#like could i sit and not write about everything vietnam went through? sure. and i think im in my right not to

[phantombs]

Cường is hounded by war. Unsurprisingly, I think it’s important to say the Vietnam War, the most recent conflict, has left the freshest images on Cường. And while I won’t lay out sweeping exposés about war (I have my own fatigue about the Vietnam War in particular), I will say that during war time, the death toll and the grief was always felt immeasurably. He is not unfamiliar with colonization and the effects of loss, sure, and to his core, Cường is a startingly aloof man visibly moved by little – maybe even nothing, some would say. But with the way these terrible periods struck the country between blazing fires, bursting bombs, or the slow, slow death of labouring men, Cường had experienced bouts of debilitating sensory overload. He had, and on more than one occasion, shut down for long, lengthy periods. His head had roared and his nightmares worsened, and with old taboos and the suspicions surrounding him, the people more than ever distrusted this death-seer. He was considered useless throughout both colonization and war, seen as too sickly or too indisposed to toil or serve, but lived (even more) deplorably for it. His life of bare minimums, like with most people during these times, took the proverbial shovel and dug to an all time low. Still, he survived through it all, and for his terrible years, sees the phantoms of Vietnam all too clearly. Bombarded families and young children suffering, whole villages slaughtered and the fields sopping thick with red – even now, the dead howl too loudly in his head. Vietnam has a long history of subjugation and war, and in his head, in his history, and even in his economic conditions at present, he has undoubtedly been touched by them both.

[senfena]

Cold War: Remedy, Chapter 14

A/N: Uuuhh sorry for being gone so long. I'll try not to let it happen again. In other news, here's the chapter where I found out I'm not that great at writing combat ;w;

February 19, 1981

05:00 A.M.

Every sensation in your body kick-started as you jolted awake, screaming, shooting your torso forward to sit upright as you flailed your arms. Looking around, you found yourself in a small, sterile room, with a red door to your left, dressed in a medical gown. How the hell did you get here? And where was here? Okay, okay, panicking was going to do you no good. Your breathing slowed as you tried to calm yourself down, simply take everything in. Turning your view down your left arm, a needle was stuck inside it that led to an IV bag. You went to go pull it out when suddenly, the door swung open, and in rushed a blonde man, middle aged, with sunglasses and a brown leather jacket.

You instinctively pulled back in fear. "Wh…who are y-" "It's okay, Bell, it's just me. It's Adler." He interrupted as he slowly moved towards you with his hands up. Adler? Oh, of course. Adler, your old friend. You've known each other for years. Fought together. Bled together. Been through the hell of Vietnam together. "Adler?" You frettingly looked to him, staring into his deep blue eyes. "Yeah, kid, it's me. I'm here." He placed his hand on top of yours. You instantly felt soothed by his presence. 

"Wh..what happened? Where are we?" You questioned, never breaking eye contact. "You're in a hospital, Bell. That fall took you out of commission for a while, but you're alright now. If you can't remember much right now, that's okay, it'll all come back." You slowly nodded along. This was a lot to take in, but just knowing Adler was there for you kept you calm. "And you're back just in time too." He continued. "You remember Perseus? That soviet operative we were hunting in Da Nang? He's active again, and he's planning something big. He's gonna do a lot of damage, hurt a lot of innocent people, if we don't stop him." Perseus, that's right. The CIA's analysts consider him to be the single largest threat to the free world. That scared you a little. Were you really capable enough to stop him?

You hoped you weren't showing your fear on your face, but Adler must've picked up on it. Somehow your eye contact got even more intense as he leaned in ever so slightly closer to you. "We have a job to do." As he said that, every ounce of stress, fear, and anxiety was simply washed away, replaced only by a powerful sense of purpose. You and Adler, the ultimate team, ready to do your job to save the world better than anybody else ever could. "Let's do it." You beamed up at him as you slid your feet off of the bed, standing up with a slight stumble. That fall must've really hurt, it was still a bit painful to walk. "Here, lean on me." Adler offered as he swung your right arm over his shoulders. You both trudged out of the room, with a wide grin on your face, ready for anything.

___________

June 8, 1984

11:31 A.M.

"I don't get it. What the hell did they want at Yamantau, and why blow it up afterwards?" You quizzed Park, not shifting your eyes away from the satellite photos of the destroyed base pinned to the board. "We're not entirely sure what they wanted there, but the theory is that they intended to make it look like we destroyed it, prompting blame from the Soviet government." That got you to turn your head. "Did it work?" "As far as we can tell, no. If they never said anything about what happened in '81, or '68 for that matter, it's not likely they will this time." You smirked, glad that something was going your way after nearly two months of nothing.

"At least one of them has the decency to show us his face this time around." You muttered, inching closer to the board, eyes focused on a security camera picture of a caucasian man in heavy armor, with brown eyes and a full beard. "Do we have an identity?" You called back to Park. "Roman Gray, otherwise known as Knight." She began to debrief you. "Born in Ireland in '37, enlisted in the Irish army at 18, but in '63 he was dishonorably discharged. He was recruited by MI6 in '65, and four years ago, they also dismissed him. In both cases, due to rash, violent, and impulsive behavior." You paced in a circle as you took it all in. "Hm…and now it sounds like he's on some 'mighty revenge crusade.'"

As you mocked him, your view shifted to another photograph. A girl with a bodysuit and a half face mask, blonde hair shaved at the sides with the rest of it pulled back and tied into a braid. Something about her entranced you, as you inched up to fill your view with her photo, raking your eye over every detail, again and again. "What about her?" You quizzed Park. "Freya Helvig, known as Wraith. Born in Norway in 1952. In '78 she joined the NIS, only to leave them in '81 for Perseus." She disclosed, then paused for a moment. 

"What is it?" She took note of your intense interest, coming up to stand next to you. Good question, what was it about her? "I dunno…I guess...I guess she's kinda cute." You turned back to Park. Her only response was a cocked eyebrow, paired with a wild smirk. "I-I mean in a 'supervillain who wants to destroy the world' kind of way." Her grin only grew as you sputtered out your cheap justifications, sitting back down.

Shaking it off, you turned around to sit at the table, across from Park. "Something else that's confusing me." You uttered. "Verdansk is right at the base of the mountain, why put a giant red flag over your position like that? I mean, we know that Adler's there, but they don't know we know that." Park gazed off, losing herself to thought. "At least, I don't think they do." You tacked on quietly. It was quiet for a few moments longer. "Acceptable risk on their part?" She finally offered. If that was the case, that didn't imply good things for Adler or the rest of you.

"I just wish we had something concrete." You bemoaned as you puffed out an exaggerated exhale. "Ask and you shall receive!" Sims called over to both of you, striding into the main room alongside Hudson and Woods. "We got him." Woods announced triumphantly, grinning at you as they began taking files and documents from a case book, pinning them to the board. They found him? For real this time? All of your senses went to full alert as you stood back up.

As they finished organizing the board, Sims and Woods backed away from it as Hudson turned to face all of you. “As Woods said, we believe we have confirmation on Adler’s location.” Hudson started. “Stitch is holding him in the hospital in Verdansk. That's the good news. Trouble is, we don’t know where in the building exactly.” “I’m c-” Yes, Bell, I’m permitting you to go.” He shot down your interruption. “Not that I could stop you if I tried.” He muttered, prompting a smirky huff from you. 

“Park, Sims, you’re the chopper team, Woods and Bell are the ground team. Our plan is to fly the ground team over the building, fast rope in and infiltrate from the roof, sweep and clear the building until you find him. Chopper team holds position circling the building until the ground team gives the signal for pick up. From there you’ll be touching down at the West Berlin safehouse. We don’t know what condition he’ll be in, and in the worst case scenario bringing him there is better. Any questions?”

“When do we leave?” You immediately spat out. “Six hours. Anything else?” Silence. Hudson nodded. “Pack your bags. Bring our boy home.” You all split off to go get prepared. 

As you darted off to your room, your mind was filled with a single thought, looping again and again: "I will save you this time."

___________

June 10, 1984

9:57 P.M.

Having to endure the monotony of the helicopter ride was driving you up the walls. The only noise besides the drone of the engine and the blades slicing the air were the sounds of your M60 as you excessively checked it again and again. Click-thump as you slid the bolt back and forth, fwip as you flicked up the cover, running your finger over all the exposed bullets in the belt, clack as you knocked the cover back down. Click-thump, fwip, clack. Click-thump, fwip, clack. Click-thump, fwip,-"That trigger finger of yours a little itchy, Bell?" Sims quipped, pushing the microphone of his headset closer to his mouth. Clack. "Something like that." You muttered in response. Even with a microphone, you'd be surprised if he heard you. 

"Get ready to use it then!" Woods blurted. "We're approaching the hospital!" The chopper slowly drifted to a halt over the roof as Woods yanked open the sliding door. "Standby for greenlight." The pilot instructed, and a moment later the cabin interior light turned green. "Down the rope!" Woods shouted out, grabbing hold and sliding out of view. You weren't a beat behind him, sliding down as quickly as the laws of physics would allow you. The weight of your gun certainly didn't help your ankles in the landing, as you touched down with an audible wince. It didn't matter though. You were down, and Adler was here somewhere. 

"Bell, on me. We search room for room, floor by floor, until we find him." Woods commanded as you both hustled over to a locked door that led to the third floor. Kicking it in, you found only a few storage and maintenance items scattered about, and a stairway down to the lower levels, where they kept the patients. You both scampered down in a hurry, punting open the door to the third floor and being met with gunfire not a second later, pulling back before it could touch either of you. "Flash!" You called out, swiftly tossing in a stun grenade and waiting until BANG. The chamber momentarily became infinitely brighter, and as you popped out of cover and started cutting down hostiles, a distant ringing permeated your hearing.

Once all the hostiles had been put down and the ringing had stopped, you and Woods checked all the rooms on the floor. Nothing. And not just no Adler, there was nobody else at all. Sure, Perseus had some reach, but how'd they manage to take over an entire hospital for a city this size? Before you got too far lost in that thought train, you refocused. Adler.

You both made your way back to the staircase and down to the second floor. This time you threw in the flash as you kicked in the door. Good planning on your part, as there were about twice as many shooters on this floor. Still not a problem for you, Woods, and a hundred belt-fed full metal jacket rounds. Searching the floor, there was still no sign of Adler. He had to be on the first floor. Had to be. 

Rushing down the staircase to the ground floor, your heart rate began to rise, more from fear than anything else. Breaking down the last stairwell door, strangely there were less gunmen compared to the second floor. They must've been banking on you never getting this far down. Between putting down hostiles, you were frantically searching every room you came across, every corner of the building. Eventually the only section left was the operating rooms in the emergency center. It was down to the last enemy, he was wounded, out of ammo, and out of places to go. Woods grabbed him by the collar, snatching his rifle and tossing it aside. One sidearm bullet to the temple later, there was no one standing in your way. 

You both strided into one of the operating rooms in the next chamber. Quickly scanning the room for any more enemies, you found none, but there was one person laying on the operating table. You halted for a second. You almost didn't want to believe it. But stepping closer and looking more carefully at his face, relief flooded over you more strongly by the second. You couldn't help the gigantic smile that you broke into.

"Adler, wake up! We're here for you!" Woods called out to him, trying to shake him out of his exhaustion. "Gah…Woods…?" Adler hazily muttered. "That's right. Come on, up you come." Woods tossed Adler's right arm over his shoulder and brought him to his feet. Filled with adrenaline, you took the lead to escort you all back the way you came. "We gotta get back up. Who knows how much longer we have before they send in reinforcements." You spoke to Woods without looking back at him, but you immediately turned your head back once you heard Adler cry out in pain, seeing him collapse to the floor and taking Woods down with him.

You rushed over and put Adler's left arm over you, simultaneously lifting him back up, continuing to trudge along together. "W-wh…Bell?" It was the first time you'd ever heard him confused. "Yeah, you asshole, it's me. I'm here."

Moving as fast as you could to the helipad, Park and Sims rushed out to help lighten the load. Sims looked ecstatic, though you couldn't say the same for Park. If anything, she looked more relieved upon seeing that you were safe. As you all lifted him into the helicopter, the irony wasn't lost on you that now he was the one being heaved into a chopper for emergency medical attention. You pulled the door shut as you took off, just thankful that your days of searching were over. But now came the big question: What next?

[swtki]

Dancing Days - Edward Cullen x Reader Smut

Anonymous said: 19&24 on edward smut? love ur writing!

A/N: Thank you so much :) also I’m so happy everyone is h*rny for Eddy. I decided I want to explore more period times with Edward, changing his persona in a certain decade, but still ultimately being in the same universe as cannon. This will play into the readers character a tad bit.

WARNINGS: 18+ CONTENT, SWEARING, S*X, VAMPIRES, ORAL SEX (MALE RECIEVING), VIRGIN! EDWARD, NON VIRGIN READER, GENDER NEUTURAL READER, MENTIONS OF WAR AND DEATH. 

19: “Fuck me like you want people to know”.

24. “Thing is, I’m a virgin”. 

_______________________________________

I brushed my hair into its usual part, making sure I looked flawless. The year was 1976, I was a senior in Highschool. It was a wonderful time to be a teenager, no longer afraid that my friends would die in Vietnam. Even in my dinky little Washington town, the culture was becoming our own. 

The Led Zeppelin record playing on my record player stopped suddenly, alerting me that I was no longer alone in my room. I turned, my expression soft as I saw my boyfriend, Edward.

“Whats up with you and this album? Everytime I come in, its always House of Th Holy on repeat.” I rolled my eyes, lifted the record in question off of the tray, and put it back snuggly in its case. 

“I can’t help it, Ed. Robert just speaks to me. I’m sure you’re like that with Louis Armstrong.” I waved my hand, walking back to my mirror to finish getting ready. 

“Maybe, but the music you listen to it’s...” Edward paused for a moment, sitting on my bed. “It’s suggestive, Y/N.” I turned to him, my eyebrow raised.

“Suggestive? What’s that supposed to mean?” I placed my hands on my hips, and waited for him to explain.

“Well, for one that one song says ‘Sipping booze’, I quite think that is blatant alcohol reference.” I looked at him, dumbfounded. Then, I started to laugh, and I walked over to him. Instinctually, he pushed his head into my chest, enjoying the comfort it brought him. 

“I love you, but god are we from two different Mars.” He chuckled, sending a rumble through my chest.

At school, I was an average kid. Fair grades, many friends, many ex friends. When Edward was paired up with me in math, I got through his cold, stone skin. At first, he was annoyed when I would fuck off, leaving him to do the work himself. Understandable, and once I realized how rude I was, I stopped. I talked to him, prodded him truthfully. I would ask him once we started dating if he had noticed me previously, because I had never noticed him. 

“Yes, I noticed that you were the only one who didn’t acknowledge me. Ironic I guess.” 

A year into our relationship, I would never let him go unnoticed. We walked the halls, hand in hand. Our outlooks were so different when it came to life. He was modest, I was free spirited. Edward was different from my boyfriends previously, I didn’t want to fuck things up, and I refused to even risk it. 

School went slowly that day, possibly because my head was focused on what I would ask Edward, my boyfriend of one year, about sex. About us and sex. 

I hadn’t told him that I wasn’t a virgin, I was worried he would only want a virgin girl, after all they can never look at you disappointed and say “I’ve had better.” A definite plus. Many a nights I tried to imagine him, moaning completely under my control. I wanted him, but I didn’t know if he wanted me. Surely in 50 years he had found a good fuck. I worried that he would be into someone else, forever tied to a vampiress. 

The end of the school day couldn’t have come sooner, my anxiety rising as I got into Edwards car, starting a long silent car ride. I tried to keep my mind off of it, an attempt to avoid the conversation until we were at my house. I kept my mind busy with the lush scenery outside of the passenger side window. 

“So... I know you want to ask me, and I know the answers to what I would ask you.” He said blatantly, putting the car in park outside my front lawn. 

“I don’t wanna talk out here Ed, lets go inside.” I swung my bag onto my shoulder. Thats the thing with Edward, I never have to say anything, just as long as I think it. 

My house was empty, making it easy for Edward to follow me upstairs to my room. I shut my door behind us, then turned to him. Unsure of what to say, I breathed in deeply.

“How long have you known that I wasn’t...you know?” He smiled, sitting on my plush navy sheets. 

“Y/N, I knew before I met you what I was getting into. Your ex had a lot of thoughts about that one night where you guys-” 

“Oh my god okay ew.” A blush rose upon my face, and I saw Edward laugh as he watched my body fill with embarassment. “Well why didn’t you say something?” I asked.

“I figured if it needed to be brought up, it would be. You and I aren’t exactly a physical couple so I didn’t worry too much.” I walked over to my bed, taking a seat next to him.

“I see...I mean it wouldn’t be a big deal for me so if you want to...” I bit my lip at him, his gaze turned to the other direction.

“Thing is, I’m a virgin.” My expression went from a seductive look, to a puzzled one. I wondered if I had heard him correctly. “I’m old school, Y/N. It wasn’t like how it is now when I was human. People didn’t just have sex in highschool, unless they were married because the man was off to war. So, it hasn’t been on the menu for me. You’re the first girl I’ve dated in fifty years, you know. And no, there was no vampiress or anything.” I smiled.

“Well, I don’t wanna scare you or push it or anything. It’s just you know-” 

“You want to touch me, to be touched by me.” his eyes trailed back to mine, looking deep into my soul.

“Yes, I want you, Edward.” I pressed my lips to his, pulling away jut as it got intense. I could feel his disappointment. “I want to...but I can’t let you down. Tomorrow night. I’ll call you and we can talk about everything we want out of it, I’ll give you a fucking fairytale, my love” I chuckled.

I called him that night as I had said I would. We talked about my first time, and everything I liked, followed by what he had seen on video, what he wanted to try, and his fears.

“I don’t want to kill you, darling.” He said.

“Then don’t. I won’t let you.” He laughed at me, enjoying my lack of seriousness.

The next night rolled along with a quick pace. I looked at the clock and saw that it was time for me to start getting ready. 

I made myself look simple, a small bit of makeup and hair product, but otherwise just a tank top and jeans. Sometimes, dating an old fashioned guy was a pain in the ass. Always complaining about suggestive behavior. But other times, my shoulders counted as being half nude.

“You look stunning, as per usual.” Edward said, stepping into my room. He was tense and barely moved. “I don’t know what to do..what usually happens with it if I’m not the one doing everything.”

If he had any blood flow, he would have been blushing right about then.

“We don’t have to do anything you know. We can just lay down and watch a movie if you want to, I just want to make you happy, Edward.” I walked over to him and put a strand of his messy auburn hair behind his ear. Without hesitation, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“I want to, thats the part that’s been eating me away ever since I met you. I want to make you feel good, I just don’t know if I’ll lose it and-“ I cut him off with a kiss.

“Even if you break my pelvis into pieces, I’ll still be happy. I’m always happy when I’m with you.” we both smiled, and suddenly the thick tension that once filled the room vanished. “I’ll take care of you tonight, just as long as you’re doing it for you. I just need to know you’re doing this for you, and you need to be sure you wont roll over afterwards and hate me.” I said, my hand clasped in his marble one.

“I want you, Y/N. I have no doubts that I’ll want you afterwards, too.”

I pushed his head down, level to my own. Our kiss was deep, filled with a years worth of hunger. My hands tugged on his hair, making him whimper. Suddenly, I felt my feet lift off the ground as Edward carried me to my bed. With a soft thump, the plush sheets surrounded my body. It was a contrast of warmth on my back, and Edwards cool body on my top.

His hands were balled into fists, clutching my duvet as if his life depended on it. I pulled away, panting for air.

“Sorry, I forget you need air.” He smirked. I rolled my eyes in response.

“Well, its a shame you don’t. Because I intend on taking your breath away.” we both made small laughs at my remark.

“What now?” He looked at me for guidance.

“Get on your back.” I said.

We switched positions, he was now on the bottom. My legs straddled his torso, I sight he visably enjoyed. I slithered my hands up to his head, cupping his face as I kissed him again. My left hand left its post, reaching down to the buttons on his shirt.

I paused, looking up at him once I got to the last button.

“Does it...work like normal or...” He threw his head back and laughed.

“It doesn’t have spikes, I can assure you its just like a humans. But Emmet did tell me to pull out so...I’m kind of worried about the implications of that but-“ I leaned down to shut him up with a kiss.

His hands were still at his side, resting on the bed. I picked up his wrists, and placed them on the side of my thighs. He squeezed them lightly.

My hands roamed over his bare chest, cool to the touch. I lached my lips onto his neck, causing his back to arch below me. I could feel his excitement beneath me, it gave me a big self esteem boost. His hand reached along my waist, tugging at my shirt. His eyes lit up at the sight of my bare chest. He reached for me but I pulled away to slide down onto my knees.

He looked confused, like I had left him high and dry.

“Sit on the edge.” I said softly, my knees burning slightly due to the rough carpet underneath them.

He rid himself of the unbottoned shirt, slidding over to me once finished. My hands slowly stroked his thighs, he was desperate for some type of touch.

I smiled, tugging on his belt until it came undone. He stayed silent, looking at me like I was the only thing in the world. I unbottoned the trousers, tugging on them. He kicked them off and was left in his breifs.

“Is it okay if I..” I looked up at him and he nodded frantically. I palmed him over his underwear, feeling how hard he had gotten from kissing. My fingers latched onto the waist band, pulling them down to reveal a pale yet pink cock. It wasn’t too big, but deffinitley satisfactory. I ran my finger over the tip, earning a small groan from the vampire. My eyes trailed up to him, so I could see him when I took him in my mouth.

He let out a breathy moan, eyes focused on my mouth. His lips were parted ever so slightly. I bobbed my head, and grotesquely sexual sounds arose from my throat. I felt Edward move a strant of hair out of my face, he looked at me like I was a god.

“Fuck..Y/N if you keep doing that there wont be anything for you, dear” He said in a breathy moan. I pulled back, my mouth feeling sore and tired. “Do you still want to?” He asked, grasping his hands on my waist.

“Yes, I fucking need you.” I threw off my jeans, I would worry about finding them later, I needed him. He layed back down, propping his head up on my pillows. Our lips collided in another kiss as I leveled myself with him.

“Are you sure?” I ask him, stroking his hard member.

“I’m sure.” He pecked my lips again as I got ontop of his lean figure. I spat in my hand, lubing up my needy hole.

“How do you want me to do this? I mean like slow? What do-“ He said with genuine worry.

“Fuck me like you want people to know” I whispered, “ Fuck me like you want the entire neighborhood to know that I’m yours and yours only.”

“I can make that happen, love.” He flipped me over, now being back to where we first started. He lined up his cock with my hole, running it around the tight area. I put my fingers in his hair, making a slight tug as he pushed into my body.

Pleasure filled my body as he filled me up, his cock stretched my insides in the right ways. Without pausing, he started to push his hips into mine, making sure not to hurt me.

He reached down to suck on my neck, adding to the pornagraphic moans in the room. My hands travled to his back, scratching my nails down the cold stone like skin. His moans echoed in my ear.

“Y/N, I can’t be on top I’m going to crush you” I laughed at him, tapping his side so he fell onto the bed. I swung my legs over him, sitting on his perfect cock.

“Perfect, fucking amazing.” He said as I steady myself onto him. His face was in a euphoric expression, the most relaxed I had ever seen him.

I began to rock my hips, sliding him in and out of me. His hands grabbed onto my hips, guiding me. Everything was a euphoric experience. My gut filled with that wonderful sensation.

“Edward I’m gonna cum, oh my god” I moaned out, picking up my pace.

Suddenly, the world went still. My eyes went black and I saw stars as my orgasm washed over me. My moans echoed in the room as my body twitched. A few thrusts up into my body and Edward pulled out of me, rubbing his cum out onto his hand.

I layed there panting while he sped to the bathroom, and came back with a clean cloth, wiping down my body. He put the cloth down, pulling up his underwear and handing me mine. I slipped the fabric on, slipping under the covers.

“Get in here, I wanna kiss you”

He laughed, obeying and slipping beside me. Our lips reunited in a soft clash.

“I love you so much, dear.”

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

hey so “find me” dropped on premiere and i just watched it, so you know what that means??

it’s review time!

(super rambly as usual) spoilers under the cut

before i say anything, let me say, IT’S FINE, Y’ALL. as predicted. people are gonna be dramatic bc there are daryl/leah scenes, but like...we been knew? and some of them were rly important caryl-wise. (tbh, the episode was kind of boring and just a set-up for other stuff, lmfao)

okay, review:

opening credits, which i think most of us have already seen, were cute. obvi there was some weird tension with daryl that leads to the coming-to-a-head thing at the end, but their banter is still cute af

they went fishing and daryl’s reaction to carol was adorable, and there’s an important parallel later on, so bookmark this

similarly, there’s an important parallel to carol’s “the dead catch up to us eventually”/daryl’s “i ain’t gonna let it”, so bookmark that, too

dog is the instigator for the flashbacks, so if you wanna blame anyone, blame him. he races to the cabin, which for some reason daryl, who spent five years in this forest, seemed surprised to see? didn’t you literally map out that whole area, my dude? whatever

cue flashback!

i might have the scene order mixed up, but i think it starts with daryl being all sad by himself, and then dog as a puppy shows up and he’s like “!!! a dog!!!” which is v cute, and then he runs back off. we don’t meet leah yet

we see carol and daryl having a conversation while standing on opposite sides of a river for no reason except to probably symbolize distance or maybe covid, lol. the conversation basically goes:

carol: things are different

daryl: yeah

carol: how long are you gonna be out here?

daryl: -shrug emoji-

carol: i get why you’re out here, and i’d join you if things weren’t...

daryl: different

carol: yeah

daryl: yeah. anyway, it’s gonna rain, and also i’m having emotions, so ttyl

the end

at some point we see daryl sitting with an extremely unhappy face while it pours rain on him in the dark, and i want that as a reaction gif IMMEDIATELY 

also the rain destroys his “where in the world is rick grimes?” map, which makes him v upset and scream-y, and we get the idea that he might be going a bit bonkers being all alone looking for a dead (or, ig, kidnapped by helicopter) man

in present day carol finds the note, and is like “oh dunk, she lived here??” so she knew about leah, and daryl’s like, “i already told you everything,” and carol’s like, “no you didn’t,” so we go back to flashbacks (but i’m still not sure what parts carol didn’t already know?? whatever, it’s not that important)

i’m just gonna hit the highlights of the flashbacks bc they were not that thrilling:

first time daryl meets leah the dog leads him to her cabin, and leah ties him to a chair and holds a gun to his head being like, “what are you doing on my land?” bc apparently you can claim whole forests during the apocalypse, and daryl says very little, and eventually she lets him go

next time dog finds daryl and he brings her back and leah is like, “the dog likes you” and they’re kinda flirty, and then daryl says very little and leaves

next time daryl is surrounded by walkers and leah shows up and helps and they hide in a tree and are awkwardly close to each other and daryl cannot handle the close physical contact so when the walkers pass he says very little except to tell her to never come back again, lmfao

the next flashback is my favorite bc daryl just fucking

goes to leah’s cabin and throws a fish at the door???

i laughed for ten years

he throws a fucking fish and then stands there for a minute like “is she gonna notice that i gave her a fish??” like, no, dumbass, you didn’t even knock, you just threw a fucking fish at her fucking door, what is wrong with you??

no wonder it’s taken him and carol so long if he thinks throwing fish at people is a smooth move. boy has NO fucking game

anyway, leah gets him back by finding him and throwing the fish at his head, being like, “wtf, don’t throw fish on my porch?” which, fair, leah

IMPORTANT CARYL PARALLEL (from here on out known as “caryllels”) #1: so earlier i mentioned the carol fish thing, and apparently the same thing happened with leah, where she speared a fish on her first try and daryl was like “tf?” v blatant “we are supposed to be thinking about carol and daryl’s relationship during this scene” sort of thing

leah’s backstory is bland. had a family, they got eaten or disappeared or something. she, her adopted son, and dog’s mom got away, but the kid was bit, and died the same day dog was born, bc ig when god closes one door, he replaces your dead son with a puppy, or however the idiom goes

ONLY PART THAT GOT ME LEGIT EMOTIONAL: 

leah asked daryl who he lost, and he says, “my brother”

asklfdjaslfdjskl

god i miss rick

i hated rick for so long and now i miss him so much

but i digress

IMPORTANT CARYLLEL #2: leah and daryl have the same “the dead get you eventually”/”i ain’t gonna let it” conversation as caryl had earlier, only daryl is playing the role of carol in this scenario, so again we’re supposed to be comparing the two relationships. lemme get through the rest of the summary and then i’ll tell you my opinion on what that means

fuck what even happens next?

i have these out of order bc they were all the fucking same, but the two of them get closer, and there is the vaguest suggestion of sex ever. you literally only see daryl’s hand

then jump-cut to them sitting at the table being emo, ig bc daryl was gonna go back to look for rick for a bit, and leah is like “who do you belong with? your brother you won’t stop looking for? your family that you left? [side note: that seemed rather pointed, like, “hey hoe, you abandoned your family, that was kind of a dick move”] or me?” and he says he doesn’t know, and she’s like “yeah you do, now choose”

jump-cut to caryl scene where carol finds him at the river and says that she won’t be visiting as much, and daryl’s like “k” and they have a brief argument where daryl’s all snippy, like, “what? do you want my permission for you to move on with your life? i’m not still emo about the fact that you’re moving on with your life, and i also don’t think it’s contextually significant that every time you show up in my flashbacks you explicitly mention that you’re married and have a kid,” and carol is like, “bro, you need to Get Your Shit Together and come home”

jump-cut to daryl having what i’m assuming is an epiphany that carol/fam have all moved on while he was out being emo, and so he decides to go be with leah, except, plot twist! she’s gone. the picture of her and her son is gone, but dog is still there. daryl leaves the note, which says, “i belong with you, find me”

for those freaking out about the wording about the note, may i remind you that she specifically asked, “do you belong x, x, or with me?” so he was just answering the question

aaaaaand back to present day

carol is like, “what do you think happened to her?” and daryl is all -shrug emoji-, and then she’s like, “...do you think she might have just...you know...left?” and daryl gets rull offended, which was kind of funny

(she probably just left, bud)

carol tells daryl to stop thinking that when people leave it’s bc of him, and connie’s name gets thrown into the mix, and daryl gets a “oh here we fucking go” look on his face, and it sets him off

he said basically what we were already spoiled for. “you just want to run, you don’t know when to stop, i shouldn’t have taken you off the boat bc you still just want to run” etc

and carol looks fucking HEARTBROKEN, which hurt me, and she goes into the other room and we end the episode with daryl staring forlornly out of the window 

the end

okay

so quick analysis

i think the significance of this episode is supposed to be so we have an understanding of why daryl is suddenly so !teamfamily, and !teamfuture, and how badly he wants carol to be there with him. at one point, one of them even says, “this isn’t about leah, or connie,” or anyone but the two of them. the title “find me” feels significant, bc the whole episode is daryl grappling with where he’s supposed to go, and what his purpose is, and by the end, he says to carol, “i know where i belong,” (implying, with her and the fam), pulling us full-circle. in the first flashback onward he is lost, but by the end he is found -cue amazing grace-

daryl and leah were flirty, but to me it felt very much like something that was just being used as daryl character development. we barely got anything that juicy between the two of them (except the fish throwing thing, that was amazing), and i still don’t think that it would make any sense, regardless of the showrunner, to pair daryl up with some rando after having so many other choices that people would have preferred. i don’t think we’re meant to #endgame ship it, so much as we are supposed to be like, “oh, ok, daryl learned the power of family and stability and leveled up, -you know what that is? growth gif-” as a result, i literally have no idea what leah’s role is gonna be in s11, but i don’t think it’ll be a huge plot point

so now we firmly know where daryl stands. he is all about moving forward, not looking back, and doing the best he can, and he’s frustrated bc when he took carol off the boat he wanted her to be in the same place as him so that they could grow together, but she wasn’t and isn’t there yet

so my guess is that what’s next for carol’s storyline is her reaching that same zen-level daryl’s at

once they’re both there, then they get to ride off into the sunset and make passionate love under the moon casting shadows over the vast desert wasteland 

whew

anyway

tl;dr: idk, episode was fine, if not kinda boring. lots of caryllels. can i go back to writing my vietnam war au now? 

the end

(stay hype, stan kang, and get daryl to call carol sweetheart 2k21),

-diz

[uaklauslovesdave]

Hi, thank you for sending me asks, I really appreciate it! :D Could you do 002 for klave, I always want to hear your thoughts about them <3

my buddy, my dude, it’s been roughly 17 years since you sent this ask, and i’m oh so sorry for taking this long to answer. it got to be one of those situations where i wanted to do it Properly, which of course brought the anxiety, which of course then brought the avoidance. But we’re here now! it’s a new era and i have a whole bunch of klave thoughts to dump on my unsuspecting followers. let us begin.

when i started shipping it:

Pretty much immediately! I remember first watching s1 and getting that slow confirmation that Klaus time traveled to the Vietnam War. We saw him on the bus with his fatigues and bloody hands and I was like ‘oh god oh no he went to Vietnam didn’t he.’ And then later we have Klaus experiencing flashbacks in the bathtub and there are echoes of the noises of war but also a strong and clear “Dave!” And in that moment my interest was piqued. Dave, he said? Who is this Dave? Is this someone he loved? Did he have a war-time romance with another soldier? And I was hopeful but I also didn’t want to get too ahead of myself because of Queer Baiting in Media reasons (like, I was in the marvel fandom, ok? I went through the whole stucky dance routine). But then, but then! We got more. We got roughly five minutes (or less?) of scenes of Klaus dropping down in front of a disoriented soldier, of this soldier introducing himself as Dave on a bus, of Klaus and Dave dancing in a bar, of Klaus and Dave sharing a kiss in a quiet corner, of Dave bleeding out and dying in the middle of combat as Klaus sobs above him. And it was quick and it was short but it was meaningful and it was tender and immediately I knew that I was gone for them. There was no turning back at this point. I was all in on the Klave Train.

my thoughts:

My thoughts? Where do I even start? I have many! Some are incoherent! Some are devastating! Some are sickeningly sweet! Some are raunchy! Stay tuned to find out!

what makes me happy about them/what makes me sad about them:

So I decided to combine these two questions because, well, I Do Not Know how to untie the happy and the sad when it comes to klave. I tried and I cannot do it. They’re two sides of the same coin with these two. Because their entire relationship is tinted by tragedy, you know? They only met each other because Klaus was tortured and then flung into a notoriously traumatizing war in the 1960s. And who knows what number tour Dave was on. Had he been there for just 2 months or was this second or third time around? I’m not sure which option is more painful, really. And it’s unclear, did Dave genuinely want to serve in the military? Did he truly subscribe to those values instilled by his family? I’d lean towards no, based on the conversation Klaus tries to have with the Younger Dave in the diner. But I think it took Dave some time to get there, as he grew older and came to better understand and accept himself and perhaps grew more and more disillusioned with the life he was pushed into. And then there’s Klaus, whose own experiences somewhat parallel Dave’s (they just happened on a different timeline). Klaus, who grew up under Reginald’s reign of terror, who was taught to be a soldier just like Dave was. But his own disillusionment was expedited and he was able to rebel and remove himself from that scene more easily than Dave could (but at the expense of losing shelter and security and stability). And we have some insights into what it was like for Klaus to grow up in that environment, constantly surrounded by death. When we first meet him he is a person who clearly does not do genuine attachment or sincerity, because that is far too vulnerable and far too dangerous in his experience. He looks out for himself and he does what he needs to do to get by, and he approaches things from a casual, crass (safe) distance. And then there’s Dave, who we learn a little bit about from his interactions with Klaus in 1963 Dallas. He appears earnest and kind, just a Really Good Kid. He seems somewhat confused by Klaus, but also intrigued. Pretty much every time we see Klaus interact with someone in the 1960’s who is not a member of Destiny’s Children they approach him with disdain (referring to him as “pretty boy,” kicking him out of the diner, etc.). But not Dave. Not until he is pressured into it by Uncle Homophobe. And after that Dave seeks him out and apologizes, says that’s not him. And he and Klaus talk, and we see that they really knew each other, they really had a relationship, but by the end of the conversation Dave has been pushed too far. He’s not quite ready to rebel yet, he’s not quite able to make that leap into living as his true self. Just like Klaus, Dave grew up trapped and restricted and surrounded by ghosts. Not literal ones, no, but the ghosts of dead war heroes who came before him, the ghosts of the Ideal Man and Good Son that he thought he had to be, that he thought he had to prove he could become. And it’s not quite clear how and when Dave finally got to that point where he could rebel, where he could finally push past the fear, knock down the walls of the box he had been shoved into. But by the time he and Klaus crossed paths in 1968 Vietnam he was ready. And Klaus was ready. And they brought that genuine, true, real love out in each other. Something both of them probably thought was never possible. Something both of them probably thought was just a myth. Just turning themselves inside out and sharing that with each other. Trusting the other to take care of it and hold and keep it safe. All in the middle of a deadly war. It’s beautiful and it’s painful and it’s why I love them.

things done in fanfic that annoy me:

Nothing really specific comes to mind. Generally if there’s something I don’t like in a fanfic I’ll stop reading and move on. There is, of course, the Fanon Klaus Problem that makes its way into klave fics, so I suppose that annoys me. Or stories where Dave is one-dimensional and seems to exist just to comfort and take care of Klaus. But really, I don’t wanna hate on anyone who writes fanfic in a particular way. You do you. If it appeals to me I’ll read it and if it doesn’t I’ll just pass it by. No big deal.

things i look for in fanfic:

It absolutely depends on the day and what I’m in the mood for in that particular moment. I’m a sucker for angst so I absolutely do not mind reading something terribly sad and tragic. I like hurt/comfort with an emphasis on the hurt. I’m a fan of the GhostDave Watches Over Klaus Through the Years genre. I like stories that explore their time together in Vietnam. I’m into AU’s that include AliveDave traveling back to 2019 with Klaus and they hang out in Klaus’ room in the academy and Dave meets the siblings and Diego gives him a shovel talk. Sometimes I just want that sweet, sweet smut. Mostly I look for something that is both lovely and sad, which is not hard to find because that is, essentially, their relationship. There’s lots of good stuff out there. All y’all writers are talented. I salute you.

my kinks:

Alright, I’m just gonna preface this by saying that I will try my best to be unapologetically open about this, but at my core I am both shy and repressed. My easy and safe answer to this is that my kink for klave is love, happiness, and tender intimacy. That’s what I really want for them. But also. But also! Let them be smutty! Let them find places to sneak away and fuck, Dave’s hand over Klaus’ mouth to stop him from making noise that will alert the other soldiers to their activities. Or maybe they’re sitting under a tarp in the pouring rain and Klaus sees how far he can take it, and Dave doesn’t back down, and it ends up with Klaus blowing Dave while some other guys are sitting just feet away, oblivious to what’s going on between Katz and Hargreeves just over there. And then there’s that time they get to take leave together, and they’re able to get a hotel room, just to themselves, with real walls and a door that locks and a bed and everything. And the digs aren’t great but it feels like a palace compared to what they’re used to, and they absolutely do not waste this opportunity. Dave fucks Klaus into the mattress, and Klaus gets to learn what it’s like to have someone take control because you actually want them to and you feel safe with them, and Dave gets to learn what it’s like to have someone trust you implicitly and be willing to be vulnerable with you. And it’s not perfect, of course, sometimes their histories and understandings of sex and intimacy bump heads, but they love each other, they really do, and they work through it. And they both cry during sex at some point. For Dave it’s the first time he’s done so, for Klaus it’s not (but this is nothing like those other times this is because he wants to be here this is because he’s overwhelmed with love this is a release this is being seen this is being cared for).

who i’d be comfortable with them ending up with if not each other:

Let me be real and say that I really, really, really want them to end up with each other, and I think that this is where the show is headed. But, if that is not the case, as long as they are happy I will be happy. Perhaps that is cliche, but oh well. Just let them experience love and support, whether that’s with each other, someone else, or just on their own.

my happily ever after for them:

I don’t know how and I don’t know when (like seriously, when in the timeline is a big question), but I want them to find a way to be together. Maybe it involves some time-traveling, maybe it involves some timeline-hopping, maybe it involves some Commission interference, maybe one or both of them will be dead, maybe (most likely) it involves something that has not even crossed my mind as a possibility. But, like I said, I think that somehow there WILL be a (perhaps nontraditional) happily ever after for them. It might take some time to get there and I don’t think it’s gonna be a smooth road, but I do think that’s the ultimate destination. And I’m looking forward to the whole process.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

Good question! My first instinct was Klaus as little spoon. Because he is Klaus but also because of the Bar Kiss scene where Dave tenderly cradles his face and those Very Important blurry behind the scenes instagram photos of Klaus resting his head on Dave. But I also think it would be really nice for Dave to be the little spoon? Because Klaus gets to hold him and act as a Protector and maybe he can feel Dave’s heartbeat beneath his (hello) hand and he gets to wrap around him and hold on tight and he can let go when he wants to but he doesn’t want to, he wants to stay right here as long as Dave will have him. And Dave will have Klaus wrapped around him, holding on, as long as Klaus wants to stay. Dave gets to be held and cocooned in the arms of this beautiful person he loves. Dave doesn’t have to be strong right now, he doesn’t have to put on the face of the Good Soldier. All he has to do is fall into the space between them.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

I’m gonna say that they had a lot of time to sit together and talk while they were in Vietnam. Sure, they had their duties and sometimes they were in the shit but there was also a lot of down time, just sitting around and waiting for something to happen. And so they’d sit and they’d smoke and they would talk. About their interests, about where they come from, and eventually about the life they would build together after they got out of there. But here’s a specific image that I have: they’re sitting close together, maybe it’s dark, there’s no one nearby. Cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mingles with the fine mist. The conversation has turned to music, somehow. Conversations have a tendency to meander when Klaus is involved, and Dave follows him step for step, never tripping, never questioning how they got there. And Klaus asks Dave about his favorite song, and Dave hesitantly mentions “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence,” like he’s embarrassed, but he’s loved it for years and he wants to be honest with Klaus. And Klaus hums and says he doesn’t know it, hasn’t heard of it, and he leans against Dave, lays his head against his chest. And Dave says, that’s ok, it doesn’t matter, it’s just a stupid old song anway. But Klaus says, no, you should sing it for me, I want to hear it, I want to know it. And Dave scoffs and laughs, but Klaus looks up at him, and then Dave looks away, and his mouth lifts into a smile, something small and fragile. He turns back to Klaus, looks him the eye, and softly, so softly, starts singing, “When Liberty Valence rode to town, the womenfolk would hide…” And Klaus drops his head and shifts closer to Dave and hears the words slip from Dave’s mouth and feels the words vibrate in Dave’s chest. He closes his eyes. There’s a war going on. It’s 1968 and he’s in Vietnam and his clothes are damp but he’s right where he wants to be. The song is not romantic, but it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He never forgets the words.

[cicici03]

Conform or Change- Chapter 1

cwrSo hey everyone! I know finally a girl is posting! I have been writing so many chapters so I can just post and go due to college!

With that, I will like to introduce you to a new story called “ Conform or Change”. This is an introduction to the family and the dynamics before we really get into the story.

This story will be post every SUNDAY!!!

Character List/ Face Claim:

Majorie/ Shy Munteanu

Florian Munteanu

Alexundru Munteanu

Marilyn Washington

Elena Munteanu

Earl Washington

Anna-Marie

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

Have you ever heard of the Swinging Sixties? From it swinging around with the ideas that cause major shifts in the 60’s. From the Civil Rights Movement, to the Vietnam War, and to the Feminist Movement. These things change the U.S even though in the future these are still things that need to be fix. However, we going to investigate a story about a black woman, which learn the ways of being a housewife and is stuck in whether to swing or stay.

June 5,1965

Newark, New Jersey

Adeste fideles læti triumphantes,

Venite, venite in Bethlehem.

Natum videte

Regem angelorum:

Venite adoremus 

Dominum.

As the congregation of the Catholic church sung with the choir. There was one pew that was in the middle that everybody knew.

Standing up while singing along, was Florian Munteanu. The man that had power in New York and New Jersey without even holding onto a political seat. As his father was the head of Munteanu’s, a famous mafia in the 20’s to now, people knew not to mess with them.

Florian’s father, Alexandru Munteanu, moved to the U.S for a better life with his wife, Ioana. With that, Alexandru was not only struggling to try and make a good life in the U.S, but he had to do something to get his wife out the slums. 

So, one day, he went to a speakeasy, to get a drink, and with that he realized that he could do it too.

Alexandru started the mafia, Munteanu, to help not only himself, but the people that was in the slums with him. From Italians, to African Americans, the Irish, and many more. He realizes that it will be better to have minorities together than apart.

As the years go on, Alexandru’s mafia started to grow larger and larger. Before you knew it, he oversaw the town. Calling the shots from the Mayors, to Police chiefs, and to Wall Street. As the Great Depression hit, Alexandru help the people that help him.

With that, he moved with many of his mafia to Newark, New Jersey. As he did that, he helps the mayor and aid the homeless from the fallout of the Great Depression.  Then Alexandru got the biggest surprise of his life.

His wife gave birth to that surprise on December 4, 1937,  Florian Munteanu. Alexundru was the happiest he could be and was glad to have his first child.

As life went on, things got better for the Munteanu family. They finally got out of the apartment in Newark and move to a house. Florian was especially excited due to the new scenery and new space. However, things change after Pearl Harbor.

When the Japan bombed the Pearl Harbor, many of Alexundru’s mafia members went out to fight the war: Alexundru did the same. He was gone for year and half, until he got shot in the trenches and was paralyzed from the waist down.

Even though, Alexundru was still the same person. Always happy go lucky and giving to people.

He changed.

 He did not see himself as a man no more due to his disability and it hurt his pride. However, he never let that stop from shining lights on others.

Nobody in the Munteanu Mafia or any other mafia wanted to take over due to Alexandru kind attitude and did not want to create enemies due to them wanting to have control.

As the years went on, Florian grew up and the Munteanu family was living on top of life. With Florian entering his senior year of high school. To the Ioana and Alexundru love growing even more. Everything was perfect.

 Until Ioana died unexpectedly.

Both, Florian and Alexundru, took it hard. However, Alexundru took it the hardest. After the only person that he loved died.

Alexundru died too.

Alexundru just stop talking after Iona death.

He has been muted for 10 years. He makes little gestures and noises whenever he needs something, but most of the time he is mute.

With that, Florian did not know what to do. As things was already worst, Alexundru brother, his closest ally and his only sibling, died and it left him taking care of his niece: Elena.

With life taking a toll on the Munteanu family, it was also taking a toll on the mafia. With that, Munteanu Mafia was in chaos.

As Florian saw his mom died weeks earlier to now his uncle dying: he did not know what to do. Florian knew he had to take care of his dad and of his legacy. Florian made sure of that by dropping out of high school and becoming the leader of the Munteanu Mafia.

As the song ended, Florian shut the hymn book and look to his dad. Alexundru just was looking out to space. Florian went and got the hymn book out of his dad’s lap to close it up for him. As the priest started to pray, a little voice shouted.

“ Mommy, I got to use the restroom!” Andrada yelped in the quiet church. Much of the congregation turn their head to the pew that yelped that out.

Florian look at Andrada, one of his four kids, and saw that he was starting to pull down his pants.

Shy got him before they drop down to the floor.

“Shy!” Florian quietly said with much sternness behind it. Shy, or Majorie, looked at her husband. She saw the embarrassment as he looked around to see if anybody was noticing. As Shy turn around to take Andrada to the restroom, Elena spoked up.

“ I will take him.” Elena said with kindness seeing the tense exchange between the couple. Shy tried to tell Elena it was okay, but Elena gave her look. Andrada walked over to Elena at the other end of the pew. With that, Elena and him went to the restroom.

As the priest started the sermon, Florian threw his hand behind the pew to sit closer to Shy to talked to her.

“ Now Shy, you need to teach our kids some manners. We are the family that this town looked up too and our kids are shouting out! What you think going to happen to the mafia if they see that our own kids do not have no manners! Shy…” Florian said with much anger and passion. However, Shy started to space out like she always did when mainly Florian was the only one arguing.

Majorie “Shy” Washington was born to Earl and Anna Washington in North Carliona on September 12, 1939. As she turned three, her sister Marilyn was born. Even though it was a joyous occasion, Anna died during childbirth with Marilyn.

With that, it just left Earl, Majorie, and Marilyn. As life went on, Majorie and Marilyn was Earl babies. No matter what mischief they done at the house, he always let them go off with a warning. Until one day, they went to prank one of the white women in town. As kids they really didn’t understand the concept of racism, but they knew some of the things. When they did prank this woman, she didn’t see it as kids pranking her, but as negros trying to “kill” her.

This led to a mob of white men coming to the area where all the black folks live at. They set a burning cross in the yard of Earl’s house.

That morning, Earl and many others looked at the cross in the yard. That day, he gave the girls the worst whooping of their life.

He didn’t whoop them because of what they did. He whooped them to teach them to not mess with the white people.

As he said as he was whooping the girls, “ I am not doing this because I am angry, but I am doing this because I love you.”

With that, the girls knew that something about messing with white people is never good.  After the incident, Earl decided it was time for the girls and him to move. They packed up their shed in North Carolina and moved to Harlem, New York.

When they got there, the girls were memorized by the streets and colors of the Big Apple. When finally getting to Harlem, they saw so many black folks move around so freely. Though the Great Depression was happening, FDR New Deal started to rebuild the nation.

As years went on, the girls settling into New York life.

Their father hit big.

As Earl was working for a big-time investor as a janitor, they started to develop a friendship. Earl showed him what could hit big for black folks. From different clubs, products, and much more. In 1954, the investor died due to old age and he didn’t have no wife or kids to leave his fortune.

So, he left it to Earl and the girls. Earl was happier that his daughters could go off to school, travel the world, and not have to struggle.

Earl decided to buy a whole building in Harlem and move his whole family from North Carolina and his sister’s family into the building. With this, Earl knew that the girls could keep this building in the family and make sure that they still have fortune.

Even though, Earl got a fortune and could easily pay someone to clean the large apartment. Majorie, whom is 15, was the care keeper after her sister and of the building. Majorie didn’t have the pleasure of having a kid life due to her mother not being there and her having to replace that spot for her sister.

Majorie made sure that she got rent from family, to keeping the building clean, and to making sure that her sister did good in school. Earl did not want Majorie to do all of that. He wanted her to enjoy life, but Majorie did it because she knew she had too.

Out of the blue, the phone rang. Earl answer and realize that it was from one of his good friend’s son from WWII. His mother died and he was on the list to come to pay his respects. So, the girls and him rode to Newark, New Jersy and went to the funeral.

As they paid their respects, Earl was trying to break through to his friend Alexundru. As he was doing that, Marilyn and Majorie was outside waiting. Marilyn started to talk and play with some of the neighborhood girls, while Majorie stood and looked around.

As Majorie looked up to see who was coming out of the church doors. She saw a group of boys and one stood out to her. He was the leader obviously due to him being in the front and the guys surrounding. His face looked like it was chiseled by Michael Angelo himself. From his hair being low cut, which was unusual due to every man wanting to have the slick back hair.

As Majorie was looking at him, one of the boys saw her. He nudged Florian and point towards Majorie. Florian looked at the girl and was in awe.

From looking at her press out hair that met her shoulders. To her black dress reaching her knees that squeeze every single curve on her body.

Florian realized that something started to feel weird downstairs. Even though he had many of girls, he never had felt like that about a girl straight away. Florian broke through the guys and walked over to Majorie.

Majorie snapped out of it when she realized he was in front of her. She quickly looked down than rather meet them piercing eyes.

“ My name is Florian. What’s yours?” Florian asked her while looking at her. Majorie kept her head down and stay like that. Florian didn’t know what to do and he was kinda shock.

“ So I guess I call you Shy.” Florian laughed out when finishing up.

Earl came out the church seeing Florian and Majorie. Earl made it known that he was there by coughing. Majorie looked up quickly and ran over to her dad while being thankful he came out when he did.

“Well Florian, your dad is a tough cookie. I tried to get him to talk, but he still not talking.” Earl walked over to Florian while giving his hand a shake. Florian shooked his head and understanding Earl, who kept talking, but Florian was looking at Majorie behind him.

Earl notice the young boy eyes on his daughter. Earl was happy that Majorie got attention from a boy because she is always to herself and have not experience the regular teenage life.

“ Florian, bring my baby girl back home by 7:00.” Earl said with his deep baritone voice while walking away from the two. Majorie was in shocked and ran after her dad.

“ Daddy, I don’t even know him! Plus I got to clean the house, finish cooking for tomorrow, and help Marilyn with her homework.” Majorie squeaky, high pitched voice capture her dad attention. With Earl getting to the car, and Marilyn running back over, he turn around to his daughter.

“ Baby, you need to experience life. I love that you step in place for your mother, but you are a teenager! Florian is a nice young man and he can keep you safe.” Earl stated to his daughter. Earl got in the car and Marilyn got in the back.

Majorie watch as they left her.

She turn around with Florian right behind her.

With that, Florian and Majorie went one the local cafes in Newark. As they was walking around, it seem like everybody knew who Florian was. As they went to the diner and ate. Majorie didn’t say one thing at all.

As he was taking her home, Majorie still didn’t say nothing. When he stop in front of her building, he walked her up the stoop.

“Well I had a fun time. Even though I did most of the talking.” Florian chuckled with his gruff voice. Florian looked at Majorie and saw that she kept her head down. Florian lift her head to look at him.

With that, Florian went in for a kiss, which Majorie did not stop.

“ Umm, Majorie I know you are not being a fast tell out here! Plus your father should be down here any second!” Aunt Shirley smiled while yelling out the third-floor window, looking down at her niece. Majorie quickly step back, with Florian laughing at the woman above.

Then, the door of the building quickly open to Earl and Marilyn. Earl smiled at his daughter and step out to wave his sister back in.

Majorie quickly ran inside to the top floor of the building.

“ Well, I guess that means either Majorie is embarrassed or you done something to her son.” Earl said while looking at Florian.

“ No sir, I have not! I really want to court Shy!” Florian blurted out the last part. Marilyn laughed at the boy standing in front of her.

“ Shy, that is a good nickname! She probably will never say anything to you!” Marilyn said with a sassy tone. Earl gave a look at Marilyn, which means it is time for her to go. Earl looked at Florian, whom was a mess due to him blurting out that he wants to court Majorie.

“ Well, just called the house phone everyday at 9:00 in the morning. You can speak Majorie then due to her being the only one at home. With that, son, if you ever hurt my daughter. I don’t mine breaking your face in even if you are white.” Earl finished with the threat.

Earl shut the door leaving Florian for his own thoughts.

One thing, Earl and Florian, didn’t know was that Marjorie was looking out the window at the conversation. She smile at the fact that Florian wanted to court her. She went back inside waiting for the next morning at 9:00 for that call.

That day, Florian didn’t just lose his mother, but he got his girl.

“ Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” Florian Jr yelped to his mother. Shy snapped out of her thoughts. She realized that everybody was starting to leave church. Shy looks to her left to see Florian getting his father to go outside in the summer heat.

Shy got up and picked up Benjamin, 2, who was sleep, and picked up her purse. Anastasia and Florian Jr, 8, held hands with Andrada, 4, to make sure they stick together.

“Do you need any help Shy?” Elena asked with her nasal voice. Before Shy could even answered, Florian answered.

“ Shy got it.” Florian toneless voice said while starting to push his father out of the church. Shy knew that Florian was upset with her, and she knew that this was going to be an all day thing.

“ Okay kids, lets go.” Shy quietly said to the kids. They walked behind Florian and his father, with Elena right behind them. 

Elena looked at Shy and just felt bad for her. It seems like after Benajamin was born, Florian and Shy’s relationship is just not the same.

As they walked out the church doors, Elena heard many things being said about the couple.

“ Florian only married her because he got her pregnant out of wed locked.”

“ He always disrespect her whenever that girl comes around.”

“ I just don’t understand why people want to now marry outside their race.”

Elena knew if she could hear them, Shy could too.

As they got to the bottom of the steps, she saw the red Ford Mustang.

Everybody knew exactly who that was. The Ford Mustang park on the other side of the rode. With that, a tall woman got out of the car. She started to walked over with her high heels and went straight up to Florian.

Shy saw as she walked with confidence and style over to her husband. Shy wished she did have the confidence she had.

Shy walked closer to the two of them to see what is about to happen.

“ Florian, I really need you to come help me with something.” Anna- Marie said with much sweetness behind her voice. Anna-Marie you could describe as the It girl of the decade. Anna Marie knew that she was beautiful and she use it for her benefits.

Florian felt eyes on him and saw his wife looking at the two of them. Anna-Marie smiled turn straight into a frown when seeing Shy. Anna-Marie wanted Florian since childhood. The only person that ruin it was Shy.

“Oh, Shy, I didn’t see you there! Kinda look like the maid with the kids.” Anna-Marie said loud enough to capture other people attention.

“ Now, you little rat, don’t be coming around here being an attention whore. The last time I remember you was a night walker!” Elena said even louder.

Anna-Marie laughed at Elena.

“ Well honey, I still hear that nasally voice. Still haven’t got it fix after your husband punch you.” Anna-Marie said with much fake sadness in her voice.

Anna-Marie turn back to Florian and said, “ Well, I see that you are busy. Come by tonight.” With that, Anna-Marie touched Florian arm and went back to her car.

Florian looked at the woman, and lust after her. Even though, she tried many of times with her forward advances. Florian would never take the forward advances with her because he loves his wife. However, Florian was lusting after the woman in front of him.

Shy looked at Florian as he looked at her. She saw that he was looking at her with the same eyes he  use to looked at her with. 

“Mommy, why are you crying?” Anastasia said with her quietly, squeak voice. With that, Elena and Florian looked at her. Shy shook her head and started to push the children to walk down the sidewalk to the house.

Elena looked at her cousin and shooked her head as she followed Shy and the kids. With that, Florian followed right behind them.

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

Welll then, that was very tense and intresting!

How do you like the characters?

What do you think about relationship between Florian and Majorie “Shy”?

What you think happen to Florian and Majorie to have a tense relationship?

Do you think it is just a marriage “hump”? Or is it something else?

Please Comment, Like, Reblog!!

Taglist:

@19jammmy​ @designerwriterchic​ @queen-zelieonna​ @amethyst09​ @champagnesugamama​ @cocobutterqwueen​ @twistedcharismaaa​ @munteanhore​ @natashacoco

[smokeybrandreviews]

Tomorrow Should Have Died

So i was planning on reviewing The Tomorrow War because it’s a new film and i like new films i can watch without having to brave the plague. I saw a preview for this thing a while back and had real low expectations for it, figured it’d be dumb fun like Independence Day. Imagine my abject horror when it turned out to be so much worse. Okay, first things first, the good stuff. Chris Pratt is good and so is J.K. Simmons. Betty Gilpin and Yvonne Strahovski work miracles with what little they have. The sound design is exceptional, probably the best thing about this sh*t flick, and the actual effects are on point. The problem with the movie is the script. It’s f*cking terrible. Oh my god, so much dumb! Here’s a list of sh*t that made me irrationally angry, in order of plot progression.

Eleven minutes in and i hate it. How are you losing a war to anything if you have mastered the ability to traverse space-time? How the f*ck is your technology so advanced, that you have found a way to exceed the light speed limit and literally break physics, but lose to a bunch of rabid, interstellar, komodo dragons? This is the dumbest f*cking contradiction I have seen all year and i am offended that whoever decided to make this film, is asking this of their audience. Sh*t is patently absurd. These f*cking things don't even have written language, man, and you really expect me to believe they have pushed a human race that has harnessed the power of time, to the brink of extinction?

Eleven minutes, bro. Eleven f*cking minutes.

Seriously, you can create a time machine, you should conceivably have the ability to harness gravity or one of the other fundamental interactions. Why the f*ck haven't you designed a miniaturized rail gun that uses modern tech or materials to build? You have worked out the science in the future, go back to the past and build miniature or handheld doomsday devices for use in the field. Why isn’t everyone running around with f*cking Megatron fusion cannons on their arms? Why the f*ck am i fighting aliens with ARs and Glocks?? The fact that there is an active time machine built from tech on hand from thirty years into the future, means cats could have spent their time building actual weapons to kill these f*cking things instead of betting the literal human race on a time displaced draft. This movie is dumb as rocks.

The way they describe how their time travel works is dumb. I mean, it isn’t, but i can guarantee this sh*t is going to be a problem later. I can feel it in my bones. They are definitely going to contradict this sh*t because multiverse theory is the only way to make movie time travel work and they are trying their damnedest to not do that.

This f*cking thing is over two hours long and the first drags. I hate when cats attempt to develop characters and they just fail at it. I'm sitting here trying to figure out why I should care about any of these people and i still don't have an answer after half the goddamn movie is over. Like, why should i care about Chris Pratt? He’s the main character and the writing has done nothing to endear him to the audience in a whole ass hour.

Also, the reason he’s so mad at his dad is stupid. Dude did right by his kid by bailing because he would have been a terrible father. Pratt’s character would have known that as a father himself. He didn’t have to like it and, of course there’s animosity there, but you’re an adult. Your dad knew he was lousy. He did you a favor by walking out. It wasn’t like he didn’t help support you or make sure you went without. As far as i can tell, dude was there in every way by physically. Because he couldn’t. Because he was f*cking shell-shocked from fighting in Vietnam. Where they raped innocent women and set babies on fire. Holy sh*t, this cat is an unlikable protagonist after this one scene. Which brings me to my next thing...

Pratt f*cking abandons his family?? Word? After that entire scene with his dad and the very obvious trauma he has suffered, he turns around and abandons his own kid because he lost his job?? Word? Like, for real? You expect me to believe that the Chris Pratt who cussed out his pops, was willing to go on the run from his future conscription, abandoned his own family because he lost a teaching job?? What the f*ck, movie? Do you want me to like this asshole or not? More than that, how the f*ck you mess up your character so bad in what i imagine is just five pages of actual script? Nothing we know about this character would ever even hint at him doing this to his family, to his daughter, so why the f*ck would he? Why the f*ck would you, as a write, believe we, as the audience, would just accept that sh*t as a forgone conclusion?

You got ropes on a Queen and you don't kill it? How the f*ck you make it that deep into the hive to even do-si-do the b*tch to the surface? We just watched these things tear through Miami to the point that they needed a whole ass bombardment just to survive and you not only go into their hive, their home, with no heavy ammo, but you somehow lasso a queen and drag her to the surface. Alive. If you can do all of that why not just drop a nuke down there and blow them the f*ck up? Why do you need a live Queen for your science? Shoot the b*tch, take the juice of her corpse, and end this sh*t! Why is all of this stupid recklessness necessary??

Okay. Okay... F*ck everything i just said, right? Why the f*k did you bring this Queen b*tch back to your base? You don’t have a different offsite lab to do this sh*t? You gotta bring her to your stronghold? Isn’t this a military operation? Why aren't their security protocols and sh*t in place to stop this stupidity? You don’t bring the enemy home. You take them to black sites for sh*t like this, not to the goddamn Pentagon!

All of a sudden, the aliens understand science? We spent this entire movie establishing that they are mindless beasts with teeth, eating the human race into extinction but now, because the plot demands it, the Queen one understands what the people are doing? That the green sh*t they made is plague that can murder them all? How the f*ck she even know what science is? They don’t even have language, dude! How the hell she know they made a death plague for her people?! F*ck it, whatever, bro. Next you're going to tell me she let them capture her just to get inside the lab or some sh*t because these rabid f*cking animals, who have demonstrated no military command abilities or even the barest of higher cognitive functions, are tactical geniuses.

Okay, so the Queen b*tch is a tactical genius. So, in the initial future drop, the team was murdered by a bunch of these things because they were sent to a lab where they were trying to make the death plague. Now, hat i am about to say is all assumption on my part because none of this, and i men NONE of it, is ever confirmed by the movie. So, they get to the lab and everyone is dead but the green per-plague is still there. That mean they had a Queen there. It’s established after this that Queens can call for backup and the Males will lemming their way to her. I deduce that’s how this lab got overrun; Queen got loose, called for her boys, and they ate everyone. That happened. That was the first thing we see in the future. This b*tch does the same f*cking thing on the home base lab so now the males are overrunning The Pentagon. You motherf*ckers knew this was a thing because it literally already happens. Why the f*ck would you do it again? AND it gets worse... Home base, The Pentagon, is the f*cking rig where they house the goddamn time machine! You brought a hostile enemy leader, still alive and coherent, to the heart of your resistance operation, to the core of your time travel operation, knowing that at any time this b*tch can scream and have your whole ass base overrun with teeth and poison darts? Look, if the future is this stupid, they deserve to die, okay?

At least they commit to multiverse theory, even if it contradicts the entirety of their already established time travel rules.

Okay. Okay... So they create this toxin to kill all the monster things and send it back in time to be mass produced  Put that sh*t in bullets and send it back to the future or whatever. But, because of the aforementioned stupid, that plan is bunk. Time machine go kablooey. And now we are at the "all is lost" moment at the end of the second act." Solution to the problem in hand, no way to save the future because the only way back to the future was a casualty of idiocy. Right. So... just wait. F*cking just wait. You know when these assholes show up, you know how to kill them all, you even have a plague ready to be mass produced right now. You have thirty f*cking years to refine that formula, to make it cheaper to mass produced and develop variants just in case immunities start to crop up or something. There are people from the future, stuck in the past, because of the egregious future error. They have all of that intel and they are just alive. The second this dude got back to the past with that antidote, the future was saved. The war is over. Like, even if you don’t know where the ship is, you have a sure thing that will murder these white f*cks and three decades to produce, weaponize, and store that sh*t. The war is won. The Prime timeline is absolutely safe at this point. Because that's how time travel works. You have the nuclear option, right now, to averting the end of the human race, ready to be mass produced. Yo have the knowledge from the future on where these things will first appear. You still have all the future tech brought over from the beta timeline ripe for reverse engineering in order to improve the weapons of the present. There is no scenarios where we lose this war, the second Chris Pratt plops back into the present with that plague. None.

Why is everyone so dejected?? Why are there f*cking riots all over the world?? None of this makes sense. How can you assume the world ends and the war is lost just because the communication with that version of the past is cut? Wouldn’t you expect that sh*t? You just altered the entire timeline by sending Pratt back with the antidote. That future is effectively gone. How can you communicate with a place in space-time that doesn’t exist anymore? Hell, even if it’s because the time machine broke and everyone over there is dead, you have the f*cking antidote now! Multiverse theory, bud. The fact that those time displaced assholes didn’t disappear, means multiverse theory is real and you have the opportunity to Future Trunks this sh*t so why panic? Why are there no leaders n television assuring their people that this is a thing? Why are there no scientists publishing papers about how sh*t is going to be fine? Bro, I'm just so tired...

How these cats just fly into Russia on a big ass cargo plane and not get shot down? This is 2022. Putin still hates us. This sh*t would cause a World War.

So you find this ship and you don’t tell anyone where it is? You decide to just kill them all yourself? Motherf*cker, what happens if you die? Did you back up the enzyme formula somewhere or did you bring all of it with you on this stupid f*cking mission? Did you leave notes or even text your location to anyone in authority, just in case haphazard attempt goes sideways so someone else can make a more organized attempt? Or just drop a nuke on the site from orbit? If one asshole denied you funding for your mission, why didn’t you ask someone else? Why didn’t you ask f*cking Putin? Because governments are bloated down with bureaucracy? My dude, people from the future came back and interrupted the world cup to tell you that aliens are going to exterminate the human race in three decades. If you tell anyone in a position of power that you know where these little sh*ts are, they’re going to listen. Especially since everyone decided to riot because the future changed/we lost the time war/ the timeline imploded.

Why would a terrestrial saw work on an intergalactic star ship? That doesn't make any sense. This f*cking thing survived a crash landing into earth intact and a goddamn circular saw cuts it open? Fine, whatever. On to the next stupid thing.

Bro. Bro, they just blow the f*cking thing up. Motherf*cker spent the entire movie, time jumping form the past to to the future and back to the past, just to get this plague to kill them all, and a bunch of C4 just blows them all up while they sleep. Why the f*ck was everything even f*cking necessary? At this point, when the dude comes back with that claw the first time, the future is saved. Analysis on that one claw gave up the location of the hidden spaceship where these things had been in stasis for millennia. Which was blown up with C4. No plague needed. No goddamn time draft needed. No casualties needed after that first wave. The second that dude brought back that claw, it should have been  under a forensic microscope so actual f*cking scientists could figure out what a high school kid id in a matter of minutes. I hate this movie so goddamn much.

I hated this goddamn movie so much. It’s f*cking boring and the dumbest thing I've seen all year and i watched Army of the Dead. It’s pretty and the performances are decent, but there is absolutely no substance to any of this sh*t. It wants to be Independence Day and Edge of Tomorrow and The Great Wall. all in one, while infusing time travel family drama but it’s so f*cking confused trying to juggle all of that, it drops the ball on the most important part; The script. This thing must read like a fever dream induced by peyote because, in execution, it’s a wet fart. This f*cking thing is all over the place with no regard for any insular universe logic. It contradicts itself from one scene to the next and it’s goddamn offensive. I’m sure there is someone saying that i am overthinking this sh*t and that it’s just supposed to be dumb popcorn fun. I get that. However, i can’t just turn my f*cking brain off and mindlessly drool over sh*t that insults my intelligence the way this movie does. It’s dumb as f*cking rocks, man, and i want those two hours of my life back!

[rae-is-typing]

Feeling Faint

Anonymous requested: Hi! I was wondering if you could do a fem!teen!reader x Clint ( platonic) where the reader lives in the Avengers tower and is sick and no one knows what to do and they start freaking out so Clint ends up taking care of her? I love your writing! 💖

Characters: You, Clint Barton, Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, The Vision, FRIDAY

Warnings: Fainting, sickness, the Vietnam War is mentioned, language, Peter panics, homework

Disclaimer: I’ve never fainted before, so I consulted the interwebs for my information. If you see any mistakes, please let me know :)

Word count: 1.9k

Warm spring rays bathe the communal floor in warmth, negating all need for artificial light in the afternoon. The sounds of video games and banter were distant, easily blending in with the sound of Vision and Wanda cooking in the kitchen.

It was a Friday in May, thank god. Fridays meant the weekend and May meant the school year was coming to a close. However, the school year coming to a close meant finals. And finals meant studying, so much studying.

Tony had a rule for you and Peter: homework before heroism. As the only two students in the Tower, you two had to stick together. You found yourself covering for each other if one of you had snuck out for hero purposes, helping each other out with school or even delivering snacks and gum during classes

It wasn't odd to see the two of you sitting at the designated " homework table', a small round table on the communal floor near the TV and surrounding furniture and near the kitchen and dining area. There were four chairs surrounding it so someone well-versed in the subject you two were working on could come and help the two of you out and make the living hell that is High School a little easier.

Today the two of you were on your own. You had caught up on all your homework the night before. You were also dead tired because of the all-nighter you pulled to get it done. Feeling like shit after an all-nighter was normal for you, but this time it was different. You head was splitting, your nose was running faster than Quicksilver and your entire body was sore. You couldn’t eat anything either, you felt like dying after taking a small sip of coffee earlier that day.

But Peter needed your help learning about the Vietnam War, and you'd be damned if you didn't help him out because you were a little sick. Even if you felt like you couldn’t help Peter out, you weren’t going to say you were sick. Avengers are good at saving the world, not taking care of a sick teenager.

The team didn’t like to leave you and Peter alone together. The last time they left you alone on the communal floor together, all the food was eaten, the kitchen was a disaster after a failed baking experiment, and a ten hour loop of Wii music was left on while you two recreated your favorite vines. Needless to say, some trust was lost.

Clint, Sam and Tony were gathered in front of the TV playing some sort of strategy shooting game. Vision and Wanda were cooking dinner. Peter sat in front of you, reading over his text book over and over again.

"So, the Tonkin Resolution let LBJ have full control over the military?"

"Yeah," You say, leaning heavily into the palm of your hand.

"Why?"

"Because communism."

"That's really it?"

"Pretty much. America wanted the war to escalate to stop the spread of communism," Your voice was flat, and speaking was starting to hurt your throat. You take a long drink from the water bottle next to you and dab at your nose with a tissue.

Peter nods, jotting that down on the paper next to his open text book. You close your eyes, rubbing them. A dull ache had grown in the back of your head throughout the day and the ache went to a roar. You scowled to yourself. It was getting painful to keep your eyes open.

"You alright, Y/N?" Peter asked, looking at you with soft brown eyes. His face was etched with concern and worry.

You offer a small smile, hoping that would calm his nerves a little. Peter was a naturally anxious guy already, and you didn't want to set off his 'Spidey Senses' as Tony likes to call them. "I'm fine, man. Do you have any other questions?"

"Are you sure you're okay? You really don't look great."

You blinked. "I meant questions about the Vietnam War."

"You really don't look good." Peter frowned, his eyes gleamed with concern as they bore into yours.

You picked your head up off your hand and nudged his arm. "I'm a-okay Pete. Do you want me to help you study for your history exam too?" You ask, swallowing a yawn.

"Maybe you should lie down for a bit?" He says meekly. "I'm worried, Y/N. Something feels off," His eyes dart around the room and knees are bouncing rapidly under the table.

"It'll be okay, Pete. So what can you tell me about World War Two?"

Your questions do little to calm Peter's senses, but he begins to ramble about World War Two. Without warning, you feel like the world is spinning around you. You were sure that if you were standing up that you would've fallen. Your head drops to the arm you had resting on the table. Your attempts to breath through the dizzy spell were futile and you barely register the hand that rests on your shoulder before everything fades away.

_____________________________

Clint bit down on his lip, moving his fingers carefully on the controller. One last kill and he would win. He aimed his gun at Tony's character and pulled his fake trigger. Boom! Right between the eyes! Clint let out a loud whoop, celebrating his victory. Tony's shoulders slump over in disbelief. Sam laughs and slaps Clint on the shoulder. 

"How the hell did you win that?" Tony demands. "I had that in the bag." Clint was about to answer, but he was cut off by a very panicked voice. 

"M-Mr. Stark?" Tony set his controller on the coffee table in front of the three of them. Clint turned to see a very shaky, very concerned Peter. His eyes were a little wet as he wrung his hands.

"What's wrong, kid?" 

"Y/N needs help, something's wrong with her. She passed out." Sam’s head shot up.

“What?” Tony hissed, worry growing in his eyes

"I do- I don't know, sir, she was asking me a question then she just slumped over like that." Peter sounded close to tears.  

Springing up from the table, Tony ran to the homework table. You were slumped over on the table, your head resting on an arm with your other arm hanging limply at your side. Wada had two fingers pressed to your neck, red smoke hanging in the air. 

"Peter, what the hell happened?" Tony demanded. 

“We- we were working on homework and she just fell over.”

"Did she say anything about feeling sick?" Clint cut in, voice calm. He had seen abundantly worse. They all had. But this was you, one of their youngest members, their child. 

Peter shook his head, looking at your limp body then at Tony. "Is she going to be okay?" 

Clint could easily see that Peter was beginning to panic. His hands were shaking and he was close to tears. Tony put an arm around him and led him out of the room. Sam was now leaning over you as well, checking for any visible injuries. Vision was saying something about fainting spells. 

"Back up, guys. Give her some space." Clint says, pushing his way to the table. Your skin lacked its normal color it was cold and clammy when he brushed some hair back from your face. 

"If she's not injured, move her to the couch," Clint says. Wanda steps back, as does Clint. Sam out an arm around your shoulders and them shimmied his other arm under your legs. He picked you up easily and moved to lay you flat on the long sofa. 

"FRIDAY? Is she okay?" Clint asked.

"Her blood sugar is low and she has a cold." 

"That explains the fainting." Clint says. "Can someone grab some hard candy and a glass of fruit juice?"

Wanda swiftly went into the kitchen, emerging in a minute later holding a few hard caramels in her one hand a glass of apple juice in the other. She passes them to Clint, and he sets them on the end table by your feet. 

“FRIDAY, is Banner free?”

“Dr. Banner is taking a nap. Should I wake him up?”

“No,” Clint cringed, remembering the last time Bruce was woken up before he was ready. That turned into a code green a little too fast. “We have to wait for her to wake up.”

_____________________________

Your eyes flutter open. Your head pounded, and the ceiling was spinning. When did you lay down? Why were you lying down? What happened? 

“Mornin’ sunshine," Clint says softly from his seat on a chair by the side of the couch. 

"Clint?" You ask, sitting up, rubbing your eyes. "What happened?" 

"You passed out, hon. Don't try to sit up," He says, making his way over to you and gently pushing you back down. 

"What?" 

"Yeah, you scared the shit out of Parker." 

"Is he okay?" You ask worriedly. 

"Yeah, Stark's with him," He grabs something from the table beside him. He turned back to you holding some candy and a glass of what looked like juice.

"Here, drink some of this. Its apple juice," He gives you a glass with gold liquid inside of it. You take your time sitting up, ultimately propping yourself up with the armrest. You sip at the cold juice while Clint continues to speak.

"We’ll have Banner check you when he wakes up from his nap. Something tells me Strange doesn't want to see us for a while."

"How were we supposed to know that Asgardian monsters were going to dye New York pink?" Clint chuckles. 

"I dunno kid, but his cape wasn't too happy about it," He stands up from his spot on the chair. "Hungry?" 

"No, no-" 

"Too bad. Chicken soup with noodles or rice?" 

"Noodles," Your disposition falls flat easily, you were too tired to stand up and not having an obligation felt nice.

"Atta kid. Noodles will always be better than rice.” Clint smiles before moving into the kitchen. You set your now empty glass on the floor and lie down on the couch. You closed your eyes, wishing to escape the beating drum in your head.

You arm was being shaken lightly. “Y/N, wake up, kid. Soups on.”

“Hmm?” You rub your eyes with the back of your hands.

“You fell asleep. The soup is ready. Can you stand without fainting?” Clint was standing above you wearing a purple apron with white bows and arrows on it.

“You’re wearing an apron,” You comment, giggling a little bit. 

“You’re definitely out of it,” He smiles. “C’mon. Sit up slowly,” He put an arm around your shoulders, leading you to sit up slowly. 

“Where’s everyone else?”

“They left. We didn’t want you to get overwhelmed,” Clint answers, helping you stand. He wrapped his arm around your mid-back, guiding you towards the dining area.

He sat you down in front of a bowl of soup while he washed the dishes. You ate the soup slowly, waiting for your stomach to act up. You got through half the bowl before you had to stop eating. 

“How you feelin’, kid?” Clint asked when you pushed the bowl away from you and laid your head on the table. 

“Tired,” You respond. 

“You wanna sleep on the couch here or go to your room?” You shrug your shoulders.

“The table isn’t comfortable, kid. Let’s go to the couch.”

You stand up, letting Clint guide you back to the couch. 

“Get some rest, kid. You need it.”

“Thanks, Clint.” 

The last thing you feel is a blanket being draped over you and a soft kiss on the head.

[monsterlovinghours]

So... I found an interesting tweet and was wondering if you'd write something sexy for it.... "In Vietnam it's a popular belief that if you are single in your 20s there is a ghost following you and hindering your romantic life because it wants to be with you and I just want to tell my personal ghost to quit being a coward and fuck me already." Also I claim the ✨ Emoji, if that's okay?

That’s fine with me, Starburst! holy fucking moly this took me forever to finish and this turned out way longer than i had originally planned but fuck this is such a neat idea and it just kinda snowballed but it’s finally done hurrah!!!!

fem!reader, just bear with me i am soft and full of feelings and i need to self insert

Bitter tears stung her eyes as she unlocked the front door to her empty apartment. Her empty, cold, lonely apartment. Another unsuccessful first date, ruined before any real potential could be reached. Everything seemed to go wrong; first her car wouldn't start, then her Uber was late, the table next to theirs at the restaurant was noisy and obnoxious, and the movie they had wanted to see had been sold out. Her date hadn't offered any suggestions to further the date, just sighed and took her home. He didn't even try to touch her, barely looked at her, and that stung more than she cared to admit, to feel invisible and undesirable. If he was the first, second, or even the fifth, it might not have hurt quite so badly. But the numerous dates she had gone on since entering her twenties had all gone the same way, ending too soon without a single spark of chemistry. Was there something wrong with her? Was she that repulsive?

Sighing, she swallowed her tears for the moment and walked dejectedly to her bedroom, dropping her purse and keys as she went. Down came her hair from the careful twist she had pinned it into, Mediterranean blue waves spilling down her back, her dress shed and her shoes kicked off. Makeup removed and dressed in panties and an oversized shirt, she slipped into bed, curling up with a pillow hugged to her chest. Finally, she let the tears come, sobbing out her hurt, her frustration, her loneliness. She had thought that perhaps this would be the one that went somewhere, that she'd finally break the cycle and maybe, just once, she'd have the chance to feel wanted, to feel seen. To love and be loved, like everyone else. But no; either she was entirely unloveable, or some force out there was deliberately fucking things up for her. In desperation, she angrily muttered through her tears, "Whatever cosmic entity has decided that I'm going to be lonely and hurting forever, could you either fuck off or come fuck me yourself?"

Thud

Something fell from her desk, something relatively heavy, and she sat up with a start and a gasp, her heart hammering. Her journal had fallen to the floor, lying open on a date that was still several months in the future, and the pen that she kept tucked in the pages…was standing upright on the page, scribbling something onto the paper. Her heart rose up into her mouth, fluttering sickeningly. That...was...not normal. Slowly, she slid out of bed, approaching the journal as if it were a live thing, dangerous and fanged and unpredictable. The pen finished whatever it was writing and fell over, and she knelt to read the message it left behind.

i thought you'd never ask babe

She sat back, her eyes darting around the space as if she could catch a glimpse of the mysterious specter that seemed to be listening, watching. Her voice soft, hesitant and tremulous, she asked, "Is someone there?"

Instantly, the pen flew upright again, scratching something out just below its previous message.

been here the whole time sorry about your date. 

"Oh my fucking god," she breathed, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Who...who are you? How long have you been here? Are you the one fucking with my love life?"

whoa one question at a time babes

To calm herself, she took a deep breath. "How long have you been following me?"

5 years 

"Jesus." She let out a breath, unsurprised to feel her hands shake as she ran them back through her hair. "Why?"

its complicated id rather tell you face 2 face

Her brow furrowed, getting to her feet to switch on her light. "Okay. So come out and talk to me. Why are you hiding?” The pen scratched across the paper insistently.

invisible not hiding

“So...make yourself visible?” She crouched by the journal, noticing that the pen was digging into the paper so hard it was nearly tearing it. 

Can’t until you say my name

“So what’s your name?”

Can’t tell you

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, throwing up her hands in exasperation. The pen suddenly flew across the room, where a poster that had been hanging on her wall swung loose, then fluttered to the ground. Her poster of the constellations. The pen was circling something, a name...the name of a star. 

“Betelgeuse?”

Almost excitedly, the pen wrote next to the star, the words jagged and sloppy.

Two more times!!!

She paused, wondering if this was truly a good idea. “Beetlejuice.”

One more one more one more please baby gimme one more

One beat, then two, then she threw caution to the wind and spoke the word one final time. “Beetlejuice.”

Her light flickered, as if to announce the sudden appearance of a very real, very solid looking figure standing with their feet planted on her poster, wearing a suit of dirty black and white stripes and a grin that could light up a small town. “You said it! You finally said it! I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for five fucking years and you finally said my name!” Before she could speak or even breathe, he had all but lunged for her, wrapping her up in his arms, the smell of damp earth filling her lungs even as he tried to squeeze the breath out of them. Ineffectually, she squirmed in his over-enthusiastic embrace, trying to wriggle away, to take a minute to process what the fuck was happening and who the fuck was standing in her bedroom right now. 

“Wait wait, hold on, so...your name is Beetlej-”

“Shhhhh!” He clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking his head vehemently. “Don’t say it. I’m sorry babes, but I’ve waited too long for this to go tits-up now.” He lowered his hand slowly, that grin resurfacing. “Okay, so I know you’ve got a lot of questions and you must be pretty excited to meet your own personal ghost but before we get to the boring stuff I gotta do one thing first.” Without giving her a chance to ask, his hands slid to her waist, pulling her to him even as he dipped her back and kissed her, his lips like ice, though surprisingly soft. What surprised her most was not the kiss itself, but rather her lack of aversion to it; she tried to tell herself it was because she hadn’t been kissed in so long that she was desperate for any kind of affection, even the strange, otherworldly, and rather abrupt kind. Oddly enough, she even found herself kissing him back, her fists gripping the lapels of his coat as he set her upright again. That Cheshire grin still hitched the corners of his mouth high, and his gaze raked over her like a physical caress, cool, white hands still curved in her waist. 

"Alright. Fire away, babes, ask me anything."

"Um…" Her head spun, thoughts racing, heart still pounding a chaotic timpani in her ears. "Did...did you say 'my own personal ghost'?"

"I sure did. You're one of the lucky gals that gets a ghost attached to ya when you reach adulthood. And you've got the luck of the draw, sweet stuff, because you managed to snag the Ghost with the Most!" His thumbs hooked into his suspenders, though oddly enough, two hands still stayed clasping her waist.

"And you...you've been fucking with my dates...screwing around with my love life for five years?"

Her voice raised a bit in pitch, and he had the presence of mind to look sheepish. "Sorry about that, but none of those schmucks were good enough for you. I had to scare 'em off, you're mine."

"Excuse me??" She broke his grasp, stepping away from him as her brows knitted together in hurt and anger. "I've spent five years convinced there was something wrong with me, that I was repulsive or unattractive or unlovable, because no one ever made it past the first date, and you waited this long to tell me that it was you the whole time? Do you have any idea how worthless I felt after each failed date? How broken a-and defective I felt? How-”

“Hey hey, take it easy for a second, dollface!” He grasped at her wrists; until he grabbed them, she hadn’t realized how wildly she was gesturing. “Look, I tried. I’ve been trying since the moment I saw you to get you to talk to me. It ain’t exactly easy for the dead to communicate with the living. But you knew I was there, didn’t you? Hasn’t every house you’ve lived in felt just a little bit haunted?” She paused, thinking back to all the doors she had closed but hadn’t opened, the objects on the floor that had been sitting secure on a shelf when she’d left, the quiet moments when she couldn’t sleep when she swore she could feel eyes on her. Encouraged by her pause, he continued. “You breathers are stubborn, you just don’t wanna see what’s right under your noses. Until tonight, I barely had enough influence on the living world to push a piece of paper off the desk. But you...you called for me. You finally gave in and called for me.” He grinned again, and though the fangs should have made him seem frightening and demonic, he just seemed...relieved. “I was finally able to tell you my name, and let me tell ya, there hasn’t been a single sound in my very, very long existence sweeter than you calling my name.”

She took a deep breath in, processing everything he had told her, everything that had happened in...god, had it only been three minutes? “What did you mean when you said that...I was yours? What does that mean?”

He shrugged, pulling her closer, his hand pressing against the small of her back. “Means you’re mine, babe. It means that you’re my girl.” Something dulled the gleam in his eyes, and to her surprise, the green in his hair began to fade to a deep, shamed violet. “I was there for every night you fell asleep cryin’ over some guy who would have only hurt you in the end. It gutted me that I couldn’t do anything to help. You’re my baby, and I don’t like to see you hurt, and I really don’t like being the one to hurt you. But it had to be done. You didn't belong with any of them." He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut as his hair faded back to green, as if he were forcing the color to appear. "We're wasting too much time talking when I should be kissing you."

"W-We just met!" The outrage on her voice felt like a show, a dutiful proper response to finding a green-haired, handsy ghost in her bedroom. But she hadn't once tried to wriggle out of his arms, unconsciously leaning closer when his hand slid up her spine.

Beetlejuice shook his head, stepping into her, strands of pink peeking through the green of his hair as he felt her body against his, solid and oh, so warm. "We've known each other for years, honey. You may not have had a face or a name, but deep down you've always known I was there. If I was just some stranger, you'd have run for the hills by now." She wanted to argue, but as much as she didn't want to admit it, he was right. His presence felt familiar, like a memory from her past she had all but forgotten about, but the emotions attached still lingered. It was why she hadn’t struggled when he reached for her, hadn’t tried to shake off his grasp, had kissed him back. His grin widened when she didn’t argue or protest, and he pulled her close, her body flush to his; he all but purred at the way her lashes fluttered, her hands naturally settling on his shoulders, as if they had done this a hundred times.

“Let me kiss you,” he rasped, holding her chin in his hand. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, babe, please...let me give you a real kiss.” There wasn’t much more than a fraction of a second of hesitation before she nodded, gaze flicking to his mouth just before the distance closed and her brought her lips to his. With that first urgent kiss out of the way, this one was softer, more patient, sweet, and when she felt his tongue trace the seam of her lips, she parted them without question. Oh, it was wonderful, more so than she had ever dreamed, to be kissed like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, to have hands pressed so close to her skin, as if she would slip from his fingers and shatter if he let go. She wasn’t quite sure how they had ended up on her bed, but the softness of the duvet embraced her as he laid her back, kneeling over her. She moaned as the tip of his tongue flicked against hers, the sound echoed as he tasted the first flickers of her pleasure, soft and tremulous, like the first stretch of the wings of a newly emerged butterfly. 

“I wanna touch you,” he growled, his kisses trailing down her neck. “Fuck, you taste so good already, baby.” One of his hands rested at her collarbone, waiting for the invitation to slip lower. “Please, honey, let me pull your shirt up? Wanna feel just how warm you are under there…”

“Wait,” she said breathlessly, leaning up on one elbow. He seemed confused, perhaps just a touch annoyed, but he stopped. “All those years you spent following me around...did you ever…” She gestured to herself. He smirked.

“Of course not. Not that I didn’t want to, sweetness, but when I saw you for the first time, I wanted you to be able to see me back, y’know?”

“And when I...had...alone time?” She arched a brow, and his grin widened. 

“Didn’t see a thing. Scout’s honor. Though, I definitely heard quite a lot. You know, you’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are.” Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned her head to the side in an attempt to mute the color rising in her cheeks. “Nope, huh-uh. Keep those eyes on me, babe.” His fingers gripped her chin again, bringing her gaze back to his. “I want you to keep looking at me, no matter what.” She nodded, and he grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “Good girl. Now, lemme get a look at you.” Perhaps not quite as slowly as he should have, he grasped the hem of her shirt and lifted it, groaning as her breasts came into view, soft and tipped with dusky pink. “Oh fuck,” he nearly whimpered, and she moaned as his hips pressed into hers, seeking warmth and friction. “Such a gorgeous little thing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen you come in from the cold, saw these little beauties all stiff and hard through your shirt, and wanted to tease them with my tongue until I had you moaning and squirming.”

She shivered, letting loose a soft sound of want as he settled his weight more firmly over her, purring like a cat as he leaned down to kiss her nipples, first one, then the other. A moan left her as she felt his tongue softly lick at one stiff peak, her hand tangling in his hair, which to her surprise pulled an answering moan from him. Seems she had found a weak spot.

Oh, she had never dreamed that this would feel so nice, his mouth at her breasts, sucking, kissing, licking, teasing. His hands, still cool but warmer than before, squeezed the full flesh, kneading restlessly, and she arched her back, pulling her shirt off all the way and moaning. His scruff tickled her skin, made her shiver and break out in goosebumps, and she let her fingers drift through his hair, causing him to spill little growls and purrs against her skin.

"Ohhhh, baby," he groaned, lifting his head, his hair a deep rose pink, his pupils wide, drinking in the sight of her. "Baby girl, I've dreamt of this moment for five years, I wanted to make it so good for you. But I don't think I can wait." His hand slipped down her body, palm flat to her skin to touch as much of her as he could at once, then slid between her legs, inside her panties to cup her sex, the heel of his hand pressing into her clit. She keened, her toes curling, and he groaned in response. "Please, babe," he murmured, pushing the tip of his middle finger into her. "Please?"

"Yes," she said, with no hesitation, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, god, please."

There it was again, that mega-watt grin, his mouth split wide with joy. "Thank you, doll, fuck...oh, I've been wanting this for far too long." He sat up, and in the time it took for him to be upright again, his clothing-suit, tie, and all-had vanished, leaving him naked and visibly throbbing. His hands shook as he pulled down her panties, his cock twitching as he saw her bare for the first time. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, my god…” Nearly the same temperature as her now, he touched her, thumb rubbing her clit as he pressed two fingers inside. “Has any guy ever done this to you before," he asked lowly, his free hand sliding up her thigh as he watched his fingers slide in and out of her. 

"No." Her answer came immediately with a shake of her head, hips rolling against his hand. "No one."

"I knew it." He grinned, withdrawing his fingers and popping them in his mouth with a deep groan. "Knew you'd wanna save this for me." Licking his lips to savor her, he crawled over her, grasping himself to guide his cock to her entrance. The tip pressed inside, and he groaned, shivering as he saw her teeth come down on her lower lip. "Feel okay?"

"Feels great," she murmured, reaching up to hesitantly cup his cheek in her hand. "You can move, honey, you won't hurt me." Her heart gave a funny little stutter as he nuzzled into her palm, as if craving her touch. He began to rock his hips, so shallow and gentle, widening her for him, though she could see the strain it put on him to go slow, the tension in his shoulders and the clench of his jaw. Any last doubts she had about him melted away as she fully understood the care he was treating her with. To wait so long for somebody, to be with them every second and watch them laugh and cry and hurt without you, to ache with the need to touch them and be near them, and for the object of your affections to not be able to see you, let alone touch you...she could only imagine how frantic for her he must feel, but he was taking the time to consider her comfort, setting a slow pace despite the fact that it must be torture for him. “Beej?” She spoke the nickname softly, and his gaze focused on her with laser intensity, teeth exposed in a grin. “You don’t have to take it so slow, I won’t break.” Her thumbs stroked over his cheeks, slipping down to cup the sides of his neck and trace his jaw. “I want you to...to feel me. I made you wait so long, honey, but you can make up for lost time now. Don’t hold back.”

A thousand expressions crossed his face at once, his hand sliding around the back of her neck to lift her head, pressing his forehead to hers. “Baby,” he rasped, sounding on the brink of some tremulous emotion, “are you sure? I want this to be good for you-”

“This is as much for you as it is for me. If...if we’re really meant for each other, then isn’t it my job to take care of you, too?”

Beetlejuice let out a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, his lips pressing desperately to hers. “How did I get so fucking lucky to land a babe like you?” And with a snap of his hips, he was fully hilted, his eyes rolling back to the whites as she jolted in his arms, her wet warmth squeezing him, gripping him so tight. A string of curses left his lips, some in a strange language she suspected wasn’t from anywhere aboveground, and she lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, anchoring herself to him. “Fuck, that’s it, babycakes,” he crooned, his hips rolling, groaning with each delicious slide within her velvet. “Ohhh shit, you take me so well...yeah, fuck, you feel so damn good, sweet stuff. You doin’ okay?”

Oh God, was she ever. It was a little uncomfortable at first; while he was average in length, he more than made up for it in width, and there had been a strange burning as she stretched to accommodate him. But that sensation of fullness, of movement, of joining...was indescribable. It felt like breathing for the first time. Like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Like the ceasing of a lifelong pain she had grown too used to to notice until it was no longer there. “Yeah,” she answered, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m great. P-Please, you can go faster.”

He looked stricken at the glisten of her eyes and the tremble in her voice. “You sure? We can stop if it hurts, babes, I don’t-”

“No.” Her hands shot up to thread through his hair, yanking on it to pull him down into a kiss, the first time she had kissed him. “God, no. It doesn’t hurt, honey, it feels...oh, you feel so fucking good…” To emphasize her point, she squeezed her walls around him, bucking her hips up, and he groaned, shuddering against her. “More, please, I need more of you.”

His mouth left hers, but his lips wouldn’t or couldn’t seem to leave her skin, kissing across her cheek, the delicate shell of her ear, down her throat. “Fuck, say it again,” he murmured into the hollow of her throat as his pace increased, pushing harder, faster, the sense of something on the verge of collapse filling the room around them.

She knew what he meant, and she smiled, combing her fingers through his hair, neck arching as her hair spread across the pillow. “I need you,” she repeated, her body meeting his, rising up as he pushed down, rolling and cresting and crashing like waves against the shores of her bedsheets. “I need you, please.”

Whatever splintering dam had been holding him back finally broke, and he latched his teeth into her throat with a cry, slamming into her with unrestrained passion, marking her at her pulse, her collarbones, even just under her jaw. She was his, his, and no one else could ever have her now. She had called him, accepted him, opened herself to him in so many ways, in ways he never dreamed a beauty like her ever would. Praise dripped from his lips like rain, showering her in attention and bite marks. Her back curved, her body alight with sensation, each nerve electrified as she held him tighter and tighter, curling herself around him and letting herself get lost in him. This was everything she had wanted, everything she had been missing, in the world’s most unconventional lover. Affection, pleasure, desire, playfulness, care and attention. Her heart melted, her entire self surrendering to him; she felt it now, felt the rightness of his claim. She was his, body and soul. She always had been. 

His moans changed in pitch, his thrusts frantic, mindlessly chasing his pleasure as he took her hand, pressing it into the bed beside her head as his fingers wove between hers. “Babe, fuck, I’m gonna come...can I come inside you, baby? Huh? Can I fill you up, sweetness, fill you up and make you come with me? Please, baby girl, I’m so close…” He growled, nipping at her earlobe. “Let me make you mine.”

She nodded, almost too breathless to reply. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, I’m already yours.”

He groaned, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it back before releasing it. “Say it again. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m y-oohh fuck!” She cried out, cursing as his free hand began rubbing her clit, hard and fast, tripling her pleasure all at once. “I’m yours!”

“Again, babes…”

“Yours, Beej, I’m yours!”

“Louder, baby, scream for me!”

“Yours!”

With a shout, he broke, his entire body shivering as he came, cool and so deep within her she could practically taste it. The fingers at her clit didn’t let up, and moments later she was following him, her pleasure crackling through her, spreading like lightning across a stormy sky through her body. Her vision faded, dimmed, but the light of his smile and the sound of his voice remained clear as day, grounding her as the muscles in her body unfurled one by one, her body collapsing against the bed as the pleasure faded slowly. There was the sensation of something dripping down her thighs, something wet and just slightly cooler than her own skin, and a delicious little shiver went through her at the sensation, heightening the little aftershock tremors. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, lowering himself to rest his head on the pillow of her breasts, “that was worth the wait.” His hands cupped them, pressed them together as he buried his face between them. For a few moments, everything was silent and still, his lips skimming her skin in little butterfly kisses as she stroked her fingers through his hair, catching her breath. Then, she heard something, heard his voice, heard a muffled voice murmur something that sounded suspiciously like, “I love you.”

“What was that?”

Lifting his face ever so slightly, but not looking up at her, he said loudly, “I said you have nice tits!” The words tumbled out of him a little too quickly, and the sudden flush of pink in his hair was a sign that he hadn’t meant for her to hear him, or perhaps he hadn’t meant to speak out loud at all. Either way, she didn’t press the matter, smiling secretly to herself. His kisses, however, became firmer, his tongue even darting out to flick against her skin, and she moaned, wriggling against him as his lips began to migrate south. 

“Where’re you headed, honey?”

“God, I like hearing you call me that.” He grinned up at her, licking over her navel. “What, you didn’t think I was done with you, didja? No way, dollface, I’ve got five years of lovin’ to make up for.” 

She could have made the argument that they had tons of time to make up for those five years, but as his fingers spread her open to allow his tongue to lap at her clit, the sentence was erased from her mind, her hips jolting up into his mouth. It had been worth it, she decided as his clever, hungry mouth sent her spiraling into one frenzied orgasm after another. All the heartache and tears and lonely nights had been worth it, since it had all lead up to him. For the first time, she felt wanted. Felt loved. Felt truly, finally seen.

[clonecaptains]

hello love! I have a request and I was wondering if you could write a hop x reader in which they’ve always been in love with each other but are too timid to say something and so reader leaves town but comes back and they don’t waste any more time in being together??? if you don’t want to write it it’s alright I completely understand but still thank you!

hi anon!! omg i’m sorry im just now getting to this! and i tweaked the prompt juuuuuuuust a little. this was so fun to write i hope you enjoy~

rated: m for some sexy times

5k words

xx

Looking out your living room window, you see his lights are still on. You even see his silhouette move past his small kitchen window. You told yourself not to go over, not to make an excuse this time.

You moved into this cabin 4 months ago. And for a good solid month you pined for him, watching him through the window across the way like Gatsby and the green light.

It was after that first month that something went wrong with your hot water heater, and he was the only one around to help. Mustering up your courage and spraying a little extra perfume - you walked right over to Jim Hopper’s cabin.

It might have been easier if you were strangers, and he just happened to be the handsome neighbor next door. But that would be too simple. No, you’ve been in love with Hopper since the 5th grade.

Silently for years you pined after him, your crush growing to love, and that love to an ache.

In middle school you watched him be silly like boys are. In high school you watched him flirt and date most of the girls at school at some point, but not you. You were never on his radar, which was partially your fault. You never put yourself out there for him to notice. You barely spoke to him.

It’s a cherished memory thinking of your senior year when you sat behind him in Mrs. Walsh’s English class. His shoulders even then were broad. He asked you for a pencil once when his was lost. And occasionally he’d pass a paper back to you when papers were passed. You might have touched his hand a couple times, and then that was enough.

Then Jim got married, and left for Vietnam. And you couldn’t decide which was worse. He came home to Hawkins briefly - then he and Diane moved to New York with their young daughter. It hurt to see him go, and to see him with a family, the family you felt should be yours. And you liked Diane. She was a friend of yours in school.

When Hopper moved, so did you. There was absolutely nothing here for you. Not that you really had hope he’d leave his wife and sweep you off your feet. And you didn’t want that, you wanted nothing but happiness for him. Even if it meant the sacrifice of your own happiness.

So you moved, got a job in the city. And for a few years, that’s what you did. But you forgot to settle down with someone. It never really crossed your mind. You had little crushes here and there, and maybe went on a couple dates but you were fine on your own.

One day though, out of the clear blue you were fired from your job. They were downsizing and you got the short stick. You apartment lease was almost up, so you decided to pick back up and move back to Hawkins.

There weren’t many options, which didn’t suprise you. But you found a cozy little cabin on the edge of the woods. It was homey and different and you moved in unaware Hopper was next door.

You reconnected with an old friend when you moved back, and she told you at lunch the news you weren’t ready to hear.

That Hopper lost his daughter, and his wife left him. It was like a punch to the gut. You felt sick, to know someone you cared for so deeply had such pain in his life. Absolutely no part of you even considered you might have a chance with him now. All you could think was that jealousy you had was in vain, and you can’t imagine the pain and weight he carries.

Your friend also told you he’s the sheriff now, and panic flooded your veins when you realized you’d see his truck across the way in the driveway of your neighbor’s cabin. HIS cabin.

So for a month you waited.

Finally you got up the strength when your heater was busted. Scared out of your wits, and sick at your stomach, you knocked on his door.

You could have died when you saw him, it’s been at least ten years since you saw him last. He’s taller, broader, and he’s got a beard now. He still has those soft blue eyes, and gentle smile.

To your surprise, he lights up when he sees you, and says your name.

“Come in, come in!” he stands past the door to let you inside. You observe him, and his place and it’s all perfect.

A worn blue flannel is what he’s wearing, and some faded jeans. You notice a bright blue bracelet around his wrist and a watch on the other. His cabin is warm and lived in. It’s not tidy but it’s not messy either. It’s perfect.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d remember me!” you laugh embarrassed. What the hell are you supposed to even say to him right now.

“Mrs. Walsh’s English class right?” he offers you a beer, but you shake your head no.

“Yes! Wow! You have a good memory!” you know your cheeks are red but you can’t help it. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my hot water heater is broken, and my house is freezing. It’s so late I didn’t know what to do, and I knew you were here, so..”

“How did you know I was here?” he raises an eyebrow and takes a sip from his beer.

Your mouth hands open, embarrassed.

“I’m just kidding,” he laughs, “Let me get my jacket and tools and we’ll go check it out ok?”

He follows you over to your place, and you make light small talk. He fixes the heater rather quickly, but he stays and you catch up. You’re glad he did, and you imagine he’s lonely.

He darts around the subject, but since you already know about his daughter you don’t need to ask him.

From that night on, a friendship was born. A real one. Just about every single night, you’d go over to his house or he’d come over to yours. You kept each other company. It was nice.

For a while you were happy with it, not expecting anything. Even after he told you about the divorce and his daughter. You never ever wanted him to know about your crush, or that you still had one on him now. This time though was much worse. It wasn’t just admiring his shoulders and hoping he’d forget a pencil. Now it was you were in his house, and you were surrounded by all things him, and how you ached to have him touch you all over.

For three months this exchange went on. It wasn’t every night, but it was most nights.

Then came the change.

Last night, he asked you, “what do you want?” he said setting a beer down in front of you at his kitchen table. You took it this time, and took a swig.

“To get laid,” you answer bluntly. You don’t really mean for it to come out but it’s too late, “and other things ya know. I want to fall in love, get married. But I guess I just forgot to do those things.”

“You didn’t forget,” he tells you. And something about that look in his eyes tells you that he knows. “I can help you with one of those,” he shrugs and relishes in your dark blush.

“So that’s a no on falling in love then?” you tease.

“I think you already have that part covered.” He winces after he says it, you both seem to just be saying whatever comes to mind.

“How long?” you ask. Feeling really embarrassed now. You want to leave.

“Sweetheart,” his tone is gentle, “I’ve known for years. Since we were in school.”

You feel hot embarrassed tears well up in your eyes, and a pained look comes across his face. He didn’t mean to embarrass you, but you suppose it was bound to come out eventually.

“Did someone tell you?” you sniffle.

“I could just see it in your eyes, the way you smiled at me. Damn it sent me to my knees.”

“What?” you let out a soft gasp.

“Oh yeah,” he grins fondly, “I thought you were the cutest damn thing. I was a stupid kid, I didn’t want to embarrass or somethin’. I didn’t think I was worth your time. You were so sweet and I was smoking and getting blown in the school parking lot.”

Your cheeks are stained red, but there’s a smile on your face.

“I tried so hard not to embarrass you,” he laughs. “Nice goin’ Hop.”

That earns him a laugh, and there’s a twinkly in his eye.

He gives you a warm hug when you leave. It’s an apology for the embarrassment, and for the years of pining. He knows it wasn’t easy. The hug is everything you imagined. It felt right being in his big warm embrace. Strong arms held you tight, and he smelled so good.

On the way home, you weren’t sure what you were feeling. What happens know? It’s out in there air now. Does he care about you the same way? You know he cares but? Is it love? What if he’s only being nice because he knew about the crush?

Your mind is spinning and you can barely sleep that night.

So tonight - you have no idea what to do. You see him over in his kitchen, but you’re nervous to go over there. You don’t have a hope he’ll come over here, though he has plenty of times.

You start to pace in your own kitchen, you feel hot and anxious. It’s suddenly very real. If you don’t go, then maybe he’ll think you’re tell him no. But if you do go that’s a yes, and are you saying yes? Yes to what? You don’t even know but yes is the answer to whatever.

You don’t realize you’ve been saying this out loud until you hear a light tap on the door. You know the knock, and your heart jumps into your throat.

Swinging open the door, you see Hop - he looks like he always does. A gentle smile on his lips, and determination on his brow.

He steps inside without waiting for you, it’s an act of comfortableness in your presence. He goes right to his usual spot at the kitchen counter. Instead of sitting he leans, and you go into the kitchen to face him.

“So you said...yes is the answer...” he tugs at his bottom lip. He wants to say something you can tell, you know his mannerisms.

“I didn’t know I was talking out loud to myself!” you laugh only a little embarrassed. Somehow it’s better he’s here, your kitchen doesn’t seem as empty and he always helps you work out your problems. Now though he is the “problem.”

You reach for a coffee mug to pour him some coffee while he talks, you pause the pouring to listen when you hear him take a deep breath.

“So what would you say to....” he pauses, “what would you say if I said we should just get married.”

The coffee mug falls from your hand and shatters on the floor. He doesn’t even blink, and neither do you.

“I’m sorry?” you ask even though you know you heard him right the first time.

“You heard me,” he’s not moved, and you can tell he’s serious.

“Married?” you laugh. “We can’t get married!”

“Why not? Give me one reason. One.”

“Do you.... want me?” you’re afraid to ask and the words leave your lips trembling.

“Sweetheart, would I have asked if I didn’t?”

“Jim, damn it,” you swore, “don’t call me that unless you mean it.” Tears fill your eyes, gosh you want it. You want him. But you need to know. “You’re not just picking me because I’m available are you? Or that you know I’m head over heels in love with you? That I used to go to bed crying because I couldn’t have you?”

His expression is softer than you’d ever seen, and he looks serious. What if he is?

He moves around the counter into the kitchen area with you. Mug shards crunch and crack under his heavy boots. He backs you into a corner of the kitchen. His arms resting on the counter top on either side of you.

“Listen,” he looks down at your tear filled eyes. “Diane and Sara, that’s my old life. It’s gone. I’m not getting it back. Diane was right for me at that time, but you, you’re what I need right now. A few months ago, shit, I was so low. I’d drink myself to sleep, and lived on coffee. Then you come back into my life. And I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone look at me the way you do. You actually care, the string of women I had after Diane, they didn’t care. They just wanted a good fuck. Not once, not once have you demanded anything from me, other than what I have to give. But you make me want to do better. You make me want good things, and you baby, you are a great thing. I just didn’t realize when I was 18 years old. But I know now.”

By now you’re crying, and you bury your face into his chest. Your cries turn to sobs, and you just say “Yes” over and over. Laughing with relief that he got all that out, he kisses your forehead, and you nearly collapse. Luckily his arms are wrapped tight, and you couldn’t fall if you tried.

Slowly you pull away to look up at him. “You know, I used to imagine you proposing to me,” you laugh.

“That was exactly what you pictured wasn’t it?”

You laugh again and rest your head on his chest. “That was perfect.”

You stayed there in his arms for a few moments before you spoke again.

“Last night you said you could only offer me one of the things I wanted.”

“I know,” he hums. “After you went home I couldn’t stop thinking about you and us. And how I can’t imagine you not being in my life always. I won’t have to look out my window to wonder if you’re home. I was awake all night thinking about it.”

“Me too,” you tell him and look up into his face. His soft smile turns into a flirty one, and suddenly you’re shy in a good way, You wriggle out of his arms, and he lets you, only to catch you at the last second. He pulls you in for your first kiss with him. It’s almost more than you can take.

“When do you wanna get married?” his voice cracks from his sharp intake of breath. “Tomorrow? Take ya down to the courthouse, not very romantic but..”

“Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been waiting since the 5th grade, I’m not waiting a day longer.”

The embrace breaks, Hopper is smiling fondly, and you’re overwhelmed. You’re doing your best to avoid is gaze by getting a broom to sweep up the shards of mug off the floor. He’s quick to help and he kneels with the dust pan to collect the pieces.

“So tomorrow,” he starts, and your heart jumps. This is really happening isn’t it? “I’ll get off work early and come get you then we’ll go down to the courthouse. Sound good?”

You flush and nod. Your smile gets bigger and bigger.

“5th grade huh?” he asks and pulls you to him. His large hand is on your hip, almost on your butt. His body is hard and warm against yours and you shudder, you know he felt it.

“Hop,” you whine, too much is happening.

“Let me kiss my fiancée one more time,” he purrs. His grip tightens and he pulls you closer to him. Your hands rest on his chest, and you’re trying to take it all in. You can feel his breath as he tilts your face upwards to meet his gaze. “I do want this you know. Something just seems right.” His voice drops to a whisper.

He hasn’t allowed himself this in so long. To open up to someone. You think maybe because you already know him so well, he’s already open to you, he just had to let you in.

Jim’s kiss starts off gentle, just a gentle press of his slightly chapped lips onto yours. Then the passion comes, and your head is spinning. His mouth moves and he pulls your lips between his. His tongue grazes your bottom lip and you sigh into him - fingers clutching to his shirt.

Part of you wishes he would stay, take you back to your bedroom right now. And he almost does - but you need time to process all this information. You pull away gasping, he’s quite pleased with how you look right now.

“I better go,” he wants to really tidy up before tomorrow. “Big day,” he says. Almost more to himself than to you.

You nod, and give him a kiss on the cheek goodnight. He kisses you gently on the lips once more, and then your forehead. Then he’s out the door. You watch him go until he disappears into his yard. His hands in his pockets, breath visible in the cool air. That’s the last time you’ll see him leave your house, because from now on you’ll be together.

Your nightly routine goes on as usual, and it’s an odd feeling knowing that your night routine will never be the same again. It’s not until you climb into bed that you feel your underwear is damp. Then suddenly it hits you, and you sit upright in the bed with a gasp. So much had been going through your head that it didn’t even occur to you tomorrow night you’d be having sex, with your new husband, Jim Hopper. Earlier you wanted him to take you back to your bed - but hell you’d thought that plenty of times when he came over. You have no idea why it just now clicked.

Now panicked with nerves, you jump up and get in the shower. You just shaved your legs the other day but you gotta again now. You wash your body more times than necessary, and scrub yourself clean.

When you go to bed again, you laugh at yourself. His kiss had aroused you, and your panic set you off to take a shower. It was almost 1 am now. You really need sleep - you still have work tomorrow.

It takes you ages before your mind finally allows you to sleep. About a million and one questions crossed into your head before you drifted off.

Your morning alarm gives you a heart attack, and you run into the bathroom and feel like you’re going to be sick. All this excitement has you wound up.

Since he’s going to pick you up from work, you decide on a simple dress. It’s one you rarely wear, but it’s not uncommon for you to wear it to work.

Another thought strikes you, what will your coworkers say? When they see a wedding ring on your finger? Because as of yesterday you weren’t even dating. And did Jim have a ring for you? Would he have one?

More questions almost make you late for work. The day feels so strange. Nerves, and excitement and more questions all on are you mind.

When you see Jim, finally, through the window, your heart skips. And when he sees you, he has the biggest grin on his face. So much so that some of your other coworkers are a little confused at the look he gives you. Ignoring them, you take his arm and walk with him to his truck.

“Hi,” he smiles. “You look beautiful.”

“It’s not what I pictured for my wedding day, but it’ll do.”

“I’m not talking about the dress - it is beautiful, but I was talking about your smile. Your face just lit up.” Pink tinges his own cheeks as he gives the compliment. You’re like teenagers learning how to date, and yet here you are on the way to get married.

It’s a pretty simple thing, you sign a few documents and it’s a done deal. You’re married. But something as simple as signing those documents with him is special. His eyes are soft, and your heart is fluttering.

It’s funny to you, from what you’ve learned from Jim over the last few months. He didn’t strike you as the type itching to get married again. He even said, he wouldn’t mind sleeping with you - but marriage wasn’t on the table. Or even love. But here you are. It warmed your heart to know that you filled him with that want, and even if he is getting married because you want to - he’s happy to. He had a huge grin on his face the whole time.

When you leave the courthouse, Hop helps you up into his truck - and he leans in to give you a kiss. He whispers “Mrs. Hopper,” and the words ghost across your lips.

None of this feels real. And you can’t help but wonder if this is some dream.

“What are you thinking, baby?” his voices tears you from your thoughts. You haven’t gotten used to the nicknames either. For years you wanted to be the receiver of one of his pet names.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you smile at him. You scoot closer to him in the seat of the truck.

“Believe it sweetheart. We’re legal now.”

His hand loops with yours and you feel the warmth of his skin. It is real, and you never thought this would happen.

He pulls into his driveway, and jogs around to the other side to open the door for you.

“Gotta carry ya inside ya know,” he grins and slips his arms around you. You can’t help but laugh as he carries you to the front door. “Shit,” he laughs remembering he has to unlock the door. You’re both in a fit of giggles and he unlocks the door and carries you in.

You gasp when you see what’s inside. The lights are dim, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers on the kitchen table. In front of the flowers are two small boxes. And you smell food in the oven.

“When did you do all this?” you gasp taking a look around.

“I didn’t go to work today,” he grinned sheepishly.

“Then why-?” you motioned at him wearing his uniform.

“I know you like it,” he shrugs. He’s already starting in on the teasing. He’s been playfully teasing you this past few months, but now it’s got a romantic edge.

Jim walks over to the little table, and hands you one of the small boxes. Inside is a gold ring - very simple just a gold band. It looks too big for you. You look up at him, and smiles offering you his left hand. You smile catching on, and slide the ring onto his finger.

“I think I probably should have given you yours first, but I wanted to save it,” he tells you taking out the ring from the other box. He takes you hand, and gives the back of your hand a kiss before he slides the ring onto your finger. You gasp, it’s truly beautiful and it’s what you always wanted.

“How did you know?”

“Just seemed like you,” he admitted, then turned to fix your plates for dinner.

The meal was delicious, and it brought you comfort. This is what the two of you had been doing for the past few months. It was comfortable and familiar.

“I was thinking maybe this weekend we could start bringing your things over here?” he asks but it was more of a statement. His cabin was small, but yours was smaller. It was perfect for one person, and you like his place better anyways.

“Jim?” you ask suddenly.

“Hmm?” he looks up from his plate. It’s almost empty.

“What if I’m not-”

He held up a hand to stop you - “don’t. Honey, don’t.” He shakes his head. “C’mere.” he motions for you, and your knees wobble when you stand.

You go to his spread arms, “I want you in my life, always.”

You nod, tears in your eyes, “I think I’m just a little nervous,” you laugh wiping away a tear.

“It’s ok,” he assures.

You finish up supper with him telling some story that gets you laughing. He then guides you to the couch, where he pops in a movie. Again, more comfort as this was familiar behavior.

His next move is not so familiar, and he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close. It’s not ten minutes into the movie before he moves his arm from around you to rest on your thigh. You feel the heat from his hand burn, but you feel your body warming.

You don’t dare stop him as he slides his hand up your thigh, pushing the dress up with it. You’re breathing a little heavier now, and he checks that you’re ok. You nod for him to keep going, and his finger touches your center over your panties. Your gasp is sharp, and you grab his hand on impulse.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. You want to feel his skin on yours.

“I need a second,” you laugh - you’re feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” he tells you and kisses your cheek warmly.

“Can we...go to the bedroom? I don’t want to do this out here.”

Hop stands, and offers you his hand. He cradles your head with his hands, “I know this is all new. And it’s just hitting me - this is your first time yeah?”

You nod.

He nods back, he’s very casual. “Alright.” Is all he says, but you know he’s not worried or shocked. You’re actually ok, you thought you’d be wracked with nerves. You are jittery, and you feel a bit anxious - but you’ve waited a long time for this. You trust this man with your life, and everything really tonight has felt like it has for the past few months. It’s all been comfortable.

And that’s his goal for tonight, to make you as comfortable as possible. He kisses you for a long time, just on your lips and jaw and neck until you’re groaning. He then moves behind you and unzips your dress. He kisses the back of your neck, and drags his lips across your shoulders. The dress pools around your feet, and you shiver feeling exposed.

Next he unhooks your bra, and when it falls, he wraps his arms around you and cups your breasts in his hands, still kissing your neck. When your knees buckle, he chuckles against your skin.

“Be honest,” he purrs as he massages your breasts. “How many times have you thought about this?” he teases.

“Too many to count,” you groan. You playfully elbow him in his stomach.

“Ok ok to be fair, I’ve thought about this a lot too.”

He then slips his hand in your underwear, and continues what he started earlier. You almost fall at the much needed contact, and he has a tight grip on you. He pulls back before you come, and you both finish getting undressed. You barely have time to look at him, before he’s pushing you on your back and climbing in between your legs.

You wince thinking he’s going to take you now, and he shushes you softly.

“Hey hey, I’m not that kinda guy,” he kisses your chin. “I want you all worked up and wet for me.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, “I know, just nerves.”

He smiles at your apology, and kisses your neck. He moves down your body with wandering hands and warm lips. He sucks on your breasts and nipples like a man starved. His thumbs tease, and his hands squeeze. You feel like you could come from his attention to your chest alone.

With large hands his spreads you legs, and you let him willingly. The first touch of his mouth on your flesh has you shouting. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he learns your sensitive spots quickly. You’re coming on his tongue in mere moments when he decides he wants you to come. He teased you to the edge then pulled back several times.

When he deems you ready, and when you feel that need again, he lines himself up with your entrance. His arms are on either side of you, and your legs are wrapped around him, your arms around his neck and shoulders. You feel his chest hair tickling your chest, and his whole front his pressed to yours. Sweat is sticking you together, and you love it. His tip is just at your entrance, and he looks at you with his big blue eyes. This is the moment. One you’ve thought about for years, you’ve dreamed of it, you’ve shoved your hand in your pants thinking about it. You’ve cried thinking you’ll never have it. And here you are.

You nod, and you can’t help the tears from falling. He kisses them off your cheeks, and he pushes inside slowly.

“Oh,” is all you can say and you forget to breathe.

“Darlin’,” he huffs out a breath, “you gotta relax for me. Breathe.” He’s straining. It’s been awhile since he’s been with a woman who needs it slow.

You take a deep breath, and relax a little more. “Good girl,” he praises and kisses your lips. At the pet name, you clench around him and he groans.

“Oh shit, did I just make a discovery?” he quirks a brow at you, and you blush.

His lips find your neck, and he moves under your ear. “You’re being such a good girl for me,” he purrs and you shiver. He pushes deeper, and starts to move. It takes him a moment to get a rhythm, he’s letting you adjust to him. When he finds that spot inside you, he keeps up that pace.

“Jim,” you cry and dig your nails into his back. “I’m almost there.”

“I know baby, I can feel it.” A few more then you’re coming around him, which then triggers his own. You writhe and wriggle under him at all the new sensations.

You laugh and hug him to you when he collapses against you. .

“How did I do?” you ask teasing, raking your fingers through his hair.

“Baby you’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin.

The rest of the night is quiet and romantic. You take warm shower together before bed. And you get a first taste of that new nightly routine.

When you climb into bed with him for sleep, that’s one of your favorite moments of the night. To see him so sleepy, and that look of love in his eyes. He’s tired, and it’s not long before he falls asleep. But before he does, a whispered, “I love you,” escapes his lips.

You sigh and snuggle into his arms. When you used to dream of Jim Hopper, it wasn’t exactly like this, it’s even better. It’s exactly what you need, and that’s what matters.

//

hop masterlist (sorry it’s not updated yet - check my jim hopper x reader tag for all the fics)

[yeats-infection]

hard agree with ur roommate on that WIP, that snippet was sooo good oml

by popular demand, here’s what i have so far of the possibly never-to-be-finished or maybe eventually-to-be-finished band of brothers weed farm AU, tentatively titled PURPLE HAZE, below the cut: 

Dick was no hippie. He was also no fool. “We’ve got to hide it from the air,” he said thoughtfully.

“The real pros plant it between rows of corn,” Nix told him.

All in all this was going better so far than he had thought it would.  

“What do we do with all the damned corn?”

“Why, moonshine, of course.”

“That’s pushing your luck,” Dick said. He was a real pragmatist. “How do you know all this?”

Nix scratched his head. He knew it was his poker tic, and he knew that Dick would know that too. “Family connections,” he said.

“I thought your family connections were in the fertilizer business,” said Dick, who knew this well, in fact, having worked for said company, for a brief time after the war, during the period when they had all independently decided they were going to try to hack it in the Real World.

“Well, what do you think they started off fertilizing?”

Dick hesitated. “I just don’t know why you never told me any of this before,” he said. “You haven’t made a habit of lying to me.”

“This was just omission.” Nix shrugged. “You’re a straight laced kind of man.”

“That I never wanted to drop acid with you when we were over there doesn’t mean I’m… entirely opposed to mind-altering substances.”

Nix had sure as hell fielded a lot of dirty looks, and, worse, concerned looks, in the CP over in Vietnam, when he closed the tent flaps behind himself and Dick after some particularly rough patrol or briefing and sparked a joint. Dick had always put a thoughtful hand up to go with the dirty or concerned looks, because Nix had always offered the joint to him, even knowing he wouldn’t take it. Especially knowing he wouldn’t take it.

“Well,” Nix said, “before I brought this proposal to you I wanted to make sure I had retained anything at all from my degree in horticulture.”

He took the film canister out from his pocket and put it between them on the kitchen table. For a moment Dick studied him, and then he grabbed the canister and opened it and poured the contents out onto one of the nice floral cotton placemats that had been made for him by his sister.

“I’m calling it Easy Diesel,” said Nix.

“You’ve got to be god damn kidding me,” said Dick, but he picked up one of the larger of the buds and carefully started pulling it apart. They had come out nice, if Nix did say so himself. They were big and sticky and a psychedelic iridescent purple-green.

“It’s my own breed,” Nix went on, wondering if he sounded desperate. He sure as hell felt desperate, not least for a god damn toke. “Good for sleeping.”

Dick cocked a pale eyebrow in his direction. “It helps you sleep?”

“Sure, this strain does, but I can breed different strains that’ll make you feel different things…”

“Nix, you grew this?”

He turned the bud in the light through the kitchen window, curiously, like a jewel.

“Well, I grew its grandparents from seeds, and then I crossed them, and this is the cross, second generation, grown from a cutting.”

“How many of these have you got?”

“Four in my bathtub in Jersey,” Nix said. “I’ve been showering at my sister’s. Couple more in the basement too, under a light.”

“And where do you get the seed?”

He’d hoped not to have to involve Dick in this part of it. “I have a contact,” he said.

“Nix, if I’m going to go in on this with you, I need to be an equal partner.”

“Fine. It’s Spiers.” As it had been over there. “You know he lives in Texas now, and he can get seed from Mexico. But I don’t need him anymore unless we want to grow another strain.”

“We might want to keep that in mind,” said Dick.

“Alright. I’ll write to him.” He indicated the bud in Dick’s hand. “We might want to try that before you sign on the dotted line.”

Dick passed the bud back across the table to Nix who set about expertly shredding it into flakes. “I don’t have any papers,” Dick said, watching him.

Nix cocked an eyebrow. “You used to smoke rollies exclusively!”

“Been trying to quit cigarettes. You just can’t keep anything in the house.” At Nix’s upward glance he said, “This is fine, though. As long as you have a way to smoke it.”

“You think I’d come all this way and level you with this without a way to smoke it?”

Nix had a little pipe in his overnight bag. He packed it and they lit up. The rest was history.

--

Nix had enlisted right after college. He didn’t want to go through the whole song and dance of avoiding the draft, and his father was breathing down his neck, having gotten a Purple Heart at Monte Casino in the Second World War. Dick had signed up straight out of high school, having believed out of his damnable earnestness that it was the right thing to do. Dick was like the “some folks are born, made to wave the flag” line from the beginning of “Fortunate Son,” but none of the bad stuff after. That was just the way he was. He had been at boot camp then in school learning to be an officer. They saw each other summers and went to the drive in movie theater and talked about the news from the Soviet bloc, and about spies and space and music. Sometimes Dick had Things to Say about the stuff Nix was learning about at Yale, like colonialism and hegemony, but they argued about it good naturedly and then they moved on to arguing about music. Dick liked those Greenwich Village folkies and he was legitimately let down when Dylan went electric. Nix had Are You Experienced on repeat. There were other things they didn’t talk about at all, like that Nix had read Alfred Kinsey’s reports in class and thought of himself first as a one, then as a two, then a three, and now intermittently as a four, sometimes even a five. The truth was he only incidentally thought of any people who weren't Dick. He couldn’t even regret being doomed to such a sorry condition, because being around Dick was such a joy. It was a joy, in its brutal way, even when they were over there. It was a joy when he had forgotten he could feel joy.

Now, after everything, Dick had all this land, off Route 6 not far from the New York border, on which the trees moved quietly, and the hills were low and green. He had all that land, and just about nothing else, because he had spent just about every penny of his salary from Nixon Nitration and his war pension and his inheritance from his parents' deaths buying that plot to get himself away from the world. In New Jersey, working for his father as little more than a body in a suit, Nix had just about everything he wanted, except his own soul. That was somewhere yet to be seen. In Vietnam, he must have put it down somewhere, like his helmet or his canteen or something, except that he had forgotten to pick it up. This had happened to most of them, except for Dick, who had doggedly held onto his somehow as he had also held onto his life, his relative sanity, his damnable good looks, and his even more damnable good humor.

The big idea was a relatively obvious one to Nix, who had had his first toke in San Francisco just before shipping out, and who drove out to Dick’s farm twice a month or so to shoot the shit at the kitchen table and lie sleepless in the twin bed in the guest room listening to the woods and the snoring from the next room over and debating numerous impossibilities until dawn, when he would get up and go down to the fallow fields and make estimates as to the soil quality. Then he would make coffee and biscuits. “Well damn, Nix, you didn’t have to do that,” said Dick, coming down around seven, chuffed and bedheaded, which was exactly why Nix had to do it.

He understood he had ulterior motives. But he could make an entire list of reasons why this wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had that weren’t those ulterior motives.

Finally Dick said something like, “I don’t know how I’m going to do this anymore.” They were sitting at the kitchen table in the sunset. He offered Nix a weak smile that might be described as heartbreaking. “Might be scrounging for a job around Nixon Nitration.”

Nix couldn’t help himself, though it did feel like the first second when you had to stand up and start running across an open clearing under enemy fire, before the adrenaline kicked in and everything cleared. He had been waiting for the right moment for what felt like his entire life. “You wanna know what I think?”

Dick’s brow tightened. “I always wanna know what you think.”

“But do you really wanna know what I think.”

--

It was expensive to get a grow operation going. Nix had some money, but he’d long since drunk most of his nest egg, so it was barely enough to get seed and nitrogen and decent irrigation. They woke up with the sun and worked the field until it went down, and some nights they came stumbling in at dusk, sunburned, parched, and there was hardly any food to put on the table. It wasn’t much worse than it had been at war — rice, stale bread, cans of beans or tuna fish, hot water with lemon. Ears of steamed or grilled corn, eventually, when the crop got kicking. By night Nix hunched over the grow light in the living room and tended to the hatchlings. “Never seen you act so gentle,” Dick said, putting the radio on, settling onto the couch with the paper, dirt under his fingernails.

“Yeah, well.” His face was hot, not just because of the proximity to the light. “They’re notoriously fragile.”

They shared a joint, went separate ways to bed. Most nights Nix passed out before his head hit the pillow. This was a marked improvement from what things had been like back in Jersey. Who knew the secret all along had been back-breaking agricultural labor? He thought about writing a letter to the Secretary of Veteran’s Affairs or whoever was supposed to be handling the burgeoning public health crisis that was an entire generation's rampant PTSD.

They were accustomed to working hard together. Dick had never been the kind of officer who had gotten off on asking the underlings to do all the shit-shoveling, and Nix had followed suit, only wanting to be an officer half as good as Dick. He remembered participating in a kind of bucket relay, tossing sandbags off a truck toward the CP on one of the many, many nights it flooded. In the highest heat of the day he sat in the cool grass in the shade, drinking too-tart lemonade and puncturing a hose just-so with a knife to lay some makeshift irrigation. Dick came out after a few minutes with what passed for sandwiches. His sunburnt nose was peeling, even though he sometimes put zinc oxide on it like a lifeguard in a soap opera. “Remember when you got hit in the head?”

It was a ricochet that glanced off his helmet — the closest he had come over there to turning in his dance card forever. He had a headache for a few days after, and the doc had moved a flashlight between his eyes with an air of concern. Dick had been quite alarmed. He hovered for a while like some kind of fairy godparent. It was kind of embarrassing, but Nix didn't say anything about it.

“Of course I do.”

“Well,

TK

--

Nix went to town to buy nitrogen at the Agway. On the way back he stopped for cigarettes at the general store. Scanning the magazine rack whilst the shopgirl fished out his Marlboro Reds he nearly had a massive coronary. There was a picture from Vietnam on the cover of Esquire Magazine with the following caption:

HEART OF DARKNESS: D.K. WEBSTER REVISITS VIETNAM

He picked it up. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What’s that?” The shopgirl was a pregnant woman in overalls and a man’s ribbed tank top. She tossed the cigs Nix’s way.

“Nothing.” He showed her the magazine, wishing he had the sleight of hand to just shove it up his shirtsleeve. “I’ll take this too.”

In the parking lot, he checked that the bags of nitrogen were secure in the bed of Dick’s pickup, and then he sat on the back bumper in the profound sun and opened to the table of contents, then, skipping cologne ads and spreads of beautiful women in states of undress, opened to the introductory page preceding Webster’s article. According to the byline, the pictures had been taken by a photographer who had been with their company for a little while, had been all over the country and had disappeared in the Spring of 1970 somewhere on Cambodia’s Highway 1. The article was preceded by a two-page spread of one such photograph of Easy Company on Hill 926 toward Christmas ’69. He looked over the faces of all the boys, naming them, the dead ones and the alive ones and the should have been dead ones and the should have been alive ones, inside his mind, until he came upon the pixelated black mar of his own eyes. Then he folded up the magazine and put it in his back pocket and drove back up to Dick’s farm in something of a fugue state. Over there, on the rare occasions upon which they had access to a Jeep, Dick usually drove it, because Nix was usually under the influence of something or other. Dick could not be gotten under the influence of anything besides grief, or anger, a few times that he let Nix see, and these did not seem to cloud his judgement overmuch. It had been something to see Vietnam that way — like a tourist, watching the forest from the windows, the beach and the water, the blood in the water, the great napalm swaths like deep burned scars. He had thought at first that Dick thought he was stoned and useless, but now he wasn't so sure, and anyway it had felt like a strange gift, like new eyes…

Back at the farm, he practically threw himself down in the better chair pulled up to the kitchen table. He rolled a joint and sparked the end of it. Thus prepared, he took the magazine out of his pocket and began to read:

In March 1969, D.K. Webster appeared before the editor of this magazine and just about prostrated himself before the news desk to ask if he might be permitted to cover the conflict in Vietnam. He flew to Saigon that June and embedded himself with E Company of the elite 101st Airborne, where he remained until February of the following year. Shortly after returning stateside he checked himself into an inpatient mental health facility. Now, three years later, he has at last filed his first story for this magazine. — Ed.

The boys were just about to go to the wire for the night when I got to the camp on Hill 926. The guns among them were varied and babied like children. Spit-shined barrels caught the last sun. The medic came over at the last with speed pills. There was no dinner. I was shaken up, literally, from the chopper, and also figuratively, being as I had been the only living cargo, unloaded en route to Saigon with corpses draped with their camouflage ponchos, ripped through with bulletholes and muddy with blood. I was pretty sure my brain had released the store of psychedelic chemicals you were supposed to get at the moment of death so it was just as well the medic didn’t offer any speed to me, that first night, though he would later.

The boys were my age. Some were younger than me. After some spiteful if hushed debate among themselves they gave me a helmet which had belonged to someone dead. There was blood splattered inside it and nothing to clean it out with. Still, I put it on. The bodies in the chopper had put the fear in me and there were not, absolutely were not, enough cigarettes. I waited for someone to offer me one, but nobody did. Instead the First Sergeant offered me a gun.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Remembered belatedly you were supposed to call them sir. Some of the grunts snickered.

“Point it and shoot it,” said the First Sergeant.

I’d been in places where they wanted to put a show on for me and in other places where they herded me back onto the chopper as soon as they heard I was a reporter. I had also been in Saigon, where there was not much to do but lie in bed drunk and jerk off until raw. On Hill 926 I was another body with a beating heart. I took the gun and we went to the wire. There were more boys out there taping sixteen clips together so they’d go faster. They had gloves to move the big box guns by the hot barrels but the fabric was wet and rotting. Cassette player spinning Donovan. Somebody had VOODOO CHILD engraved into his helmet. At last somebody gave me a god damn cigarette. You would have needed something to look across what men like these in previous wars might have termed no man’s land. The napalm had turned the edge of the forest into a bridge between this world and Hades. The night fog was coming out of it. Between us and that was barbed wire stretched over blood-slaked mud, hung with charred corpses. Now I was glad there had been no dinner.

The speed was kicking in for just about everybody else. Because there was nothing to shoot at yet they took a keen interest in my well-being. “Keep your head down.” “Keep your mouth shut.” “Keep the belt flat.” “If you get hit, yell for the medic. Only if you get hit!” Finally, “For gods sake wait for one of us before you god damn start shooting.”

I asked them if they ever got friendly fire.

“Medic in 4th Company got killed that way.”

“Took out some of the Lurps in the 67th.”

You were always learning new words which were just ways of saying things that took less time.

“Long range recon patrollers,” explained one of the boys. The nameplate, as well as the sleeves, had come off his jacket, but everybody called him Babe, except for the medic, who called everybody by the surname, and Babe’s was Heffron. When he looked to the forest, he saw something I didn’t, because of his training, and because he had put greasepaint around his eyes, like an ancient Egyptian lady, against the infernal messaging of the high yellow moon. Ready to burst like a pincushion mushroom on the edge of the horizon. “Ours are coming,” he said.

“You see em?”

The call went down the line to hold fire. The movement in the fog and the skeletons of the trees — like actors on a stage, like apparitions, ghosts. There were two negotiating the brutal wasteland, delicately around the landmines. Someone put a flare up. There was a captain and a corporal, differentiable by the insignia upon their tattered uniforms. They wore greasepaint and carried rifles. The corporal had let his rest against his forearm and shoulder so that he could roll a cigarette from a pack of loose tobacco drawn from inside his destroyed fatigue jacket.

A line from Dylan surfaced in the civilian part of my mind: Maggie come fleet foot face full of black soot…

“How long have they been out there?”

“Since yesterday noon.”

The captain went toward the CP to speak to the major. The corporal came into our foxhole and sat up against the sandbags to light the cig he’d just rolled. His boots were so bad he might as well have been barefoot. His eyes were dark, helmet askew and dented. A startling quality of blood on his person not necessarily his own. “How many, Lieb,” said the gunner, Toye.

“Two companies coming down from the mountain camp. Who’s got pills?”

“Two companies?”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

“Lieb, we’re just one company.”

The dark gaze found me. It was like looking back into the edge of the forest, the skeletons and fog, shadows, death lurking close at hand. “Who’s this then?”

Heffron cackled. “They gave us a correspondent.”

--

I made up my mind I had to talk to the LRRP that the boys called Lieb, because he scared the shit out of me.

The Lurps’ job was to go into the woods and try to figure out whereabouts the VC were moving, where they were encamped and the gear they had, their numbers, the locations of their traps and tunnels. The company at the camp on Hill 926 had two men who served this purpose, the captain, Spiers, and the corporal, Liebgott. Rumor was general in the camp about the quantity of VC these men had killed and the things they had seen and done. Between them they had done five tours before this one. Between them they were rumored to have survived a chopper crash, at least three VC ambushes, a court martial, a suicide attempt, a week without sleep, more than fifty parachute drops, booby traps galore, setting foot in the city of Hue, flushing out a collective six VC tunnels, and stepping on a no doubt exaggerated quantity of dud landmines. Spiers was unapproachably scary. He had allegedly executed prisoners on numerous occasions. In the heights of misery when not even the Dexedrine pills could bring you up out of the depths of the fear the men would joke about asking the captain to take them behind the CP and get it over with.

Liebgott, called Lieb, not seeming to understand what this word actually means in the German language, was also a stone killer by all accounts, thoroughly dead in the eyes, like looking at them you were surprised his lips weren’t blue, and they caught no reflection, but he spent all his time at camp, which was slim, listening to Da Capo and The Notorious Byrd Brothers (Do you think it’s really the truth that you see? I’ve got my doubts it’s happened to me) on cassette and chain smoking. This made him seem like someone I might have gotten to know if I had stayed in college, though I understood this was a fallacy. Anyway, by this point I was taking the uppers when the medic offered so I went over of an early morning when he was shaving his face.

He had Love on. “You know you have the same name as this band,” I said.

He was trying to figure out if I was serious. He had the razor poised right over his carotid artery. Under all the greasepaint he had good skin, thin beard, hollow cheeks. His hair was limp and filthy. In another life he might have been good looking. I sat down in the mud. That’s how bad I wanted to talk to him. I sat in the goddamn mud. The mud was made of blood and piss and worse around here. It didn’t even faze him, because he was sleeping in worse every night he was out there.

Tried another in: “You listen to Forever Changes?”

He set the razor gliding again over the bone of his jaw. “Had a tape,” he said. “It rotted.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can get you another one.”

He was trying to get the read on me. “What do you want.”

“Talk to you.”

“Not enough to get shot at out on the wire?”

“This is for Esquire,” I said. “It ain’t for Newsweek.”

He spat in the mud, but it came so perilously close to the toe of my left boot that it might’ve been intentional. “Can’t say I’d make a good centerfold,” he said. His face was twitching with the smile he was playing like he was too tough to put on it. “Even in lingerie.”

I liked him, though he made himself very difficult to like, and was out in the bush with Captain Spiers more nights than not; when you got him warmed up, he would talk about it, sometimes too much, sometimes things you didn’t really want to know. I went back to my bedroll and wrote them down and tried to put them out of my head. Six months later, I was at the tail end of a sleepless 36-hour benzo binge, and the wind was blowing wrong, out of the wrong mouth at the wrong end of the world, bringing rain and the smell of death and napalm and the latrines, on the suffocating humid night when Spiers half-carried him out of the woods —

Dick’s shadow loomed over Nix’s shoulder and distorted the light on the text. “This is mildly embarrassing,” he said.

Nix felt like someone had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and yanked him out of a dead man’s float. “Hell,” he said, voice cracking, “for who?”

Dick shrugged. “Everybody involved.” He headed over to the stovetop percolator to spoon in fragrant coffee grounds. “David might've played it a little less fast and loose on the schoolboy crush front.”

“Schoolboy crush?”

Dick cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Nix, your reading comprehension leaves something to be desired.”

“On — wait. On Liebgott!”

Dick turned back to the stove. “Maybe you need an eye test.”

Nix dropped the magazine on the table like it was radioactive. He supposed it might have been. His heart was acting up. What other kinds of things had Dick noticed? “My head was pretty damn far up my own ass.”

“I’d say so. Anyway, in my day we called that kind of prose florid.”

“In your day! Where the hell?”

“High school English.”

TK

--

The knock at the door in the night was a sharp shock, bright as lightning, that sent them both back to Khe Sanh and before. Nix ducked. Dick went behind the doorframe. They kept low into the kitchen, where Nix took his old officer’s pistol out from where he kept it hidden behind the fridge. Then they went to the door, keeping to the edges of the hallways.

On the porch was Liebgott. He could have made his own way in likely right onto the couch without either of them noticing, so it was something that he had knocked on the goddamn door. It was particularly something given that none of the boys from Easy should have known about the grow operation, or even about Dick’s farm, being as Dick’s address on file at the V.A. was a post office box in town and Nix’s was still in Jersey. These considerations were nil to somebody who had spent the better part of five years in the bush of Vietnam. He took a last draw from his cigarette and put it out against the rubber sole of his boot, then he put the butt in his pocket. As far as Nix knew, he hadn’t said a word since January 1970.  

“Joe,” said Dick diplomatically. He put his hand out and Liebgott took it. Then he took Nix’s. He had handsome dark eyes, but they were full of a wall. You could tell he saw you, but it was like nothing followed the necessary channels to the brain to spur emotional response. It had been like this even while he was still talking, and after a while you got used to it.

“You comin' in,” said Nix, knowing he probably would even if he wasn’t invited.

Inside, they all three sat at the kitchen table in silence nobody was about to break. Finally Dick got up and went to the drawer where they kept the rollies and their share of the product. He passed a sheaf of papers and a film canister full of bud to Liebgott across the table. Nix understood as well as Dick apparently did that there would be no getting anything over on this kid, who had eyes in the back and sides of his head. He’d probably had a nice tour of the property before coming inside. “You hungry, son,” Dick said.

Liebgott shook his head. He extracted one of the buds from the canister and inspected it. They did look mighty good if Nix said so himself. They looked artful in Liebgott’s hand. There were black scabs across his knuckles and a dark rime of filth under those fingernails which still existed. He seemed satisfied enough with what he saw to take a paper out of the sheaf and start shredding the flower into it.

“Captain Nixon calls it Easy Diesel,” said Dick, like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.

Liebgott looked up and a smile flashed across his face like the savage golden light of a flare falling over the far hills. His smile was sort of brutal, like the edge of a knife in a barfight, or like a seething animal. Luckily it went away as quickly as it had come. He rolled the joint with a quick grace and lit the business end with his old silver Zippo Nixon hadn’t seen since the war. There was a skull engraved on one side and on the other it read IF YOU ARE RECOVERING MY BODY, FUCK YOU.

“I don’t know how you found us, Joe,” Dick said thoughtfully. “You don’t have to… tell us. But we ain’t exactly keen to have just anybody here.” He paused and looked quickly to Nix, who tried to make it abundantly clear by means of eyebrows that he wasn’t sure they ought to go down this road, wherever it was leading. Dick ignored him. Liebgott was watching them, fully understanding their attempted clandestine exchange. “We ain’t exactly keen to have the DEA here,” Dick said at last.

The cherry at the end of the joint atomized with a crackling hiss. Liebgott looked between Dick and Nix with extreme seriousness sullied only by his exhaling a dignified white cloud out his nose. Then he nodded, once, curtly, demonstrating he understood his orders as they had been relayed.

Nix flashed Dick what he thought was a what have you done type look. But Dick looked totally unbothered. He should have gone into this business years ago for how violently unflappable he was. He said to Liebgott, “I’ll get some blankets and you can make up the couch.”

Liebgott shook his head to say no need. He got up, careful not to scrape the chair against the floor, shook each of their hands again, and in less than a minute’s time he was back out the door with nothing more than what he’d come in with except the joint.

Nix and Dick, on the porch, listening to the crickets, watched him disappear into the darkness.

“Are we hallucinating,” said Nix eventually.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Dick replied. “We’ve got to ship all that product or we’ll starve.”

--

In the morning Nix was in the field, inspecting the plants. Liebgott was standing there at his quarter for god knew how long before he cleared his throat and Nix jumped about six feet in the air. There was a smirk shifting across Liebgott’s face that he would have been better about hiding when Nix had been his commanding officer. He looked like he hadn't slept. Back over there he had looked like that a lot, but it had been different, because of all the uppers they were taking. He cocked his head back over toward the long driveway and then he was off across the dew-wet grass which had already soaked through the hems of his canvas pants and his destroyed shoes.

Nix followed, like a duckling behind a hen. Liebgott still walked as though there were eyes in all sides of his head quickly processing information as he moved. Nix doubted you ever lost that kind of skill, even if in the real world it made you look like a mental patient. He caught up so they could walk side by side through the dew-wet grass. “What did you think,” he asked Liebgott.

Liebgott passed Nix the universal sign of furrowed brow that meant please clarify.

Nix gestured with pinched fingers to his own mouth as though Liebgott were also deaf. “The grass.”

He shaped his hand into an a-ok sign.

“You get any sleep?”

He nodded an infinitesimal nod, like the answer was a secret just for Nix to know.

“Well if you think it could be better just tell me how.”

Nix had had a high school friend whose sister was deaf from scarlet fever and whom he had watched on occasion communicate with her by means of sign language. Early on, back over there, he had sent off to command for a book, but by the time it came he understood it wasn’t that Liebgott couldn’t speak, he just didn’t want to. It was something like how people’s hair supposedly turned white if they witnessed some evil thing, or how people became ascetics in the name of god. If you were really fucked up on drugs or fear or otherwise, or if the natural magical thinking from childhood hadn’t been fully beaten out of you, you might have seen it as the sacrifice he had given to the forest for letting him out without a scratch so many goddamn times. It had been a bit of a trial to explain this to Spiers, who was practical almost to a fault, sometimes.

Liebgott showed another a-ok sign. Then he did a thumbs up which Nix knew meant it was good.

All in all it was smart. If he was still talking, Nix might have asked him, what have you been up to? You been sleeping on the street? You been to the V.A.? What did they tell you? And the answer would’ve been nothing good. Instead they just walked in the cool grass together in the sunshine and the morning was beautiful, and the air was sweet. It was all lovely until Liebgott had to physically stop him, laughing, somehow silently but also hysterically, from stepping right onto the razor-thin tripwire stretched invisibly across the dark gravel.

In the kitchen, Dick was doing the numbers. He took his glasses off when Nix came in and put the coffee on. “He learned a thing or two from Charlie,” Nix said, leaning against the counters.

“Who, Joe?”

“Our driveway is thoroughly ratfucked.”

“Hmm,” said Dick. He put the glasses back on and turned back to the accounting book. He was going to do this whole thing as above board as was humanly possible. The vivid daylight came through the window and struck the lens of his unstylish Ray-Bans and threw a kind of prism of color upon the white paper and the chicken-scratch sums. Nix felt like maybe this was something you would paint if you had the necessary implements and artistic ability. “Maybe we should see if we can get any more help.”

--

He was mildly ashamed to say it, but the doc had always kind of creeped Nix out. He imagined a hypothetical conversation with Dick, who he knew loved the kid, almost like a son: Listen, don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid, I owe him my life, yadda yadda. But either he’s dropped the brown acid one too many times or the voodoo exorcism went FUBAR.

The doc had arrived on the farm on the heels of Sunshine and Rainbows, aka Mr. Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed, aka one Edward “Babe” Heffron. Nix had written Babe in South Philly, being as he was a connoisseur of bud and once upon a time had been famed among their company for smoking anything anyone put in his hand, often to his own detriment. The operation was getting big enough that Nix needed another pair of hands, other than Liebgott, of course, who was still fortifying the long driveway whilst giving away his cover by playing Led Zeppelin IV as loudly as was possible. It was a tough calculation, because Babe was a genius of pot, but he couldn’t keep a damn secret, and lo and behold he had dragged along with him a dark shadow in the human form of Eugene Roe. They came up the driveway in a big old Ford pickup that rattled its rust off in the potholes. Liebgott had dismantled the traps specially for their arrival when they had called from Williamsport to say they were an hour out.

“I figured we could use a medical professional to lend some credibility to the operation,” said Babe thoughtfully, sparking a joint on the porch over sweating jam jars of iced tea.

Roe snorted or something but it wasn’t really a normal person’s self-effacing laugh. Winters clapped his back. Nixon knew Roe had dropped out of medical school after two years but there was no need to say anything. Everyone knew that. Now he was working construction and Babe claimed to be working as a mechanic in a garage, but this seemed suspect given the state of the car they had driven up in.

“Well we sure as hell are glad you boys are here,” said Dick magnanimously.

Babe exhaled an opaque cloud that rivaled Nix’s own father’s ability with a stogie. “Can we see the bush?”

They went out all together to the field and ducked between the rows of corn. Babe knelt in the soil. It was damp with dew and quiet in here. It would have been almost like over there except it smelled good. “What’s the cross,” Babe said, inspecting the plants.

“It’s an indica blend…”

“Well, I can tell that,” he said.

“So you’re an expert on the plant now too?”

“I’ve just smoked an awful lot of joints in my life, Captain Nixon.”

Roe snorted again. When they all looked to him he said, “You said in the letter there was some kind of altruistic reason for all this.”

“It’s medicine, Gene,” Babe said gently, but also like they had had this conversation thirty thousand times. Nix filed away for later the intimation that Roe had read the letter he’d sent Babe at home in South Philadelphia.

“I guess you don’t remember the psychic break you had at the Do Lung Bridge.”

Babe waved this remark off, even though Nix remembered it too. It threw a chill down his back, like a water balloon had hit him at the base of his neck. “That was laced,” Babe said.

“With what!”

“I don’t know! Something bad!” Babe turned to Dick and Nix. “Gene’s teetotal,” he said, like this was a big old point of contention.

So that counted out the bad acid. Maybe he was just like this. Maybe he had had those big sad bug eyes as a child or an infant or a fetus in the womb. “Good on you, Doc,” Nix said.

“I ain’t trying it,” Roe said, folding his arms over his narrow chest, “no matter what it does.”

The doc was a tough cookie. Babe had claimed, over there, about as high as the Byrds song, that the doc came from a long line of the kind of folks described in Dr. John’s “Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya” and that, as such, he could heal wounds with his mind. When it didn’t work, as on the night when Jackson died, or the night when Hoobler died, or in the forest when Muck and Penkala died, or the night when Liebgott stopped speaking, he went to sit for a while on the edge of camp until Dick went over and made him eat something. Nix watched them in a state of confused envy, and then he went to write the letters to the families, so that Dick wouldn’t have to.

At dusk, after they ate a light dinner of corn on the cob and rice and beans, he took the boys up into the hayloft with an armful of blankets. “Sorry this is the best we got,” he said. He had said that about a hundred god damn times since they got here.

Roe looked like he wanted to say, you’ve got to stop apologizing for everything. Instead he said, “Where does Lieb sleep.”

Babe perked up. “Joe’s here?”

“You didn’t see him in the driveway?”

Nix sighed. “He’s gonna want to know what he did wrong that you saw him,” he said.

“Does he still — ”

Nix shook his head. “Not a peep.”

--

In a couple days time, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was hot and tired and stoned, up to his elbows in earth in the field, showing Babe how to replant the hatchlings he’d grown from seed. “You guys room together or what?”

“Me and Gene?” Babe’s eyes were red in the corners from smoking and from the sun. “What about you and Dick?”

Dick, who had the radio on inside turned up as loud as it would go, so that they would hear it in the field, playing Crosby Stills and Nash doing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” “What about me and Dick?” said Nix.

Babe was a smart kid. He realized this was going nowhere. With muddy hands he popped one of the seedlings out of its little pot and cradled it into the ground. “Well, I think he thinks he’s looking after me, but in actuality, I am looking after him.”

---

--

-

i do hope to someday finish this. webster in this AU is based on michael herr and that whole section is my impression of dispatches. the band that lieb and webster start to bond over is arthur lee’s band love. lieb’s lighter is based on a real one i saw on here sometime. this whole conceit is inspired by steve earle’s “copperhead road.” 

[hermitreunited]

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I could have split these all up to go under various rec theme posts, and maybe I will, but the gosh darn truth of it is that I love every fic by @sunriseseance​ aka Oceansweather so dang much that I needed to make a post about all of it. A very detailed post. It’s long, but she and her work deserve it. <3

A Hard Rain’s A Gonna Fall

Summary: In 1963, most citizens of Dallas had no idea where Vietnam was. He knew that because none of the people he passes as he walks look particularly dead inside. The sidewalk scorches his feet even though the sun hangs low in the sky. The air is hot and wet and it feels like a jungle growing in his chest.

aka, A Fourth of July fic about Klaus, trauma, family, and history. Takes place in 1963.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Implied Klaus/Dave⎜Word Count: 4k+⎜Complete (1/1)

This is true for all of her fics - the writing style is so engaging and good and smart! This fic in particular, though - WOW the narration is incredible. Gets you very deep into Klaus’ headspace for a gripping, panicky experience. He’s dealing with the fallout of a traumatic event that is about to happen to most of the people around him. So complicated and sad and intricate!

He wants to warn her that, hey, in 6 years your little boyfriend is going to get drafted and he’s going to go to a country you couldn’t pick out on a map and he’s going to kill people who he shouldn’t kill and every week he’ll write you a letter promising you that when he gets back you’ll move out of the city and your baby will have a real forest to play in and then he’ll kill some more people he’ll go to hell for killing if there’s a hell to go to, and then, well, he’ll get shot in the chest and the blood will come out of his mouth, too, and you’ll have to know that you weren’t there, weren’t fast enough to hear his last words or offer him some last comfort and he’ll be dead and for what? 

Happy Birthday, Johnny

Summary: It’s a nice place. Allison made sure of that when she chose it the first time. Three stays ago. God, they’re only 23 (And they are 23 now, or close enough). Three times? She may as well be lighting her money on fire.

Still, the chairs are comfortable. The visiting room is empty, of course, apart from a man with deep, heavy bags under his eyes. Fluorescent lights hum above her as she waits. They wash everything out, cast everything in a harsh shadow. Not that anything about the experience isn’t harsh. This is stupid. She knows it, now, as she feels her heart beating in her throat and the backs of her legs and her fingers.

What if he doesn’t want to see her? What if he was asleep for, what, the first time in 13 days? That’s how long it’s been this time, right? What if he hates her? (What if he’s right to do so?)

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Gen⎜Word Count: 3k+⎜Complete (1/1)

Get ready for your heart to break from the Allison and Klaus feelings (and hold onto them, because she’s going to do this again, Allison and Klaus feelings is her brand). Being Hargreeves siblings is complicated, so so complicated, especially for these two, whose circumstances could not be more different, but when it comes down to it, they are quite similar. It’s pre-series, so it’s Sad, but boy is it ever a detailed look into these two excellent characters.

On their 13th birthday, before everything went wrong, Klaus snuck into her room at midnight with a magazine he stole and a cake he made. The smell of smoke stuck to all of his clothes, his skin, his hair. He gave her the cake, all of it, and the magazine. The smile that accompanied them haunts her.

He asked if he could sit with her, and she said yes. He asked if she’d ever smoked before, and she said no. He asked if she wanted to, and she said yes. He asked if she wanted weed or a cigarette, she said cigarette. That’s what the movie stars did. He gave her a look, a laugh, and showed her how to hold it so it didn’t burn her fingers. Not that he’d lit it yet. He wanted to make sure she had it down before he set her on fire.

Slow is in My Blood

Summary: Dave touches him, sometimes. In dances through root systems lit by a diffused moon, Dave puts a hand on his lower back, his arm, his shoulder. To help, he says. Your balance, he says, it isn’t good. I don’t want you to fall. These pits are endless, he says. You don’t like the dark. A touch to help. It helps.

aka, A meditation on Klaus and allowing himself to be loved. Dave doesn't die at the end.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Klaus/Dave⎜Word Count: 1k+⎜Complete (1/1)

I am biased, I suppose, because this fic was a gift to me. But like!!!! This fic!!! It’s sad and beautiful and lovely and so perfect. I can’t not think about Klaus and Dave’s relationship without thinking about the dynamic in this fic, about how Dave initiates and Klaus keeps himself from running away. It’s gorgeous.

Maybe it’s not one sided. Maybe he touches Dave on the back of his neck just to watch his skin react. Maybe he hopes the reaction comes from the touch itself, and not the chill Klaus carries with him. Maybe he lets the touch linger long enough for Dave to smack his hand away. Maybe he knows, somewhere, that smack is the wrong word. Dave doesn’t smack. He holds, and moves. He lacks a violence somewhere at his core. Maybe it’s the only way Klaus has something Dave lacks, and maybe it’s the only thing Klaus wouldn’t share if Dave asked. 

I’ll Be Cleaning Up Bottles With You on New Year’s Day

Summary: Sitting behind him on the windowsill, in a truth that still feels false, is Dave. Quiet, right now. Rubbing Klaus's neck. Kissing it occasionally. New clothes, even, though still only things Klaus saw Dave wear in life. The closest he came to fancy enough for New Year's was the outfit he wore on the night they first kissed. The dates still get muddled in his head.

Dave still smells like Dave. Klaus can bring that back, too. The earthy-clean skin, the slight scent of sweat, the cotton of the polo. Something else, underneath all that. Something that Klaus could recognize anywhere, could follow to the end of the world, could die to protect.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Klaus/Dave⎜Word Count: 1k+⎜Complete (1/1)

OKAY Okay okay. This fic was the equivalent of a bottle of wine when I read it on New Year’s Eve, because it just took these 1092 words, and suddenly I was crying and telling my friends how much I loved them. Me talking about it here is not going to do justice to the warmth and love that you will feel from this. You just have to read it. If you want to experience a moment of perfect contentment and peace that will probably put happy tears in your eyes, read this.

His family is together. Really. They sit in the living room, wearing out couches that have lasted centuries. Allison spills her champagne. Luther only moved Klaus to the slightly-opened window when Klaus started smoking.

Diego's puzzle, which he insists isn't his, keeps finding more pieces. Five and Diego work on it together. He watches them work on it together. He watches Luther help, before getting up to change the record on father's phonograph.

Karma, Leave These Kids Alone

Summary: Klaus is right, because he usually is. Their childhood was worth fearing. But it wasn’t all bad, she thinks, and some guilt pangs her. I wouldn’t wish this on us, but I’m glad I got him out of it. I’m glad Claire is safe.

She holds out her hand for him, and he takes it.

aka, A meditation on Allison and her traumas, guilts, fears, and loves. Centered around her and Klaus, their love for one another, and how that changes her love and fear for Claire.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Gen⎜Word Count: 2k+⎜Complete (1/1)

Allison and Klaus complicated feelings part deux! Now with added Claire feelings! The story centers around Allison’s fear of her daughter having powers, which I would read 100 fics about, and because it’s an Oceansweather fic, it doesn’t stop there. The Hargreeves are adults now who are trying to understand their childhood, and how they relate to each other. It’s complex and sad and it hurts but also it’s healing and growth and love.

He laughed that familiar laugh.

Why would she see the dead? Well, she has an imaginary friend like you used to. She has nightmares. Klaus, I am terrified for her. How did you know it was real? He was quiet, and then he said, well, I could see them. I always could. If she doesn’t see them, she doesn’t see the dead, right?

And Allison said yes. That makes sense. And then Klaus was quiet for a while longer, and then he gagged, and then he said, well, why are you terrified for her? She heard the venom in his voice.

Same As It Ever Was

Summary: He tries to love the heels. Really, he does. He knows Dave loves him in them. He knows, hey, it’s his job to look good. Right? Dave fixes cars and Klaus fixes dinner and cleans the house and looks oh so pretty. So, yes, he has to wear the heels. He doesn’t own any other shoes and he can’t go walking around barefoot. Not with his toenails painted black. Why were they black again? And, say, why did his wrist look so blank? He traced a shape that he couldn’t place onto his skin and waited for something to appear. Like invisible ink. aka, Life is perfect for the Hargreeves, which must mean something is wrong. How fortunate that Klaus is smarter than anyone gives him credit for.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Klaus/Dave, Diego/Eudora, Five/Delores⎜Word Count: 8k+⎜Complete (1/1)

This fic is so. freaking. cool. It’s closest probably to a horror story? It’s definitely creepy and uneasy, but it’s also melancholy and thrilling and - very importantly -it features Smart Capable Underestimated but Badass Klaus! I am willing to bet you have not read anything else in the fandom like this, and that you are going to be absolutely captivated. I know I am!

Klaus doesn’t want to see Dave, which is not a feeling he should have. He knows this. He knows he wants to see Dave every day for the rest of his life. So why is he running? Why are his feet carrying him to the bathroom? Why is he locking the door? The tumblers clang into place. His hands shake and he’s going to fall over and brain himself if he doesn’t catch his balance. He can only remember feeling so terrified twice in his life—except he can’t. He can’t remember it at all. So he can’t remember ever feeling this terrified.

It’s just Dave.

[nancywheelxr]

Hey can you do the rest of the siblings finding out what happened to Klaus while he was in Vietnam? And maybe them eventually believing him when he says he’s sober because of this? Honestly anything with Klaus and validation would be wonderful. I’m sorry if you’ve done this already or if it was too vague! I reallly enjoy your writing, you’re doing a great job:) thank you for existing

Hey, thank you so much! Actually, thank you for existing!

“Is this Vietnamese food?”

It’s a fair question to ask and Diego can see where Allison is coming from, but perhaps the more pressing question would be: “since when do you cook?”

“Well, you know,” Klaus shrugs, sitting down himself at the table like this is just another dinner and not the most surprising thing yet to happen today, and honestly that in itself is a true feat. “There was this sweet old lady in the bar we used to go back in Vietnam, she used to give us free food. Well, me and,” there’s a barely noticeable hiccup on his voice, and Diego is sure the others don’t notice, except maybe Allison, but he does, and he regrets asking in the first place. “Dave. She said he reminded her of her son. Anyway, she taught me how to cook a few things.”

It’s strange to see Klaus grow quiet, his sentence ending without any exclamation points or nonsensical things to make someone laugh, and sure, it’s better than the mood swings from the first days after he came back from ‘68, but it’s still odd and uncomfortably sad.

His siblings, though, aren’t aware of the shit they’re dragging up when Luther frowns, setting his fork down. “Wait. Did you just say Vietnam?”

“Who’s Dave?” asks Allison, and Five grimaces in a way that tells Diego he also knows this is not going to be a good night for Klaus.

“Right,” Klaus says, drawing out the word and pushing food around uninterested in his plate. A crease appears on his forehead as he stares down his glass, eyes unfocused. “I keep forgetting I never told you guys about the war.”

“I’m sorry, war?” Vanya coughs, choking on her soda in bewilderment. Which, Diego supposes is a fair reaction. “As in the Vietnam War?”

“That’s the one,” he snaps his fingers in her direction and points, but the cheerfulness in his gestures doesn’t reach his eyes. Klaus is always bleeding out emotions, and if his manic glee was easy to spot before, his sadness is no different, especially after everything they all went through together. “Remember that briefcase those psychos with the stupid masks were asking about? So, turns out it’s a time travel machine thingy. Sent me straight to 1968, smack dab in the middle of the war. Who woulda thunk it, huh?”

“Are you telling us that you fought in the Vietnamese War?” Allison asks so incredulous that Diego is surprised her jaw isn’t hitting the floor. She blinks, looks at Luther like she thinks Luther should say something and opens and closes her mouth a few times when he doesn’t. “Klaus, that’s– I mean, I’m so sorry, how did we miss that? Are you alright?”

“Oh, that’s because it brought me back to a few hours after I left. Very convenient, although I wouldn’t recommend it.” Klaus tries for a smile but it’s wobbly and so unconvincing, even Luther picks up on the sadness spilling at the edges. “And I am perfectly fine, it even got me to sober up!”

“So you didn’t spend much time there?” Luther mumbles his way into a question, clearing his throat.

“Ten months,” he says shortly, clipping his answer like it hurts to get the words out. Diego bets it does.

“Jesus Christ, Klaus,” Luther breathes, eyes going wide at the thought of Klaus fighting in a war in the middle of the Asian jungle, more than five decades ago. Ten months in that hellhole– Diego shudders at the thought. “Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

There’s a pause, and Diego watches as his brother sips his water with shaking fingers. His entire expression changes, softening into a gentle smile that Diego has only ever seen once before. It’s tender and fond, spelling out so much affection that leaves little room for grief. “I met someone,” he says quietly, almost to himself, and they wouldn’t have heard it if the room hadn’t gone deathly silent. “I loved him more than anything, enough to stay forever if– I loved him.”

The fact that Klaus had come back alone and his use of the past tense doesn’t go unnoticed by the others. Vanya looks sadly at him, reaching to pat his hand in comfort, and Allison lets out a little oh. “Was that Dave?” She prods, probably sensing it would be best for Klaus to unfurl his grief off his chest, lay it on the table, talk the hurt down. It might help, not that Diego would know, he prefers to keep things for himself. Sometimes it’s good to keep shit bottled up, sometimes you gotta hold on to the glass shards to remember what looking out the window felt like, even it if it cuts you. But that’s Diego. Klaus has never been like Diego when dealing with shit.

“Yeah,” Klaus nods, smiling the same little smile from before, but it’s definitely sadder now, shaky like his hands. “He was an American soldier, showed me around when I got there, and– he was the best person I’ve ever met. The kindest, the most beautiful, it was like– I never believed in God, but I could believe he was an angel. I thought, I don’t know, that we were gonna ride out the war and, I don’t know, live life? Happily ever after, the whole thing,” now that he started talking, it’s like Klaus can’t stop. The words pour out of him like rain, sizzling down the dinner table. “And we were happy, these ten months. It was hell back there but it was paradise with him, until– war is a pretty dangerous place, you know?”

Diego rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezes comfortingly, because the waver on his voice is so unlike him, they all can’t help wanting to bring back his old self. Well, fairly new old self. The one that laughs without anything else in his blood. Allison averts her eyes, looking down at the flowers embroidered on the table cloth, “I’m so sorry, Klaus. We never knew– if you ever need anything, we are here for you.”

Luther nods along, terribly uncomfortable but seems determined to stick around to show his support, and Five is looking anywhere but at Klaus when he says, “I am sorry for your loss, as well. And like Allison said, we’d like to help.”

“Thanks,” Klaus grimaces, drumming his fingers on the table nervously. Everything about it screams the overall awkwardness about the whole thing. They have never been good at this emotional, sentimental bullshit, each of them bad at it in their own special fucked up way. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

A minute ticks by before Vanya speaks quietly over the second of the clock. “Is that why you got sober? To speak with him again?”

Klaus is the one coughing now, clearing his throat before replying. “Yeah, actually. What’s the point of this little cursed power if I can’t use it for selfish reasons once in my fucking life.”

“Did it work?” She asks again, equally quiet.

This time the look that crosses his face is half anger, half grief. “Not yet,” he huffs, stabbing his food with his fork. “But I’m not giving up on him.”

“Sounds healthy,” Five comments, sounding flippant in his usual way, but Diego can hear the underlying worry. The I understand, and he bets Klaus does too. “But I left Dolores at the department store, so what do I know, right?”

“When is the last time anyone in this family ever did anything healthy?” Diego snorts, taking the opportunity to dispel the heavy air hanging over the room.

“I, uh, ate a salad last week,” Luther volunteers in a rare show of awareness.

There are weak laughs from the others, and Klaus even cracks a smile. It’s a fairly weak start, but baby steps are still steps, and Diego had expected a much worse reaction from them. In fact, he had expected Klaus not to tell them at all.

It’s nice to get a good surprise for once.

[alexsmitposts]

Why is this Ongoing American “Revolution” Bound to Fail? Observed from outer space, the United States is in a revolutionary turmoil. Fires are burning, thousands of people are confronting police and other security forces. There are barricades, banners, posters, and there is rage. Rage is well justified. Grievances run deep, through the veins of a confused and socially insecure population, in both cities and the countryside. Minorities feel and actually are oppressed. Indeed they have been disgracefully oppressed, since the birth of the country, over two centuries ago (see my latest report carried by this magazine). There are some correct words uttered and written; many appropriate sentiments are expressed. And yet, and yet… It looks like a revolution, it feels like a revolution, but it is not a revolution. It definitely is not! Why? *** An expert on Communist China, a man who spent many years living and writing books about the most populous country on Earth, Jeff Brown, recently voiced something that immediately caught my attention. He described, accurately, on his China Rising Radio Sinoland, what has been taking place in his native country, United States: “Protests in the USA, land of Marlboro Man will come to nothing because there is no solidarity, no vision, nor guiding ideology to unite the people in the common struggle against the 1%. Just ask the Black Panthers and Mao Zedong.” This is precisely when ‘guiding ideology’ is desperately needed! But it is nowhere to be found. For years and decades, the US (and European) elites and their mass media, as well as their educational plus ‘entertainment’ outlets, have been systematically de-politicizing the brains of their citizens. Pornography, consumerism, and sitcoms instead of deep, philosophical books and films. Massive – often booze and sex-oriented – travel, instead of roaming the world in search of knowledge, answers, while building bridges between different cultures (even between those of victims and victimizers). Results are increasingly evident. Citizens in the Western countries were told that the ideologies, particularly the left ones, became “something that belongs to the past,” “something heavy,” unattractive, and definitely not ‘cool.’ Western masses accepted it easily, without realizing that without the left-wing ideologies, there can be no change, no revolution, and no organized opposition to the regime, which has been plundering the world for several hundreds of years. They were told that Democrats are representing left-wing, and Republicans, right-wing. Deep inside, many felt it is rubbish. There is only one right-wing political party in the US – Democrat-Republican one. But it was better for the great majority just to ignore its own instincts and swim with the flow. *** It went so far that most of the people in North America and Europe reached the point when they were not even able to commit themselves to almost anything, anymore, from the Communist movements to marriages and relationships. I recently described this occurrence in my book “Revolutionary Optimism, Western Nihilism.” There are many explanations for this. One of them: regime created society built on extreme individualism, selfishness, and shallow perception of the world. To organize, to commit, actually requires at least some discipline, effort, and definitely great dedicated effort to learn (about the world, a person, or a movement) and to work hard for a better world. It is not easy to become a revolutionary when one is positioned on a couch, or a gym, or while banging for hours every day into a smartphone. The results are sad. Anarchism, consisting of countless fragmented approaches, is increasingly popular, but it will definitely not change the country. When leaders of the ‘revolutionary commune’ in Seattle were approached by sympathetic journalists and asked about their goals, they could not answer. These were, undoubtfully, people with good intentions, outraged by racism, and by the killing of innocent people. But do they have plans, strategy, an organization to overthrow the system which is literally choking billions of lives on all continents? Definitely not! On June 11, 2020, RT filed a report about the situation in Seattle: “A few different organizations have different demands, and no one speaks for everyone, but everyone’s trying to get together,” Simone clarified, implying that the much-discussed list of “demands” that have circulated for the past few days don’t represent the wishes of the entire community. However, there are a few lines of commonality running through the settlement. “Everyone’s upset. We all came here in unity, just over the fact that cops need accountability,” he said, declaring that his decision to join the demonstration was about “trying to send a message and get accountability held.” “Now we’re here – let’s get the dialogue going,” Simone continued, unwilling to commit to taking over other precincts, expanding the Zone, or any of the ambitious demands made by others in the group.” *** Russian Bolsheviks had it clear, and the same could be said about their followers. Before the 1917 Great October Socialist Revolution, they spent years and decades educating people all over their vast country. Some of the greatest thinkers and writers, including novelist Maxim Gorky and poet Vladimir Mayakovski, were participating in the “project.” Even simple peasants were easily grasping the reality of their dismal existence while getting inspired by some of the greatest minds of their nation. If not for the Cold War and West’s brutal interference, the Soviet Union would survive and thrive until this day. The same could be said about the great revolutionary struggles of China, Vietnam, Laos, Cuba, Venezuela, where hundreds of millions of tremendous works of philosophy, fiction and poetry have been distributed, for free, to both peasants and workers, who easily understood and got inspired by them. In China, in the 1930s, the entire so-called “Shanghai School of Cinema” was born, a true socialist-realism movement that helped to educate the Chinese public about the state in which it was forced to exist. Big and successful revolutions were constructed and then supported by the educated urban and rural poor, who were awaken and consequently outraged by their position in the society. *** The rebellion in the United States is strategically shallow. There are no great leaders, no cultural figures leading it, no extraordinary educators. Without any doubt, there are clear reasons for rage and resistance. Racism is one tremendous one. And, there are other ones: US society, in general, is tired as it is depressed. As it is confused. The country is robbing, literally looting the entire Planet. It tortures people in various countries. Rainforests are burning in Indonesia, Brazil, and Congo to satisfy demands for more palm oil and other raw materials. US citizens are consuming as no other nation under the sun does. They entertain themselves, often living frivolous, empty lives. And yet, almost no one seems to be happy there; no one satisfied. People know something went essentially wrong, but they are not sure precisely what it is. Or, who should really be blamed? There is an acute lack of solidarity. And everything is happening impromptu. Are the ‘members of the majority’ in the US truly kneeling because they are in unison with the oppressed minorities and the brutalized non-Western world? Or are they “trying to save their own skin,” and at the end, keep the status quo intact, as has happened in Australia and their basically insincere “We Are Sorry!” 2008 movement? There’s no strong “front,” there is no revolutionary program. It appears that the country is not ready, not prepared, for a huge job of re-defining itself. Insecurity is due to the lack of free medical care, education, and subsidized housing. Most of the people are in debt. Depression is, at least partially, due to overconsumption of intellectual and emotional junk. There is plenty of fundamentalist religions, but almost no discussion about how to improve life in this world. Segregated, atomized, and otherwise, fragmented society seems to be unable to give birth to a truly compassionate, egalitarian national project. Many US citizens see themselves as “victims.” Ethnic minorities definitely are. Are the others, too? Who is the victim, and who is the perpetrator? On which side of the scales sits a regular middle-class family, compliant and, by global comparison, heavily indulged in overconsumption? So far, there is no open discussion on this topic. In fact, it is being avoided by all means. There seems to be at least some consensus that 1% of the richest is to blame, as well as the entire corporate and political system, and also banks. But what about the majority; those individuals who keep voting the system, those who are making sure to ignore imperialism, racism, inequality? Many questions should be asked, particularly now, but they are not. The very uncomfortable questions they are. But without asking them, without searching for honest answers, there is no way forward, and no true revolution possible. The neo-liberal system created entire nations that cannot think independently and creatively. US is definitely one of them. People were bombarded with propaganda slogans that they are free, enjoying liberties. But when the day to act arrived, there has been nothing substantial in terms of new, revolutionary ideas. Just one enormous void. Nothing that could inspire the nation and the world. The outrage over the brutal police killing propelled millions of people to the streets. The mood has been truly rebellious, revolutionary, geared for big changes. But then, nothing! Revolution is being postponed. Postponed for how many years? The truth is – there are no shortcuts. Those who sincerely want to change the United States will have to follow the revolutionary formula from other countries. The formula is mainly based on education, knowledge, and determined, selfless work for the country and the world, called “internationalism.” Unless the US comes up with an absolutely new strategy, formula, but right now, frankly, it seems to be extremely far from coming up with it!

[de-vee-l]

Music box: chapter 3 - decoded

Antonina was running back and forth under a large desk. Soundwave would sometimes check if she was still there, since no steps were heard, which actually surprised him at first. When she felt it was enough she started looking for some elevation to stretch a little.

The girl let out a quiet sigh as she finished her exercises. It was the third day already. It was still so hard to believe in everything going on around her. Would she ever be able to get out? And Cecile... will she ever see her again? Not that her roommate was the most important person in her life, but she was one of very few people Tonya was in good terms with. And all her studies... The girl leaned on the leg of the desk and repeated some leg and arm movements.

- "Okay, now from the third position", - she said in her mind, moving her feet into right position.

Loud footsteps coming from the hall made her flinch. She immediately hid behind the pillar. The door slid open once again. This room sure was in demand.

- Soundwave, - said the low, a little hoarse voice.

The bot stopped typing and turned to guest. He stopped typing. He didn't even do this when Starscream came, even though he was his superior. Just who the hell was this?!

- I suppose decoding coordinates of relics is going well, - he said, then for a couple of seconds the room drowned in silence, - Very well. Also... Starscream reported that you decided to get yourself a pet. A human pet, - the room became silent again, with every second filling with more pressure. The girl clung onto the pillar, starting to panic, - You acted on your own judgement, without letting your supperiors know, and brought an organic on Nemesis. Is this report veracious?

Tonya was trembling with fear. Now what? Even if those bots she met earlier didn't intend to kill her (at least, yet), this one sure wasn't as nice as them. Few more seconds of dead silence. The girl thought if this went on she would go crazy.

- Hmf, - the bot huffed, - You know how valuable you are on the ship. You are my eyes and ears, so I can't afford to lose you so easily. So I will let it slip for now. You have probably processed it when you were doing this.

- __Yes, my liege__, - Tonya could hear Starscream's voice put through some filters.

- Now, where is it? - the bot asked, making the girl cling onto desk's leg even harder.

- __Antonina___, - she recognized her own voice.

Now that Soundwave decided not to hide her, she had no choice. She gathered all her courage trying to look proud and fearless. Back straighten, chin up, firm tread. She walked out so that bots could see her. Then some cable grabbed her, making her jolt, and placed on Soundwave's servo.

- "Okay, now he has tentacles", - she said in her thoughts, - "Any more surprises, mr.  dictaphone?"

Now Antonina could finally see bot in front of her. He was huge, was wearing a silver armor with large spikes on shoulders and had sharp red eyes, or, how they called them, optics. When he spoke again she noticed his sharp teeth, that looked more like fangs.

- So this is it, - he said, looking down on human, - And how do you plan to use it?

- ___Useful information___ _Observation_Purposes __Entertainment__,  - bot answered with mix of different voices.

- Hm, you must really be something, human, since Soundwave decided to entertain himself with you, - he now spoke to her.

The girl nodded, then decided to at least find out who was standing in front of her:

- Excuse me, but may I ask your name?

She was trying to sound as polite as she could. But who knows, maybe even this would make this Decepticon angry.

- Megatron, - he answered, - Lord of the Decepticons. So you better remember it well.

Tonya just nodded. A strange name. But actually, who on this ship didn't have a strange name? Bots were back to discussing something she didn't quite understand. It was about those relics, decoding that was supposed to be finished in some "megacycles". Very soon Megatron was gone. Telling her that she is not allowed anywhere outside of Soundwave's quarters and sanctum. Soundwave was back to his work, which never seemed to end. Antonina was back to her training. So the day passed. She now felt a lot more relieved, since she knew, that the Lord wasn't against her being here. That meant she was now safe. Finally some sureness at least.

Now she was sitting in the corner of the desk, sipping tea and looking at the book. It really helped her relax a little and ignore the awkwardness she always felt aroung here. Especially, after that... She felt heat on her cheeks. This was so embarrassing, now that she thinks about it with clear mind. She was cying and clinging onto him just like a little kid hugging mommy after seeing a nightmare. She was actually surprised that he let her do it and even asked his bird (at least it kinda looked like a bird) stay with her until she fell asleep again. He even didn't turn off the light in the room. That sure was strange.

The girl tried to concentrate on her task again. Yesterday Soundwave let her go back to dorms to grab some stuff she needed, and some food as well. She took another glance at notebook, where she had problems that Cecile helped her solve and started to look for something that would fit for one she had as her homework. Tonya was awfully bad a mathematics, so all she could do was write an old solution with new numbers.

The girl concentrated so hard she didn't even notice someone enter the room. She felt something prick her cheek. She jolted at lifted her head.

- Not very polite, little pet, - red bot said.

- Knockout? Sorry, I didn't hear you enter.

She then noticed Breakdown and some other large blue and yellow colored Decepticon. She greeted them, and they went to Soundwave. It seemed like he finally finished his work. The screen became dark with a small red dot pulsing on it.

- ___Antonina_, - he called her.

The girl came closer to the screen. The map appeared, so she could see where exactly this spot was.

- Hm... looks like it's in Vietnam? Or somewhere there.., - she said.

- You know anything about it? - Breakdown asked.

- A little. So... you need my help for something?

- Just let us know the situation. We need to get a Cybertronian relic. How problematic will it be? - Knockout said.

- Well, it only depends on specific location. If you are lucky, it may be something abandoned, since a big part of this country is unsuitable for life. Or it might be an overpopulated city...

Soundwave zoomed the map so there were city's features seen.

- Guess, you are not so lucky... - Tonya said, looking at the labyrinth on the screen, - Not only it is in the city. It's in slums.

- Does this place have that underground system we used before? - Knockout asked.

- I really doubt it. Besides, it won't help in slums, - she tried to explain, - In such districts space between buildings is very small. You won't be able to walk there. And there is no way you can drive there too.

Now it was a problem. They couldn't waste much time with this. Especially, considering Autobots probably already know the location as well. There should have been something they could do with this.

- Pet, - said Dreadwing.

- Antonina, - she replied, making him huff.

- Do you want to prove to be useful? - the bot asked.

- You are speaking as if I have a choice.

- Good that you understand.

The girl loked at the map again.

- So it looks like I'm going to Vietnam.

[twittany]

Journal Entry from March 13, 2021

March 13, 2021 2:53 PM

I just got back from my morning run and I’m currently sitting by my pool while writing this. My new masks came in today!! Just in time before my run too. I was so excited to use them and show them off. I got a pack of disposable masks with some cute little flower designs. On my run, I was thinking about how it has exactly been one year since the day I got let out of school for the COVID-19 outbreak. It is currently March 13, 2021.

March 13, 2020 was the day everything changed. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was filled with joy and happiness when I heard the announcements over the speakers. I thought it was going to be such a nice two week break from school where I can do anything I want and hang out with all my friends. I was so naive. In the early months of 2020, I saw and heard the words corona virus and Wuhan, China being thrown all over the news and social media. I watched videos of hospitals being built in China and people crying over their family’s health. I didn’t think much of it. I thought I was safe and just carried on with my daily life of going to school and swim practice, and hanging out with my friends. In my head I thought carelessly that “People are smart. They’ll find a way to contain this in no time,” but that was far from the truth. It’s been a whole year and we are still being affected by this virus. It’s haunting us.

One year ago today, I remember going home and excitedly telling my parents that I have a two week break! My friends and I were making plans to go eat at all of our favorite spots during this “coronacation.” Before we were even able to do anything, the first case appeared in our county. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t understand how it even happened. It felt like a fever dream. My parents didn’t want me going anywhere or meeting anyone. We had to stay in our houses for not only our safety, but the safety of others as well. My mom still had to go to work. At the time, I remember she had a whole routine after work where she disinfected everything before she came in the house. I thought she was being a bit extra and silly, but now I do the same routine every time I enter my house. Oh how the times have changed.

A couple days after, the first death happened in our state. This is when I knew things were getting serious and I started to worry even more. I read somewhere that older adults with any thoracic cancers such as mesothelioma or lung cancer had the highest risk for developing complications with the virus. My grandpa has lung cancer, so of course I started stressing out. We couldn’t go visit my grandparents, which broke my heart. We would just drive by in our car and leave cute little gifts and baked goods for them on their porch while they watched through the window. It was hard, it was heartbreaking, but we knew that this was the best thing to do in order to keep my grandparents safe. Now during this time, my paternal grandparents were on a 6 month vacation in Vietnam. Vietnam didn’t have many cases at the time, but they still booked the first flight home. I haven’t seen them since they came back because they live in Massachusetts, but it was nice to know that they were in the safety of their own home.

Governor Tom Wolf closed all non-essential businesses and schools indefinitely. My mom got laid off from her work and didn’t have a job. I am so grateful that we are fortunate enough to still be able to have money to get food and pay our bills at the time. People were panic buying. It was scary to walk down the empty aisles of the grocery store. It gave an unsettling feeling in my stomach. People were fighting over toilet paper. They were crying over the fact that they wouldn’t be able to provide for their families and feed their children. My heart broke for the people who weren’t as fortunate as I was, so my family and I donated whenever we could. Looking back on this, there really was no reason to panic buy and stock up. Some families had eight children to feed and they were struggling while families of four had a pantry and fridge full of extra food. You would go to the store and see people with five carts filled with food. Now, they have a limit on food supplies because we are running low.

As for school, it got cancelled for the rest of the year. I wasn’t that phased about switching to online school. I was fortunate enough to have a laptop provided by my school, so I was able to adapt to online learning pretty easily. It was only my sophomore year, so in my opinion I lucked out. I’m not saying I was blowing off my grades and not giving care in the world, but I’m glad that it wasn’t my junior or senior year. I couldn’t imagine the stress of being a junior or senior during that time. Juniors had the stress of SATs and AP exams. Seniors missed their big milestone in their life of being able to walk across the stage and graduate. They missed their last prom, their last sporting events, and they missed probably the best three months of their senior year. There was nothing anyone could do about it. The pandemic was on a rise and we couldn’t stop it.

I’m in my junior year right now. Schooling is a bit different than it was before. We do something called “blended learning.” The idea started in Texas, and now it just became a reality for everyone. We do both online school and physical school except it is on a block schedule. For example, I go into the school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I do school online. This schedule is the same for half the student body. For the other half of the students, their schedules are reversed. This prevents overcrowding in schools. The classrooms have changed the set up of desks. The desks are no longer organized in rows. Instead, they’re only about eight desks spread six feet apart across the classroom. The days we get to go into class are generally the days we get to ask our teachers questions about assignments they have posted. We also have to take all quizzes and tests in school to ensure there is no cheating. If you told me a year ago this was how school worked now, I wouldn’t have believed you, but the sad truth is, it’s reality for everyone now..

Life now is completely different than how it was a year ago. The corona virus had a big impact on our day to day life. They haven’t been able to find the vaccine for the virus yet, but there aren’t as many new cases popping up. Any job that was able to, moved to online. Restaurants are still only doing delivery and pick up orders. Major cities are not as crowded anymore and Disney isn’t even open yet.

We are still taking precautions up to this day. Everywhere we go, we have to make sure we stay at least six feet apart. We have to wear masks and gloves everywhere we go whether we’re going on a run, to the store, or even a family member’s house. If you are caught without a mask and gloves, you will get fined by the police. Even though we are allowed to go out and do whatever we want, it doesn’t feel the same. It feels like there’s an empty void that needs to be filled.

I’ve learned to appreciate the little things like the times I get to hang out with my friends and family. I’ve learned to not go on my phone and actually talked to them. Quarantine was a rough time. I didn’t realize how much I missed just being able to see my friends face to face everyday. I was bored out of my mind. That was actually the time I started to write in a journal because it helped keep me sane. I didn’t have my friends to talk to everyday, so I just spilled my thoughts and worries out on the paper. I found new hobbies during quarantine. I always loved baking and cooking, but during that time I was really able to improve my culinary skills. Especially with not being able to go to the store all the time and using items in the pantry, I was able to get really creative. Another thing I picked up in quarantine was running. I never really liked running just because I am a swimmer and the water is where I thrive, but I learned to actually love it. There is a dike near my house that is 3.25 miles long. Whenever I felt like it, I would go on the dike and run. In the beginning, I wasn’t able to even run a mile, but soon enough, I was able to run the whole 6.5 miles. I kind of just added that to my daily lifestyle and to be honest it feels amazing. My family and I would go on a walk after dinner just to cure our boredom. Every once in a while, we would just get in the car and drive. We never knew where we were going, but we were on the road for hours with the windows down and listening to music. We would come back home and have a movie or game night to end the day. Quarantine brought my family even closer than we were before. Even though it prevented me from doing a lot of stuff, there were still positive things that came out of it. Quarantine lasted until about the middle of September 2020. When it was lifted, no one knew how to act. My friends and I went to all of our favorite spots like we said we would before quarantine started and cried the first time we were able to hang out. We made new friends everywhere we went and never took anything for granted again.

Actually, in a couple hours, I’m going to my friend’s lake. It’s only going to be a couple of us and I’m so excited. The water is still cold since it is only March, but we’re setting up a campfire and having a projector project a movie onto his garage door. We’re watching Tangled, which is the best movie of all time, and making smores. I’m going to take a nice long bath now and get ready to have the best night of my life surrounded by the people I love.

See ya tomorrow!

Twittany