guess that’s one of the perks of having family privileges.
He watches you stride away slowly and composed, catching a glance behind you. It wasn’t known if the buzz was from the liquor or his voice, either way it convinced you to forget about leaving early.
Standing there, hovering over the bar, he tries to wrap his mind around you. Was it the intentional mirroring of movements, your playful syllables, or the daring confidence to act so tart, that made you so memorable? Whichever it is, he desires for more.
It wasn’t easy having to separate yourself from the conversation, Big John comes in from out of nowhere, slinging his brooding arm around your shoulders. “Oi, Missy was chit-chatting with some big shot in uniform, when she shoul’ve have celebrated with her MEN.” Low voiced and deliberate, curtly shortened as he clutches his stomach, draping away drunkly as he felt a blow of an elbow to his stomach.
“Poor guy, I tell ya.” You walk towards your men, you hook an eyebrow slightly at him. Taking the cup of champagne from Lemmons. “What are you talkin’ about?” He raises his occupied hand, pointing towards John, who’s clenched up against your other mate. “The big guy is always gettin’ abused by our lady.” You sharply glare at him, “I ain’t no one’s lady.” The corner of your lip curls in disgust, he puts his hand up defensively. “EY, not meanin’ like that, no ma’am.”
The little circle you formed all exchanged clinks of glass, celebrating the accomplishment of the Captain. In the corner of your eyes, you notice half of the pilots are cornering your dad. You send him sympathetic looks, as he tries to calm his men down. It wasn’t unusual. The people are scared, of course there’s going to be a spark of protests. Celebrating one’s 25th, while you could die at any moment up in the air. The thought is scary. Though, in the sparks of such an event, you gave the needed words for your comrades.
“Someone’s 25th is another accomplishment for us. Without our hard work and love for the game, none of this would have been possible.” Your face creases, following that proud grin.
“To 100th!” Will calls out.
It takes grit having to ensure safety for the pilot, not just the typical oil spill or hardening bolts. The constant worry of a mission going rogue due to your part, how much this war’s taking a toll on everybody. It changes you, countless restless nights. That’s why moments like this are important, and keeps morality high.
Everybody in this gosh forsaken room definitely requires therapy, but for now. Liquor will sustain.
Chatters turn into slow steps, the music whirling a quieter element. You watch the crowd separate from one another, distinctively pairing up with their loved ones or simply enjoying the tones, entangling themselves to the rope of the music, embracing one another's body. It felt good. No matter how much you hate to admit it, you’re glad, father forced you into this mess.
It wasn't long for Lieutenant Rosie to partake in the session, walking with slow, deliberate steps. You watch from afar, as he falters himself to another woman’s hand’s, guiding him into the spaced dance floor. “Just another hot shot in a uniform.” You huffed solemnly with pursed lips. Taking the last drops of sin, you excuse yourself from the party. He furrows his brow, watching you leave. The desire to chase you didn’t linger around much longer as another woman twirls towards him.
Now this was your turf. No ankle breaking lifts, cage-encapsulated corset… No smugly smudged pilot. You tighten the spark plug a bit too much from the last train of thought.
With a careful bend of the knees, you sink to the floor, landing lightly as though gravity took a gentle care of settling you downward. Now you’re sprawled down across the floor. Rhythmically bursting in different motions of groans, you try to consciously gaslight your mind into thinking the opposite for Lieutenant Robert. “Why are you nicknamed Rosie—oh is it because you look so dashing yet are so dang prickly-“ The light muttering takes a pause, as the unaware footsteps get closer to you. Interrupting your solo conversation. “Well I am quite flattered Ms.” You recognized that voice, of course you did. The conversation happened just an hour ago.
“Yo.” Flatly comes out from you. His gelled up product holds his hair down, as he peers above you. “Working hard gear head, or hardly working?” He lets out his simpering yet charming chuckle.
You spring up, brushing the dust off of your bum. “Shouldn’t you be flaunting your feathers in there, lieutenant.” He walks past the torque wrench that was pointed at him, surrounding the close area with his scent. “A bird roams free wherever he’d like to.” Pressing a cunning smile, you roll your eyes at his statement. Unaware of his proximity, “Also freely mates with any available hen, huh.” The witted jab takes an interest in him. “Only the most interesting ones.” He tips his chin towards you.
You couldn’t do anything but laugh, turning around, continuing to work on the engine. “Ah, the B-17, seems like the flying coffins are in good hands.” His footsteps echoed around you, drawing you into the moment, and you could practically feel him calculating his next words before they even came out.
Something about the way you ignored him intrigued him more than any graze he’d gotten from a nurse or a clerk since arriving at the party.
He’d watched you closely; planting a blow into your comrade's abdomen, taking any teasing jokes—turning it around on the giver, how your hand roamed the curve of your dress—in hopes to brush yourself into comfortableness.
The mind of a man roams wild—for Lieutenant Rosie—it was tamed to temptation for you.
It wasn’t clear. Of course. He had just met you. It would have been crazy for both parties to already plan a future with each other. How his salary at the law firm would suit you into a comfortable life. He scoffs, that’s crazy! So…crazy, he trails.
Yet. The easy movement of your body, maneuvering each corner of the iron block. Has him thrilled, like he’s opening up a gift—fawning at the possibility of being stable with a woman like yourself.
He stopped himself, you were a contentious mechanic, in contrast—he’s a man with responsibilities and a reputation, a job that could potentially kill him. None of the hypotheticals he thought about, ever since he met you an hour ago, have a 100% guarantee.
His deep state of thought contradicts his embodied curiosity; he asked himself if you were a cat or dog person, or one of those psychos wanting a hamster. While he was off in daydream utopia, you made the ultimate decision to close in for the night.
“Where ya from?” His Brooklyn accent is imminent.
“Salem.”
“Oregon?”
You chuckle a bit, before hiding it behind your hand. (He notice) “Massachusetts, Lieutenant.”
“Ah, the land of execution. You’re a woman? You’re smart? Have the human capabilities to function? Ya, a witch!” His poor attempt to humor you don't work entirely into waste. You give him a canvased unspoken message with a blink of your eyes. “Of course you’re the great witch, sweetheart.” His compliment landed on its back.
“You're saying I should be burned and hanged, Lieutenant.” His eyes widen, his quirky little stache danced around, honestly in shock.
“No! No! Of course-“ he sighs. “God, You know that’s not what I meant!” Gosh, he’s cute you thought, but the spite of him dancing with another woman—man, you want to rip his throat out.
Clanking from the mixed sounds of tools cuts him out of the trance. Using his insight, he unintentionally rashly offers to walk you—to which you decline.
You thought, by now, he would be off with Mary or Betty, their microbes exchanging a handshake or two together. But nope, now you’re walking down the path to your accommodated quarter with him on your tail.
“Lieutenant. Leave me be.” You grunted out. Gust of winds run through the overgrown grasses, katydid’s rhythmic calls are produced around you two. If it was under different circumstances, the setting of the area would’ve been throat closing.
“Just makin’ sure the lady gets to her destination safely.” He tips a look, the kind where even a person with a bucket on his head can understand.
You weren’t buying it, how could you. Usually it’s the typical flirt. Who presents himself to be secure in his title, but it was different for him. To take an interest in a woman with knowledge and skills, rather than approach her with intimidation. Of course, the truth unravels soon after any deception. This time around, it was his easily entranced state of mind from the surroundings of other women, whether they were dancing or laughing against him. You thought, this is war—of course nothing’s serious is going to come out when it comes to relationships. (That’s what you and Bucky thought) (Seperatly) Wouldn’t have never known if one’s demise will be in battle.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking myself to my quarter—as if you never realized, we’re in a highly guarded government base.”
“Well, what if there’s a cougar.” You weren’t sure if it was on purpose or not, but his idiocy held you back a step. As a result, you turned around.
“Are you serious?”
“Just a little joke!” He self doubly defend.
Now you’re met with his lingered presence close to you again, “Lieutenant. I can read your mind.”
“Oh yeah? Humor me.” He smirks.
“Get your head out of the gutter.” You press your calloused finger onto his chest, before you could pull away—he catches it in his hand. Slowly tracing circles on the tip.
“Pretty satisfied with where my game’s at, actually.” Millions of thoughts race through your blown mind. The ones focusing on his…cleanly groomed mustache…and his undoubtedly beautiful smile creases…that smell…is shoved down way below the mind.
Thanking the darkness of the night, to shield that ever simpering red pigment on your face–you lick your lips. Moving closer to his face unexpectedly, his lips falter a bit down—his breath hitches, awaiting the moment to come. “Where you want to be isn’t germane here, Lieutenant. This isn’t a place for that sort. Days upon days, I’ve heard the stories about you—flying around in ya skivvies.” He tries to keep his composure, needlessly to say when an attractive woman as yourself is aware of his other reputation, it crumbles a man in a snap.
“Do you think I am a joke?” His tone comes off playful rather than defensive.
You process his questions in your mind, gathering yourself before answering. “I hope you can change that, Lieutenant. I respect you and what you do–”
“Well, thank you-”
“-My father.” You hiss, “Had given me the opportunity to fight for the war. Once you get the fuck out there, you’ll know shit is real. He-” You paused, swallowing a heavy gulp down. He notices the tension you feel in your body, “-Made sure, to ingrain why I’m here, why of all people a woman. To be appointed as one of many greasers. Fixing on these machines, so the future for our generation can be done better. So listen here. Lieutenant.” You firmly pull away your finger from his grip, pressing a hard point on the middle console of his chest.
“Just because you’re some hot shot pilot—does not mean any women would follow your tucked trail. Ya get my gist?” You grit out, he purses his lips—clearly holding in hanging words. He slowly nods his head, before upraising in, a gawking expression. “You’re spectacular, ya know that, right.” He purrs.
You groan, finally latching yourself off him—walking away towards your shared chamber. He’s impossible, confident yet secure, that’s what was so angering about him. “Catch you later, Miss!” His cheer echoes through the lonesome grass field, blood rushes expeditiously across your whole body. Sweating to ensure your body temperature stays cool, “Spectacular, my ass.” You scoff. It’s troublesome, men like him usually are compensating for something–but you can’t figure out what his business is.
He stood still, watching, as you moved away, the distance between you growing with every step. “I’m in it for a surprise.” The words dripped out like melted wax, he hostly inserts his hand inside the pocket of his pants, before turning around—retreating back to the party. He lays his hand on the side of his chest, feeling the spiked rhythmic beating just from the feeling of your finger alone.
prince valarr stumbling upon a hidden away maiden sheltered from the rest of the world ⊹ ࣪ ˖ꫂ᭪݁ pt. 2
-sheltered!reader x valarr targaryen, nothing crazy just more fluff! slight tension and a kiss on the cheek! sorry if there are any spelling mistakes lol ᥫ᭡
the days that followed were a strange, new kind of silence. it wasn't the peaceful, contented quiet you had always known, but a hollow, expectant one. every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves, sent your heart leaping into your throat, only to sink when it was just a squirrel or a foraging badger. you found yourself lingering at the edge of the clearing, your gaze lost in the deep green of the forest, as if you could will him to reappear.
you went about your chores, tending your small garden, mending your clothes, grinding herbs with a stone mortar but your hands moved while your mind was elsewhere. you replayed every moment of his visit. the sound of his laugh, low and warm. the way his mismatched eyes had watched you, not with judgment, but with a curiosity that felt like a caress. the solid, warm strength of his thigh beneath your hesitant hands. you touched your own fingertips, remembering the texture of his trousers and the heat of his skin, and a warm blush would bloom across your cheeks.
a week passed, then another. the initial frantic hope began to dull into a quiet ache. you told yourself he was a knight. he had duties.
the world beyond the woods was vast, and you were just a tiny, forgotten corner of it. he had probably forgotten you the moment he rode out of sight. you were a strange maiden with a broom, a fleeting anecdote in a life of grand adventure.
and then, one afternoon, as you were hanging bundles of lavender to dry, you heard it. not the clumsy stumble of before, but the rhythmic, confident thud of hooves on soft earth.
your heart stopped. you dropped the bundle of lavender, the purple blossoms scattering at your feet, and turned toward the sound.
the sight of him stole the air from your lungs. he wasn’t limping when he swung off his horse. he was clean, his jaw shaved smooth, and he carried something in his hands, a bundle wrapped in clean linen. he looked every bit the storybook knight, and for a terrifying moment, you felt the urge to hide, to retreat into the safety of your cottage.
his face broke into a smile so brilliant, so genuine, that it banished every fear. it was the same smile as before, the one that felt like the sun. he stopped, his eyes finding yours across the clearing.
"i told you i would not forget," he said, his voice carrying easily in the still air.
your hands twisting in the fabric of your simple dress. "i…i did not expect you to remember the way."
"i believe i could find this clearing in the dark," he replied, walking towards you. "it's not every day a man is bested by a maiden with a broom. some things are unforgettable."
his gaze swept over you, from your bare feet in the grass to the wild strands of soft hair. "i hope you have been well."
"well enough," you managed, "your leg…is it healed?"
"perfectly, thanks to your miracle salve." he grinned, and it was that same disarming smile that had made your stomach flutter before. "in fact, it was healed so well, i managed enter a small tourney joust today."
"a joust?"
"a minor affair," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "a contest. of skill." he gestured vaguely. "with lances and swords. for glory…"
he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, simplifying his world for you.
"and did you win the glory?"
a slow, confident smile spread across his face. "i did."
you felt a surge of pride for him, so sudden and strong it startled you. "that is… that is wonderful."
"but i found myself thinking of you as i rode. thinking of this quiet. i’ve spent the day surrounded by noise and pageantry, and all i wanted was to find this clearing again."
the sincerity in his voice made your chest feel tight. he had come back. he had thought of you. "i- i was just hanging lavender," you bent to pick up the fallen bundle.
"let me," he said, and before you could protest, he was kneeling beside you. his fingers brushed against yours as you both reached for the same sprig, and a jolt, sharp and sweet, shot up your arm. you snatched your hand back as if burned, your eyes flying to his.
he stilled, his hand hovering in the air. his gaze was intense, focused on your lips for a heartbeat before rising back to your eyes. the air grew thick, heavy with unspoken things.
"my apologies," he murmured, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. he finished gathering the lavender, his movements deliberate, and rose to his feet, holding the bundle out to you. "for startling you."
you took it from him, your fingers trembling slightly. "you didn’t." you gestured vaguely towards the cottage. "would you…would you like some milk? or…or some bread? i just baked."
"i would like that very much," he said, his smile softening.
you led him to the small bench beside your cottage door, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. you disappeared inside for a moment, returning with a wooden plate with a slice of warm bread and a clay mug of cool milk. he took them with a nod of thanks, his eyes following your every move.
he ate the bread with a relish that made you feel a strange sense of pride whilst you finished hanging the rest of the flowers.
"this is better than any feast at-" he said, stopping himself from finishing the last of his sentence. "this is the best thing i’ve ever tasted."
"it’s only bread," you said, sitting on the edge of the bench, a careful space between you.
"it’s made by your hands," he countered, turning on the bench to face you fully. he propped one arm up on the back of it, his body angled towards yours. "there’s magic in that."
you didn’t know what to say to that, so you just looked down at your hands, folded in your lap.
"tell me something," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register. "have you thought of me my lady?"
your head snapped up. his eyes were searching, hopeful. there was no use in lying, not to him, not to yourself. you gave a small, hesitant nod.
a slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. "good. because i have thought of little else." he leaned in just a fraction, and the scent of him leather, and clean sweat, and something that must have been uniquely him, washed over you.
"i kept thinking about your eyes. the way they looked at me with such… honesty. no one looks at me like that. and i found my thoughts wandering. to a quiet wood, and a cottage, and a maiden with a surprisingly strong swing."
as he leans closer you notice the small scar above his eyebrow, the way the late afternoon light caught the darker flecks in his one eye, making it shine like amber.
"your world is so small here," he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "is it enough for you?"
the question hung in the air, more intimate than any touch. you looked around at your clearing, your cottage, the familiar trees that had been your whole world.
"i never knew it wasn't," you answered honestly, your voice trembling slightly.
his eyes searched yours, and he lifted a hand. it was a slow, deliberate movement, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn't. you couldn't. his fingers, calloused and strong, gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. his touch was feather-light, a brand and a caress all at once.
"you my lady are something rare and beautiful that the rest of the world doesn't know exists."
your heart was hammering against your ribs, a wild, frantic thing. you could feel the heat radiating from him, "valarr," you breathed, his name a prayer on your lips.
his gaze dropped to your mouth again, and the air crackled with tension. he was so close, all you would have to do was lean forward the barest inch…
he seemed to catch himself, his hand stilling on your face. he took a slow, deep breath, as if gathering his resolve.
"i must go," he said, his voice rough. "before i do something foolish. like forget i am meant to be a gentleman."
disappointment, sharp and poignant, pierced through you. but you understood.
he stood infant of you then and gestured with the linen bundle. "i did bring you something. a token of my gratitude."
you shook your head instantly. "that is not necessary. i did what anyone would do."
"no," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "not everyone would have. please. let me give you this."
he unwrapped the linen, and nestled inside was a long fine silk ribbon for your hair. it was such a simple thing, but to you, it was treasure. it was from his world. it was proof that he had been thinking of you.
"oh," you breathed, your eyes wide. "its wonderful…" you took the silk, your fingers brushing against his again. you clutched the gift to your chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. "thank you," you whispered, truly meaning it.
"i will not be gone so long this time," he promised, his voice low and earnest. "but when i return…i would like to show you something."
"show me?"
"the town," he said, the word sounding both grand and slightly terrifying. "there is a market day, in a fortnight. the square fills with people. there are stalls selling everything, spices from across the sea, fabrics and sweet cakes…"
"musicians playing, children laughing…i would be with you the entire time. i would not let any harm come to you. i just... i thought you might like to see it. to see a little piece of the world you've been sheltered from."
he paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "would you come with me, to the market? one day?"
the question was so much more than an invitation. it was a key, offered to unlock the door of your cage. to see his world. to walk through it with him.
you found yourself nodding, a slow, shaky dip of your head. "yes," you breathed, the single word feeling like the bravest you had ever spoken. "i have been before though not in many years, but yes, i will come with you."
he looked as though you had just handed him a kingdom. he opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, simply giving a firm, decisive nod of his own.
"then i will return for you," he vowed.
he took another step back, the distance between you a physical ache. he was leaving again, and this time, the thought of his absence was a thousand times more painful. you had spent your entire life being cautious, being safe. but you had just agreed to follow a very kind, noble, handsome stranger, and the only thing you were certain of was that you didn't want him to go.
a courage surged through you, before you could talk yourself out of it, before the fear could reclaim you, you moved.
you closed the distance in two quick steps, rising onto your toes just as he turned. your lips, soft and uncertain, brushed against his cheek. it was a fleeting, chaste touch, over in a heartbeat, but it felt like an eternity. you could feel the warmth of his skin, the solid line of his jaw.
you dropped back to your feet, your heart hammering so violently you were sure he could hear it.
he was utterly still. a deep, crimson blush up his neck, and flooded his entire face, burning his ears and cresting his high cheekbones. his mouth was slightly agape, he looked completely and utterly undone. the prince, rendered speechless by a simple, innocent kiss on the cheek.
the sight was so endearing, so unexpected, that a giggle escaped your lips. a soft, airy sound you hadn't known you were capable of making.
it seemed to break the spell. a slow, shy smile began to form on his lips, transforming his shocked expression into one of pure, unguarded delight.
"well," he managed, his voice a husky, breathless whisper. "i will be back in a fortnight my lady."
Subliminals not working for you? I might have an answer for you.
This isn’t an anti-subliminal post, quite the opposite. I have been someone who’s struggled with subliminals, maybe due to the fact I’m not believing in it enough but that’s bullsh#t.
I’m talking about the psychological phenomenon—“Semantic Satiation.” Where repeating a word or phrase perpetually makes it temporarily lose meaning. The term can be perceived as meaningless sounds. Although the method itself would account a person to verbally repeat a word 30 times, I have experienced its effect through coherent recorded affirmation.
I have taken notice of this effect with music that would repeat through the night from my headphones, after waking up with the song on loop, it had somehow turned quite different than it did the night before—taking a day or two to cycle back to its original sound—or unfortunately, quite never.
My issue that’s been prominent has been subliminals, it’s advised and proven consistency plays a big role on its success whatever the prompt of the subliminal is. After listening to it for 2 days I have seen massive fluxion of positive results—on the 3rd day, the magic wears off. I’ve noticed this repetition when it comes to using earbuds solely, I had been advised it’s one of the ways you can truly focus on the subliminal itself rather than the surrounding noises.
My conclusion - If you are struggling with subliminals, it’s not your subconscious fault nor the subliminal, it might genuinely be the repetition of the audio on loop throughout the night with headphones or simply without, due to the excessive verbal transfer to your brain, your neurons aren’t able to process it well enough—resulting in negative feedback.
My Solution - I have yet to try this but logically, it’s important to have repetition still, I have only chosen to listen to subliminals in my sleep due to laziness and dopamine rush I experience with music in general while I’m awake, to prevent muddying the affirmations going through your brain, listen to the audio in the day time. But if you must listen at night through your slumber, try do it without headphones unless you’re unable to—section it down to every other day to prevent semantic satiation from happening.
Observation
Monday Morning, January 26th -
had decided to record exactly 9 affirmations through the IOS voice memos app, using the ever music app, it gave me the opportunity to listen to two audios at the same time, my own voice recording and a subliminal.
Tuesday Morning, January 27th -
From my Notes journal : Listening to the subliminal out loud made my dream literally focus on that, I kept saying it, other people in my dream kept saying it and wanting the same desire as me—it does not even sound like I’m saying anything after listening to it the whole night.
Wednesday Morning, January 28th -
No vivid dreams, no effect, woke up with the gibberish affirmations.
Maximus Fallout it seems I’ve grown quite fond of you tho there are no sexual urges or desires you come to me as a long lost friend whom I once picked apples with in papa’s orchard
My one Wake Up Dead Man take I’ll give is that the scene where the light goes out when Blanc is talking about the church and then the sun shines through when Jud talks is that it isn’t about what they’re saying. The reason the light is cold and gray when Blanc is talking isn’t because the movie disagrees with him. It’s making the church itself look less grand. It makes it look like just a building, how Blanc sees it. The light returns through the stained glass for Jud because that’s how he views the church. The story telling and beauty
