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cellarspider · 2 months

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11/?? Full steam ahead

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We return to Body Desecrator 2093, Prometheus. There were no post this weekend because I felt like it. Now I feel like it even less, because it’s this scene.

The horrors do not end here. The movie hasn’t even got to what it considers horrors, but I’d already screamed quietly at the screen by this point several times, so it’s safe to say that me and the movie were not simpatico.

There are times when a movie will do things that fall entirely outside your personal beliefs or understanding of logic, and you just roll with it. Magical realism does this all the time, as do movies reaching for the psychedelic. 2001: A Space Odyssey eventually dissolves reality itself around the protagonist as he travels through another dimension. On the first sit, you have no way of knowing what you’ll be shown next, but if the movie’s got you, then you go with it.

Then there are movies where everyone is acting according to some sort of logic, but it feels twisted, like things are happening for a reason, but the logic doesn’t connect. Horror movies love this, particularly ones with cultic antagonists–Midsommar being the most notable modern example, and the original Wicker Man being another.

I mean, the Nick Cage movie also has that, but sometimes it has that because Nick Cage is in a bear costume, punching a woman in the face and stealing bicycles at gunpoint like he’s in GTA.

Prometheus, unfortunately, unintentionally places itself somewhere between the two Wicker Men. The characters’ decision making is a shambolic mess. The movie intentionally invokes religious fervor in Shaw especially, and might intentionally invoke that plus megalomania in Holloway, but it doesn’t draw a line around those characters and their bad decisions. Everyone is just going with their bullshit. This suggests to the audience that in the movie’s world all scientists behave like this.

I mean, in our world, scientists sometimes try to fit entire oranges in their mouths (source), but I should like to think that The Orange Incident wouldn’t have happened if that guy had been on board the most important scientific expedition in human history.

Things just kept happening in this movie that made me feel like I was dissociating. The cast is back at the Prometheus, with their stolen artifacts and mortal remains. Cool. They need to be decontaminated. Like, inside and out.

Next, we see Shaw and Holloway in a lab, along with Maybe-Chemist-Lady whose name fell right out of my head as I watched, because she’s never given a character to speak of. They are wearing scrubs, hairnets, and blue surgical masks, which tells me the movie thinks this is appropriate personal protective equipment for handling an alien head. Holloway is sitting on a counter in the corner, getting drunk.

So many things have just hit me here. How long is this since they got back? Apparently no more than a couple hours. These people took their helmets off in an active alien biosphere, with worms in the dirt and an alien corpse on the ground and who knows what else. They should be quarantined forever, or at least for a couple weeks.

When the Apollo 11 crew got back to Earth, they were quarantined for 21 days. NASA didn’t consider it likely that anything lived on the moon, but they were taking no chances. Here’s Nixon getting a chance to see what good people look like!

But no! No quarantine for Prometheus! The guys who breathed moon dust? Into the quarantine trailer. The people who stuck their faces near an alien corpse? Nah! It’s all good!

What about the head they looted from the structure? These people already got a dramatic reminder that altering the conditions around sensitive artifacts can cause them to degrade. I’ve already rambled at length about how NASA still sterilizes their equipment to not contaminate anywhere probes are sent to. Hell, as a geneticist, I can tell you that there is a very strict hierarchy of sample isolation and biosafety deployed when it’s appropriate–either you work fucking hard to protect the samples from you, or you work hard to protect yourself from the sample.

But the crew of the Prometheus have scanned the head with a little light and declared “Sample is sterile. No contagion present”, which is an odd thing to declare now, after they already breathed all over it. Trusting their all-knowing (and wrong) computer, they take their surgical masks off. Fully sealed suits? A glovebox? Even movies show people using a glovebox sometimes!

NOPE! HAIRNETS AND A LABCOAT, LET’S GO

Do we kick out Shaw’s boyfriend who’s in his casual clothes? NAH, LET THE MAN BE COMFY. Are we going to pry the bottle away from him, because bringing drinks into a lab breaks basic safety standards? Standards that I’ve only ever seen broken by one place that also allowed open-toe sandals in a lab where boiling hot gel and mutagenic chemicals were regularly mixed? NOPE, LET HIM HAVE HIS BOOZE, HE’S SAD HE DIDN’T GET TO MEET GOD.

Don’t worry, that one lab doesn’t do the sandal thing anymore. And Holloway will pay for his crimes against laboratory safety.

But I can't stress enough how utterly uncanny this scene felt, unintentionally on the part of the movie. Every decision felt wrong. Everything everyone was doing, saying, and wearing was wrong. They’re not even wearing the right kind of gloves! They should at minimum be wearing nitrile gloves! They’re wearing PVC gloves, which have stupid high leakage rates, even if you double-glove! They’re not even more comfortable than nitrile gloves! This is my nittest of picks, I know! I’m doing it anyway!

The movie had lost me, but part of me was still hoping it would come back around, that something in it would be the movie I’d thought it would be.

Next time: the movie will not do that, and I will, paradoxically, find myself in more of the frame of mind the movie seems to want from the audience: not giving a shit about its characters.

Stay tuned for some bonus workplace hazards below the citations.

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1. https://youtu.be/P1gn06np-7g 2. https://youtu.be/KhRo2WbWnKU?t=35 3. https://youtu.be/JjCh7lTVNwo 4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Airstream#Space_program 5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astronaut_transfer_van 6. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umarell 7. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Upgrade_(film)#Production

Alright, let’s behold some images from my institute’s safety training module on compressed gas cylinders. Please note, these were not taken at my institute, these are probably the result of the team finding cursed images they wanted to inflict on their coworkers and us.

This was how they chose to communicate the idea of “don’t let canisters heat up, or they might explode”. How else might they explode? If the canister becomes old and corroded, develops any other sort of fault, or is stored improperly, especially near cylinders of other kinds. Like so!

This can be caused by improperly storing canisters, including by storing multiple kinds together.

This is the least bombastic of the images, but it exudes a quiet menace and/or the promise that Video Game Physics are imminent.

What do I mean by Video Game Physics? Glad you asked!

Terrifying yet also compelling! Finally, here’s a video from that most terrifying of places, a Russian highway.

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Video description, which I realize I haven’t been doing up to this point and now I want to: A GazpromTech company truck carrying unsecured acetylene tanks passes a motorist on a separated highway at high speed. On the side of it, “ОГНЕОПАСНО” (“FLAMMABLE”) is briefly visible as it rockets by. It makes no to minimal attempt to slow down as a bus enters its lane, rear-ending it. The viewpoint car skids to a stop, and what might be the driver can be seen sprinting toward the central barrier of the highway. “Scream & Shout” by will.i.am and Britney Spears can be heard playing on the radio as the viewpoint car tries to back away, complete with an audible “Britney, bitch”. At 0:54 the view cuts to a camera on the other side of the highway, which one commenter estimated as being 200 m away based on the delay between explosions and the sound of the blast reaching the camera.

There are, in fact, MANY explosions from the fireball that has engulfed the truck. A semi tanker is being guided backward away from the explosion, while a blue box truck does the same. A silver sedan, briefly visible in the first angle, is parked within under 50 feet of the truck. Its apparent owner is dithering on whether to try and reach it, eventually deciding, as they should, that this is not worth it. The cameraperson, on the other hand, apparently thinks this is worth it, as do several others in the other lane.

One man is filming on a tablet. Multiple times, canisters and truck shrapnel can be seen rocketing off from the wreck to distances that make it clear everybody in shot is well within decapitation range from these things, especially as explosions fling more burning cylinders onto the roadway. At 1:45, Tablet Man gets the fuck out of there, but our self preservation-less cameraperson remains. At 2:14, a flaming canister in blown clear of the wreck and lands with its bottom end pointing directly toward the cameraperson, who still does not take the hint. Starting at 2:37, the body of the truck is blasted apart, a canister goes flying off past the camera, and a piece of the truck flips and lands on a nearby road sign.

At 3:32 another cut happens and there are more people standing in view of the camera. Are they official emergency crew? Nope! Rubberneckers, although the cop car that’s even closer than them gets a wakeup call when a canister slams into the divider in front of it and tumbles away, still spitting gas. The cop backs up, and the video ends.

End description. Also, end post.

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#Prometheus 2012 #Prometheus (2012)#This post probably took longer than any other to date #in part because I got so terminally distracted by counting safety violations #and looking up astronaut transport vans #like y'do

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mads-nixon · 7 months

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Epiphany Pt. 12: You're On Your Own, Kid

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Title inspo - you're on your own, kid: taylor swift

A/N: this is my first post on my hbo war side-blog! yay! this chapter is the calm before the storm, y'all. this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Ill-equipped and poorly supplied, (y/n) and the rest of Easy do their best to survive in the frozen Ardennes Forest of Bastogne.

Warnings: description of injury, very soft lew

December 20, 1944: Ardennes Forest, Belgium

The forest lay under a heavy blanket of snow, the silence only broken by the occasional gust of icy wind, quiet conversations, and the all-to-familiar whistling of incoming shells. (Y/n) sat on the edge of her foxhole, her breath visible in the cold air as she gazed out at the German line. Through the veil of swirling snow, she couldn’t make out their silhouettes, but she knew they were there. It was a landscape of paradoxes: serene yet charged, beautiful yet deadly.

With her gaze still fixed in the white haze, she felt a surge of frustration and anger rise in her. It was fueled by the knowledge that the Krauts had the supplies that they desperately needed. It was a cruel twist of fate that Easy was hungry, cold, and struggling, while the enemy, albeit just across the way, had the sustenance and warmth they lacked. They had a few missed supply drops to thank for that.

The air was frigid, cutting through layers of clothing and seeping into her very bones. (Y/n) hugged herself, arms wrapping tightly around her body in a futile attempt to capture a semblance of warmth. Her gloved fingers, numbed by the cold, clutched at the fabric of her uniform, seeking refuge in the familiar touch.

“(Y/n), remind me to never complain about the heat again,” Skip jested through chattering teeth, a weak smile attempting to mask his discomfort.

“Yeah, this makes those Georgia summers seem downright pleasant,” Don added with a forced chuckle, the words barely leaving his blue-tinted lips.

Skip waved a hand in front of (y/n)’s distant gaze, breaking her trance and pulling her back to reality. “Earth to (y/n). You with us?”

Shaking from her thoughts, she turned towards the group, forcing a chapped smile. “Yeah,” she muttered, pushing herself up from where she sat in the foxhole, trying to get blood circulating in her numbed limbs. “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t get lost out there,” Malarkey called out, his voice tinged with concern as she swung her rifle onto her shoulder.

“A walk in a winter wonderland,” Skip chimed in, his grin mischievous as he wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that code for, ‘going to see your favorite captain’ by any chance?”

A playful scoff escaped her lips in a huff. “Shut up, Muck. I can’t feel my toes, so I’m going for a walk to fix that.”

Malarkey shrugged, feigning innocence. “Yeah, sure. Have fun on your walk.”

The woman shook her head fondly at her friends as she slowly walked away from the foxhole. Her limbs didn’t want to work correctly, so she found herself doing a pitiful half-limp around the forest as she attempted to get some blood flowing to her feet.

Despite her and Nix’s efforts to be discreet, the Toccoa men who had watched them from the beginning couldn’t be fooled. While nothing was openly acknowledged, there was a shared understanding that something was going on between the couple. Only Harry and Dick knew for certain, and only because they grilled Lew when he returned from Paris.

Maybe she would pay her favorite Captain a visit.

“Hey, Cripple!” someone called out. Groaning, (y/n) turned to face the voice, ready to retort when the very ground beneath her seemed to tremble and shudder violently. An explosion erupted from behind her, a deafening roar as the shockwave threw her off balance, sending her to the ground in a heap.

She curled into a protective ball, her hands instinctively shielding her head as the world was swallowed by chaos. The relentless barrage of mortars painted the sky, their descent announced by menacing whistles. The once serene forest became a frenzied battleground, trees splintering and snow erupting into wild flurries.

Amidst the disarray, a call pierced through the mayhem. “(Y/l/n)! Over here!”

Scrambling to her feet, her heart raced with adrenaline and drowned out the pounding explosions. She didn’t spare a moment to see who called, her focus solely on getting to cover. (Y/n) snatched up her rifle from the snow-covered ground and sprinted towards the direction of the voice, her heavy breaths misting in the frigid air.

As she ran, her foot caught a fallen tree branch and she was sent tumbling into the freezing embrace of the forest floor, awkwardly landing on her arm. Pain flared in her wrist as she fought to get to her feet, panicking at being exposed without cover. Then, like a savior, a hand extended towards her and hauled her into a nearby foxhole.

Joe Liebgott’s face appeared in front of her, and his eyes reflected the same fear and helplessness that she felt. She let go of her rifle, allowing it to rest in the snow as she clamped her hands over her ears, desperate to drown out the deafening noise that assaulted her senses. (Y/n) clenched her eyes closed, seeing refuge in the darkness as Joe pulled her tightly into his body, shielding her from the relentless barrage. The concussive blasts continued, each one sending shockwaves through the ground and dirt, snow, and ice raining down on them. She held on, feeling the frantic rise and fall of Joe’s chest against her, praying that it would all stop soon.

Seconds, minutes, hours, (y/n) didn’t know how much time had passed when the earth-shattering blasts ceased. A few gentle pats on her helmet were the only indication it was over. Slowly, she released her grip on her ears, the painful ringing subsiding to the backdrop of her ragged breaths as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You alright?” Joe asked, his concerned gaze scanning her for injuries.

(Y/n) nodded, wincing as she flexed her wrist, attempting to brush off the debris clinging to her skin. “I’m okay.”

His eyes narrowed, shifting from her face to her arm and then back again. “You sure?”

“I just landed on it weird,” she replied, clenching her teeth against the searing pain that radiated up her arm with every movement.

“Let me get Doc, (y/n),” he offered, about to get up, but her good arm shot up and pulled him back down.

Sitting up, she carefully retrieved her rifle and climbed out of the foxhole, cradling her aching wrist to her chest. “I’m fine, Joe. Thank you, but I need to check on my foxhole.”

“Alright, be careful,” he called after her as she made her way back toward her foxhole, her chest tight with anxiety. As the shock and adrenaline from the bombardment began to fade, the reality of (y/n)’s situation settled in: her wrist was not just a minor discomfort. What had initially felt like a sharp jab upon impact turned into a persistent, gnawing pain radiating from her wrist and traveling up her arm like tendrils of fire.

Each movement she made, whether to clutch her rifle or steady herself against the uneven ground, sent surges of pain shooting through her hand and forearm. With each passing second, the pain seemed to intensify, becoming an unrelenting companion in the desolate frozen landscape. Her fingers, once nimble and deft in handling her rifle, now felt like lead, unresponsive and clumsy. The smallest tasks, like brushing off the clinging snow or gripping her canteen, became monumental efforts, each movement a harsh reminder of the shelling. A simple flex of her wrist, something that she took for granted in the past, was now an act that set off sharp jolts of pain. (Y/n) found herself trying to ignore the pain, focusing on the task at hand, but the throbbing in her arm seemed to pulse in sync with her heartbeat, making it impossible to overlook. She knew she should probably see Roe about it, but she heard he didn’t have much to work with. So, she made the choice not to burden their already diminished supplies on what was likely just a sprain.

After a while, she found herself approaching the spot she’d left Malarkey and Skip, scanning the area for signs of life. The once-snow-draped ground was now a maze of impact craters and debris. As she reached the foxhole, her heart swelled with relief seeing Skip and Don huddled inside, still in one piece.

“Hey,” she called out, her voice cutting through the eerie calm. Relief washed over her as they looked up, their faces lighting up at the sight of her.

“(Y/n/n)!” Don exclaimed, a hand clutching his chest dramatically. “We were worried!”

Muck tossed his helmet towards her, a hint of concern on his face. The helmet collided with her wrist, causing her to stifle a cry. “Take a look at this crap, (y/n). They peppered my helmet!”

Gently cradling her wrist, she examined the shot-up helmet in her lap, a half smile playing on her lips. “Good thing you weren’t wearing it, Skip. Was everyone okay over here? I ended up in Lieb’s foxhole.”

“Wasted my dagum coffee,” Smokey lamented from the foxhole ahead of theirs. “It was a whole helmet-full, too.”

A chuckle bubbled from her lips as she watched him setting his contraption back up. “I’m sorry, Smoke. Next time, you should tell the krauts to wait until you’ve had your coffee to shell the crap out of us.”

“You know, I might just do that,” Smokey mused, staring out at the German line with a faraway look. “We need a break.”

“Oh, (y/n),” Don interjected, fishing for something in his pockets. “Do you have any morphine in your aid kit from Holland? Doc’s looking for some.”

“Mine got used up when I got hit,” she replied, her mind drifting back to that night outside Arnhem. “That feels like so long ago now.”

Skip, ever the calculating one, counted on his fingers thoughtfully. “It’s only been what, three months?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, staring into the forest as she contemplated the whirlwind of events since that time. Between getting shot, going to the hospital, then Paris with Lew, and now Bastogne, a lot happened in those three months.

Their conversation carried on, but (y/n) was lost in her thoughts. Her life had changed drastically in this span of time, the most significant development being her newfound relationship with Lewis. A mere week and a half had passed since Paris, yet it felt like a lifetime. Memories of the quaint cafes and charming streets danced in her mind, a reminder of what they were fighting for…a return to a life untouched by the horrors of war.

A crunch of snow behind her snapped her back to the present. She grabbed her rifle, swiftly turning, a surge of pain shooting up her arm. A grimace contorted her face as she eased the strain, her aim dropping as she recognized Lip.

“(Y/n), Winters wants to see you,” he relayed, crouching beside her.

“We’ll catch up later, alright?” Don patted her shoulder gently, a worried look in his gaze as he looked down at her wrist.

“Duty calls, boys. See ya later.”

She pushed herself off the snow with her good hand and started following Lip toward Captain Winter’s tent. As they walked, she saw the destruction the various shellings had left in their wake. Trees were downed everywhere, feet-long splinters littered the snow, and there was the occasional red stain of blood on the white ground.

“Can you believe it’s just a few days till Christmas?” Lip’s voice broke the silence, filled with nostalgia and yearning.

She nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? I remember my last Christmas home so vividly…and now, here we are two years later.”

He glanced at her, a fond smile on his face, despite the flicker of sorrow in his eyes. “My wife, JoAnne, makes the best gingerbread cookies on the planet, and I can just see her in the kitchen, working her tail off to make them for our family Christmas party.”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “What I wouldn’t give for some gingerbread cookies,” she sighed. “It’s just…well, being away from family at this time, it’s tough. But at least we have each other, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding ahead of him. “Here we are.”

“Thanks for walking with me, Lip,” (y/n) grinned, approaching the foxhole.

“You’re welcome,” Carwood grinned. “And (y/n), get that wrist checked out.”

Her mouth slightly agape, she looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m not as clueless as the others. Get it looked at.” His eyes held a genuine concern.

Nodding at him, she walked up to the hole where Dick was crouched, writing a letter. “Captain Winters, sir?”

He looked up from his letter, and an uncharacteristic smirk formed on his face when he recognized her. “(Y/n). Nix wanted to speak with you.”

A flush colored her cheeks as she stood there. “Oh, alright. Where is he?”

Winters nodded to the hole ahead of him. “I’m right here, so please don't try any-”

A blanket was thrown off the adjacent foxhole and Nixon popped out, his dark hair a mess atop his head. “Gosh, Dick, we’re not gonna do anything,” he hissed, rolling his eyes.

Embarrassment coursed through (y/n) at the implication, and she brought a hand to her face, wishing she could disappear. “Yes sir,” she stammered, her voice slightly uneasy as she walked over to Lewis.

“Are you crazy?” she asked, casting anxious glances around the forest.

Nix shrugged and pointed to Winters. “We’re fine. Dick’s gonna keep a lookout…right Dick?”

“I’m going to be writing my letter,” Winters replied, not looking up. “And I’m not seeing this.”

“Thanks, pal,” Lew called, extending a hand to help (y/n) into the hole.

“Alright,” she muttered, unable to keep a nervous smile from playing on her lips a the thought of some time with him. She started to take his hand with her hurt one, but quickly switched hands, letting the other painfully dangle at her side. He gave her a questioning look as she took his hand, but (y/n) just shook her head, dismissing his concern. To her surprise, he seemed to let it go.

Nix’s foxhole was a decent size, and (y/n) carefully tried to settle against his side without showing her injury. He pulled the blanket over the top of the hole, insulating the space and giving them a sliver of privacy. Looking around, she spotted an empty pack of Lucky Strikes and his silver flask in the dirt beside her.

“I really like what you did with the place,” she grinned, kicking the empty box with her foot.

Lew chuckled, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her close, placing a soft kiss in her hair. “Yeah. Interior decorating was always Blanche’s thing.”

His warmth seeped through her frozen uniform, and she sighed contentedly, resting her head on her shoulder as she closed her eyes. The throbbing pain in her hand seemed to slightly fade in his comforting presence.

“How are things on the line? We still get artillery back here, but it’s not as bad as up there,” he asked quietly, leaning his head atop hers.

“It’s not good, Lew,” she mumbled into his neck. “We’re running low on everything, and the krauts seem to have an endless stream of artillery. It’s like they’re not even affected by the cold or anything. We’re just holding our ground and doing what we can.”

He tightened his grip around her, attempting to offer some comfort. “But you’re holding up okay?”

A half-hearted smile tugged at her lips, tinged with sadness. “We’re surviving, but it’s getting harder every day. The men are tired, Lew. We’re all tired. We’re all hungry. We’re all cold.”

“I know, doll,” he sighed. “Sink and General McAuliffe stopped by earlier, and they didn’t have any good news. Last night, I took a walk on the line at about 0300 and I couldn’t find the 501st on our right flank. I had to pull in 2nd platoon to fill the gap, but the General seemed like he couldn't care less.”

(Y/n) groaned. “His relentless optimism kills me. At least Sink is realistic.”

“‘Hold the line and close the gaps’, was all he said. And that 1st battalion just pulled out of Foy with krauts on their tail…so there’s a bunch of crap coming our way.”

“Of course there is,” she grumbled, bringing her knees up to her chest.

Lew’s thoughts became consumed by worry for (y/n) and what was going to be thrown her way. He gently traced circles on her back, trying to find the right words. “I can’t help but be worried about you, (y/n/n). Knowing you’re out there every time I hear a shelling, it’s…it’s tough.”

She sat up and turned to face him, her eyes reflecting the same fear. “I know, Lew. I’m scared, too. But I’m doing what I can to take care of myself and the guys. We watch out for each other.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his voice. “It’s just hard being here, not able to do much, not even being able to be with you when you’re out there facing the worst of it.”

“You’re doing more than you think,” she said, gently touching his arm. “This helps me so much.”

Lew brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, his cold fingers gentle on her warm cheek. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t take any extra risks…please.”

(Y/n) looked into his eyes, finding a sea of emotion. “I promise,” she replied, her voice equally soft.

Nix leaned in, slowly closing the distance between them, his eyes flickering to her lips before meeting her gaze once more. Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss as Lew cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow down as they kissed, a sense of calm washing over them. As they pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the chilly air.

“Have you been able to keep warm at all?” Lew asked softly, his fingers tracing over her gloved hand gently.

(Y/n) nodded, trying to keep her discomfort at bay. “As warm as one can be out here.”

Lew noticed her wincing slightly and, concerned, his hand unintentionally brushed against her injured wrist. She gasped, tears brimming her eyes as pain shot through her arm.

His eyes widened, fear coursing through him as he quickly retracted his hand “(Y/n)? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

(Y/n) leaned her head back against the hard wall of dirt behind her with a thud. “I tripped during the shelling earlier and landed on it wrong,” she whispered, voice trembling as she cradled her wrist.

“(Y/n),” Lew sighed, his heart aching at her pain. “Have you seen Doc?”

She shook her head, tears welling up. “No, not yet.”

He reached for her hand slowly. “Let me see it, sweetheart. I’ll be careful.”

She hesitantly extended her gloved hand to him, a single tear leaking down her rosy cheek. “You’re okay,” he cooed, holding her forearm with one hand while the other carefully slid the glove off.

“Shit,” Lew muttered, his brows furrowing at the sight of her wrist. “This is bad, (y/n).”

His concern deepened as he saw the extent of the injury. He had expected it to be sore, maybe a minor sprain, but what he saw made his heart clench with worry and anger. Her once delicate wrist was now swollen to nearly twice its usual size, the skin on her palm and wrist discolored in ominous hues of deep purple and angry black.

“(Y/n/n),” he said gently, his voice soothing to her distress. “We need to get you to Doc. This could be broken.”

The tears finally fell from her eyes in a mixture of pain and frustration. “I know,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “But the medics are already low on supplies, and they need that for others that are worse off.”

Lew cupped her cheek tenderly, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “Just because someone may be worse, doesn’t mean you can’t be looked after, too. Let me take care of you, please.”

(Y/n)’s expression softened, touched by his sincerity. “Okay,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

He held her wrist gently, a tenderness in his eyes that melted her worries, even if just for a moment. He brushed a feather-light kiss on her injured wrist, a silent promise that he’d take care of her. Nix helped her slide the glove back on, ensuring it offered some support for her wrist. He then threw off the blanket and helped her to her feet, his arm securely around her for support. She wasn’t going to let her injury hold her back, but she knew she needed to get it checked before it got any worse.

Winter’s eyes widened at the pair’s dramatic exit from the foxhole. “You alright, (y/l/n)?” he asked, eyes furrowed in confusion.

“She hurt her wrist,” Lew replied, glancing at Dick who nodded in response. “We’re finding Roe.”

They found Gene in his foxhole, staring off into the forest, a cigarette hanging from his lips. “Hey Gene,” Nix called, catching the man off guard. He jumped slightly, turning around like a deer in headlights.

He sighed seeing who it was. “Captain Nixon, what can I do for ya, sir?”

“(Y/n) here took a tumble during the shelling. Her wrist is pretty banged up.”

Roe nodded, motioning for her to sit down on the edge of the foxhole. “Let’s have a look, chérie.

She did as told, taking a deep breath to brace herself for any pain. The cajun carefully peeled off the glove from her injured hand, revealing the purple and black bruises. The medic furrowed his brows at the sight, his experienced eyes evaluating the damage. He lightly prodded along the wrist, feeling for any unusual shifts in the bones beneath.

“I’m worried there might be a hairline fracture here,” he explained, his voice carrying a tinge of concern. “But I can’t confirm it without a proper x-ray, and we don’t have any equipment like that back in Bastogne.”

(Y/n) nodded, bracing herself for what she knew was coming. “So, what can we do?”

Roe began to secure her wrist carefully with a makeshift splint, wrapping it snugly to provide some stability and reduce the risk of further damage. “Right now, we’ll immobilize it as best as we can. I’ll wrap it up, and you need to keep it still as much as possible. Ice will help with the swelling.”

Smirking at the situation, (y/n) couldn’t resist a touch of humor. “Well, at least we’ve got an abundance of ice around,” she quipped, waving her good hand at the frozen forest surrounding them. “Nature’s icebox, right?”

Lew chuckled at her attempt to lighten the mood. “The best ice supply in Bastogne,” he replied, playing along.

As Gene finished the wrapping, she flexed her fingers slightly, testing the newfound stability. The pain had dulled a bit, and it was a relief, albeit a temporary one. They thanked Roe and went on their way.

“I’ve got to go back to the boys,” she said, peering up at him as they walked.

Lew nodded. “Take it easy, alright? Your arm can’t heal if you keep using it.”

“Yes, sir, Doctor Nixon,” she grinned, fake saluting him with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

They made their way to her foxhole, and Lew resisted the urge to give her a kiss, aware of the many eyes watching. Instead, he gently patted her helmet, a gesture that he’d decided was his new favorite because it sent the front of it down past her eyes.

“Malarkey,” Nix called out, waving his over. “Don’t let this one overdo it. Roe said she needs to take it easy.”

Though he was confused, Don nodded. “Yes, sir.”

With a subtle wink, Lew turned and left for his own foxhole.

“What happened to you?” Skip asked, eyeing her wrapped wrist as he appeared next to Don. “Did the Captain take care of you?”

(Y/n) laughed under her breath, watching Lew’s figure disappear into the white haze of the forest. “I’m alright.”

Malarkey’s eyes widened as he turned to Muck. “She’s not denying it, Skip!”

“I knew it!” Skip exclaimed triumphantly, the corners of his mouth curling into a grin. She began to walk away when Don gasped suddenly.

“We have to tell you about Hinkle!”

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mads-weasley · 8 months

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Epiphany Pt. 2: Out of the Woods

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: here's chapter two, guys! thanks to everyone who responded to the first part! y'all made my day! without further ado, enjoy! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: Operation Overlord is upon Easy Company, and the brave paratroopers get their first taste of war.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, blood

Hundreds of tents lined the muddy fields surrounding the Upottery Airfield in preparation for Operation Overlord. (Y/n) found a dry spot amongst 2nd platoon and laid out all of her supplies. Looking at the various grenades, mines, and other random items, she groaned. “How am I supposed to put all of this in a pack? It’s ridiculous!”

“Tell me about it! ”Joe Toye scoffed from her right, staring down at his pile. “I’ve got a three-day supply of ‘K’ rations, chocolate bars, charms, candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my .45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenades, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bull, and a pair of nasty skivvies!”

Perconte rolled his eyes, tired of Joe’s rant. “What’s your point?”

“Come on,” Toye fumed. “This stuff weighs as much as I do! Probably twice as much as (y/l/n).”

“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled as Joe continued.

“I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, and my M-1.”

Frank got up and walked past the group, calling over his shoulder with an amused expression. “Where are you keeping your brass knuckles?”

“I could use some brass knuckles,” Toye sighed, sitting back on his heels.

(Y/n) finished readying her pack and attempted to lift it over her shoulder with a grunt.

“You and me both, Joe,” she gritted, failing the first few tries.

The fourth time, it weighed considerably less, and she was able to wobbly sit it on her shoulder without tipping over. A proud smile grew on her face, but when she turned and saw who was there, her lips formed a fake pout.

“Nix, you know I could’ve done that by myself?”

The officer laughed, his bright smile making an appearance. “Sure, I thought watching you fail three times was enough.”

Realizing he just admitted to watching her, he shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Two years. Two years of training led us here. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking around at all her fellow soldiers. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“Well, time did seem to crawl by when we were with Sobel.”

“Absolutely. I still remember his dumbfounded face when Luz impersonated Major Horton. It was the best day of my life.”

Vest came by with pamphlets, handing them to every soldier, announcing they were from Colonel Sink.

“George,” (y/n) called. “Can you do Sink?”

“Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son? Uh, sweetheart?” He corrected, cringing. “Doll? Your majesty? Great and mighty (y/n)?”

(Y/n) raised her eyebrows at him, smirking. “Nice try.”

Cracking a smile, he held up the paper and began reading it as the Colonel. “Soldiers of the regiment, tonight is the night-,” his voice lowered, becoming serious as he continued. “-of nights. Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years.”

The message hung in the air as each paratrooper took it in. They were going to war. The realization washed over (y/n) like a bucket of ice water, and her mind flashed with the faces of the men she’d come to call brothers.

Don, George, Skip, Alex, Frank, Lip…

It could be the last time she saw some of them.

“Hey,” Nix smirked and pointed at the various mohawks Lieb had given some men, oblivious to her anxiety-ridden mind. “I think you should try that hairstyle.”

She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him on the chest. “Whatever.”

When he didn’t reply, she followed his line of sight to Lieutenant Meehan, who stood atop a jeep. ”Easy Company! Listen up! Gather around me.”

Once Easy was fully gathered, he continued. “Now, the Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight!”

Grumbles broke out from the men as they looked at each other in disbelief.

“The invasion has been postponed. We’re on a 24-hour stand-down. Drill sergeants, take charge.”

(Y/n) looked up at Nix as he lit a cigarette, shaking her head with a groan. “Great.”

“What?” He shrugged. “Can’t put up with me for another 24 hours?”

“You know what? You’re insufferable, Nix.”

JUNE 6th, 1944: UPOTTERY AIRFIELD

The channel cleared the next day, and the jump was back on. (Y/n) removed her helmet and grabbed the grease paint from George’s outstretched hand.

“I hate this stuff,” she grumbled, twisting off the cap.

She felt someone take the small can from her hand and recognized the culprit by their low chuckle.

(Y/n) turned to face him with a playful scowl. “Why are you so immature, Lewis?”

“Lewis?” He gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Oh, I’ve really done it now.”

Her scowl broke as she shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“See, I think you’re overthinking this,” he stated, holding up the tin. “All you have to do is get a glob,” he scooped a few fingers into the can. “-And rub it on your face, like so.”

To (y/n)’s dismay, he quickly reached out and smeared the paint down her cheek with a proud smirk.

“See? Voilà.”

Mouth hanging open, she snatched the can from him, hardly concealing her newly formed amused smile. “I hate you,” she deadpanned as she started toward the rest of her platoon.

His hand reached out and grasped her wrist. “Hang on. Let me fix it.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Lew knew her well enough to see that it was taking all her willpower to keep the corners of her lips from curling into a smile. He thought it was an admirable attempt, but he could see straight through her.

What he didn’t expect was her glare to drop completely when he lightly tugged her closer by her wrist. An unreadable expression passed over her face, and Lew discovered he might not be able to read her as well as he thought.

Peering down at her, he softly brushed her (y/h/c) flyaways from her face before leaning down to be at eye level with her. (Y/n)’s breath hitched slightly at the gentle touch, and she looked up to meet his eyes.

“Don’t make me look like a raccoon, okay?” She whispered, nervousness flowing through her veins.

With a nod, he got some paint on a few fingers and cupped her jaw with his other hand before making lines across her forehead and cheeks. Tilting her face up softly, his touch trailed down her nose down to her lips. Nix’s gaze stayed there for a moment, swallowing thickly as he noticed their curve and the slight pout they were shaped in.

‘It would be so easy to lean in and…stop,’ he caught himself.

“Uh, all done,” he murmured, dropping his hands to his pockets.

(Y/n) blinked, coming down from the high of his touch. “Thank you,” she replied, her gaze locked with his. “Do you need any help with yours?”

Snapping out of his daze, he smiled bashfully. “I’ve got it.”

A few seconds later, Dick approached them, all geared up and ready to go. “It’s time.”

D-Day had begun.

Staring at the solemn faces of Skip and George across from her, the endless possibilities of what could go wrong flooded her mind as her stomach began to churn.

What if their stick blew up?

What if she was captured?

What if she was killed?

(Y/n) looked up at the sleeping man beside her, admiring his face in the dim light of the plane. Her eyes followed the curve of his nose down to his parted lips as soft breaths passed through them. Even covered in grease in a dark C-47, he was still breathtaking.

What if he was killed?

When they first met in that putrid-smelling mess hall in Toccoa, (y/n) never would have guessed what would become of the pair. The mysterious aura that first drew her to him was quickly wiped away after a few months, revealing a kind, but complicated, man who was sometimes too smart for his own good.

He was there to vent to when Captain Sobel revoked her weekend pass because her hair was “too long,” and was simply always there to support her. Through the new COs, new bases, and even new countries, he’d been a constant. Over the last two years, he’d been there for her, and she realized that if anything happened to him, she wouldn’t know what to do.

Sure, she was close with the other men in Easy, especially 2nd platoon, but those relationships were… different. Her heart didn’t skip a beat when George Luz or Chuck Grant walked into a room. Their smile didn’t cause heat to rush to her cheeks.

He was her best friend. There was no other way to describe it.

But do best friends look at each other the way they do?

Her thoughts continued to run rampant for the next hour as the paratroopers got closer to their destination. To her left, Tab was deep in thought, as well, pulling at his bottom lip as he usually did when thinking. Pulling herself from her thoughts, (y/n) nudged him with her shoulder.

“So, I heard you got a present from home.”

He dropped his hand to his lap and grinned as he fished something from his bag. “Yeah, courtesy of the Kokomo police department.”

Floyd showed her the revolver with a proud expression. “It feels good to have a little bit of home with me.”

“That’s great, Tab. I’m glad you’ve got support like that from home.”

“What did your folks have to say about you joining up?” He asked.

(Y/n) took a deep breath before answering, willing the memory from her mind. “They weren’t thrilled, that’s for sure.”

He elbowed her side gently with a chuckle. “Well, we’re all real glad you decided to join this mess. Who else is gonna keep all of us straight?”

Laughing to herself, (y/n) leaned her helmet back against the rumbling wall of the plane, wishing sleep would welcome her soon. Her eyes shot open after a few minutes when the aircraft shook with turbulence. Nausea crept up her throat at the movement, and she groaned at the realization she wasn’t going to get any rest.

Time seemed to stretch on forever sitting on the hard metal seat of the plane. Some of the other men started to rouse and have small conversations around her, but all she could think about was her parents. Could they stand to lose another child?

Tears burned her eyes as her mind replayed the moment they heard the news about Pearl Harbor and her brother’s fate. Her mother’s wails when she collapsed onto the floor beside the radio. The deep ache in her chest didn’t seem to go away with time, and she doubted it ever would.

(Y/n) was pulled from her thoughts by a gentle hand on her shaking knee.

“You’re gonna be okay, (y/n/n).”

Lew.

“Yeah,” she sighed, furiously blinking away her tears. “I’m not worried about myself, though.”

“Don’t worry about me, alright? Stay focused on yourself.”

(Y/n) smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I was worried about you, mister ‘yale know-it-all?’”

At that moment, Nixon was thankful for the dark plane, for she couldn’t see the flush that crept across his cheeks. “Only by the kind way you speak to me,” he retorted, rolling his eyes.

Within seconds, his face became serious. “But I mean it, (y/n). Please be careful.”

“I will, Lew. You too, okay?” She replied, grasping his hand atop her knee.

Their conversation was cut short by the red light flashing on beside Dick. Nodding at each other, they prepared for what was about to happen.

“Get ready!” Lieutenant Winters yelled above the rumble of the plane. “Stand up! Hook Up! Equipment check!”

Following orders, they stood, hooked up, and started checking their helmets, followed by pulling on the harnesses of those in front of them. George stood between Nix and (y/n) in line, separating the pair.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” George jeered back to her as she checked his equipment.

Through his humor, she could see the fear that each of them felt.

Dick’s voice filled the plane again. “Sound off for equipment check!”

“Ten okay!”

“Nine okay!”

“Eight okay!”

“Seven okay!”

Hearing her heartbeat in her ears, (y/n) attempted to push her fear deep down.

“Six okay!” Chuck yelled, tapping her on the shoulder.

(Y/n) repeated the motion for George, shouting. “Five okay,”

“Four okay!”

“Three okay!”

“Two okay!”

“One okay!” Winters finished, looking out the jump door.

Within seconds, the cloud cover dissipated, and explosions filled the air, violently tilting the plane sideways. (Y/n) lost her balance and fell back onto her seat with a curse. Luckily, Chuck grabbed her harness and hoisted her back on her feet in front of him.

As the plane continued to shake beneath their feet, she looked through the small window at the stick beside them just in time to see it get hit and go down in flames. Her mouth went dry at the sight, and she prayed that they wouldn’t share the same fate.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Someone yelled at the back of the plane.

Lip turned behind him. “Does that light look green to you?”

The man didn’t get to respond as gunfire ripped through the plane, peppering him with shrapnel.

“I’m hit!”

Among the chaos, the green light flicked on, and Winters called out to them. “Let’s go!”

Without hesitation, he jumped out the door, followed by Gene, Lew, and George. Following Luz, (y/n) didn’t even look before pushing herself out the door.

The first thing she felt was the wind whipping at her equipment as she fell through the air. Anti-aircraft shells exploded around her, adding to the deafening cacophony surrounding her. Explosions, screams, gunfire…it was a sound she’d never forget.

Even with her parachute deployed, the ground was fast approaching. To her panic, she couldn’t see her DZ anywhere. To make matters even worse, the wind guided her toward the dense forest instead of one of the many open fields surrounding her. She tried to pull up on the risers to change her direction, but it was too late. Within seconds, she flew into the tall European oak trees she tried so desperately to avoid.

All air left her lungs as she slammed into a tree, sending her falling through the branches. The sound of snapping wood filled her ears and she hissed at the sharp stings that covered her body as she fell.

With a jolt, her descent was abruptly stopped, causing her to swing into a nearby trunk with a thwack. (Y/n) groaned at the impact, feeling pain seep into her already bruised and battered body.

“Great,” she hissed, looking up at the tangled chute. “Of course, I landed in a freaking forest.”

Seeing she was only a few feet off the ground, (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and reached for her knife. When she looked down, she cursed at the missing bag that was supposed to be attached to her leg.

‘At least I didn’t put anything important in there,’ she thought.

The (y/h/c) quickly cut herself free of the chute and fell through the air again, landing on her feet with a wince. Even though she couldn’t see herself, she knew she had to look rough. The stinging from various cuts and scratches torso, arms, and legs were a dead giveaway to her appearance.

Pulling out her M1, she quietly made her way to a clearing better illuminated by the moon. She stayed near the edge, wary of being seen, and used her compass and map to try and figure out where she was. After a few minutes, she discovered she was a few miles west of the rally point. Just as she was about to move, a drip of red on her map stole her attention. (Y/n) took off her helmet and began to run a shaky hand through her grimy hair when a sharp pain flared from her temple, making her groan at the searing sensation. Pulling her hand away, she gasped to see it covered in dark red.

The paratrooper quickly grabbed a bandage and gritted her teeth, tying it the best she could.

“Head wounds bleed the most,” Doc Roe had said in a medic seminar. “You’re gonna go through bandages quick.”

She gently placed the helmet back on her head and took a deep breath. “You can do this, (y/n),” she muttered under her breath as she started moving east toward the rally point. “You can do it.”

She’d made it to the ground, but she wasn’t out of the woods, yet.

D-Day Plus Three: Sainte-Mère-Eglise, France

Since Nix finally made it to Sainte-Mère-Eglise on June 7th, his eyes searched the crowd for one face. Every day, he kept a constant check on who arrived and who they’d seen or heard from, and for two days, he couldn’t rest.

On the third day, he overheard some men from the 82nd.

“Did you see the broad?”

On instinct, he rushed out of the makeshift company CP onto the street filled with exhausted paratroopers, ignoring the concerned looks from the men as he quickly made his way to the front of the town.

“Thank God,” he whispered, seeing her wobbly figure from a distance.

Her downcast eyes didn’t see him approach as she dragged her feet in the mud, too tired to even pick them up.

“You’re late to the party,” Lew chuckled, trying to mask his relief.

Despite the ringing pain in her head, her eyes shot up to meet his. When their gazes met, she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He made it.

A tired smile grew on her blood and dirt-covered face. “Nice to see you, too, Lew.”

Extending his arm out to her, Nix pulled her into a tight embrace. It was like his mind needed physical reassurance she was there.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured into her helmet.

Leaning into his chest, she let the rhythm of his heart calm her fear. Even in a warzone, she felt safe in his arms. “I was worried about you, too.”

A chuckle reverberated through his chest. “So you were worried about me, huh?”

Pulling back to look at him, (y/n) smirked. “I take it back.”

His playful expression changed to concern as he noticed her pale face and the blood beneath her helmet. “Hey, what happened? You’re bleeding.”

(Y/n) ducked her head to the side. “I’m fine, Lew. Really.”

“Come on, let me see,” he urged, gently unclasping her helmet.

A hiss left him, seeing the blood-soaked cloth haphazardly tied around her head.

“(Y/n),” he sighed, one hand tilting her jaw to see the wound while the other peeled back the bandage. The gash ran from her right temple to just above her ear. “This is deep. You’re gonna need stitches. Let’s go to the aid station.”

His tender touch left her speechless. “Ok-okay,” she whispered, following him to the medic tent.

The coppery smell of blood hit her like a ton of bricks the second she entered the tent. Men were lying on cots, missing limbs, and crying in agony. (Y/n) froze, unable to tear her gaze from the carnage before her. A guiding hand on the small of her back urged her to keep walking.

“Come on, (y/n/n). This way,” Lew muttered.

He led her into another tent that was less crowded and sat her down on a nearby cot. “I’ll go find Doc. Stay here.”

Laying back on the cot, (y/n) allowed her body to fully relax for the first time in almost three days. Soreness gnawed at her muscles, leaving behind a dull ache that drained all of her energy. Within a few minutes, her eyes began to droop, and sleep finally welcomed her.

“She’s in here,” Lew said, Doc Roe in tow. “She’s got a nasty cut on her head.”

The cajun nodded. “Alright, I’ll take a look. You know head wounds bleed a lot.”

Walking into the room, their expressions softened at her curled-up form on the cot. “Is it okay if she sleeps,” Nix asked, crouching next to her.

Grimacing, Roe shook his head. “I really should check her head, sir.”

With a nod, Lew gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, (y/n/n). Doc’s here to check your head.”

She weakly groaned and sat up slowly. “I think I could sleep for a week.”

Chuckling, Gene held his index finger up in front of her face. “Follow my finger.”

After a few seconds, he sighed, grabbing a suture kit from his satchel. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but that cut’ll need stitches.”

Roe carefully cleaned the wound as (y/n)’s eyes screwed shut. “You ready?” He asked.

Keeping her eyes closed, her hand shot out beside her, grasping onto Nixon’s hand tightly. “Lew, please talk to me. Say anything, I don’t care, just talk.”

He squeezed her hand in response as she let out a hiss when the first suture pulled through her split skin.

“When I was in college…”

With Lewis Nixon’s warm and reassuring hand in hers, along with his distracting words, the pain became bearable. In the small medic tent in Sainte-Mère-Eglise, Eugene smiled to himself, witnessing the intimate moment between the two.

“Ce sont des idiots.” He muttered to himself. “Des idiots en mal d’amour.”

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pfenniged · 4 months

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Gift for @softguarnere for @hbowardaily holiday gift exchange; Happy Christmas, love! <3

Waiting For Your Reply: A Playlist and Fanfiction:

Lewis Nixon x Reader [Accompanying Playlist here [x]]

Prompt for HBO War Daily Holiday Exchange: Lewis Nixon x Reader, Secret Relationship, United after D-Day

(I tilted this slightly to be United after V.E. Day!)

Author's Notes: This is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect meant to the real life veterans.

Warnings: Language, sexually suggestive language, you are reading a fanfiction.

Summary: Lewis Nixon's mother, in her own planning for her son's eventual divorce (and heading for her own divorce historically from Mr. Nixon in 1945), encourages our main character, "new money" pushed by her society-climbing mother, to write to Nixon during the course of World War Two. Written between Christmas 1944 and Christmas 1945.

California, 1944

You met Mrs. Doris Nixon at a charity meet you'd been roped into by your mother- half out of an obligation to genuinely help the war effort, half at the prodding to sidle up to society heads.

"I thought we went to California to escape the snow in New England," You mutter, but fixing your gloves to enter the country club, the juxtaposition between cheerful candy canes hanging from nearby palm trees making the upcoming Christmas holidays seem positively comical.

"Yes, and to support the war effort. Their family makes explosives- you think that's going to end anytime soon?" Your mother says dryly, fixing your collar before rebuttoning the top of your blouse. "Now go. And remember her titles- Founder and President of Guide Dogs for the Blind, State Commander of the California Cancer Society, and the National Vice-President of the American Women's Voluntary Services, in addition to the President of the California Chapter-"

"Yes- yes- I remember-" You mutter, practically swatting away Mrs. Nixon's listed credentials that were supposed to be a talking point in order to connect with her. "I can walk in myself, Mother. You know how people react to you in high society-"

Your mother bristles, before sniffing and holding her head high. "They're always afraid of someone who challenges them. That's where you come in. Now go." She reemphasizes, practically swatting your behind to push you forward, but even your mother realizing this wouldn't exactly endear anyone to you.

-----

As soon as you enter the conference room, you could see that any organic way of approaching Mrs. Nixon was all but impossible.

As much as your mother saw you rubbing elbows with old money elites, it seemed every other woman and their daughter in California with two red cents to rub together had the same idea. Your senses were overwhelmed as soon as you entered the room, with women upon women snaking past each other in order to get closer to anyone with a fortune or a son (Preferably, both).

Overwhelmed despite your best (or perhaps, your mother's worst) intentions, all you could do was stare from a distance, before shaking your head and leaning down at the catering table to grab a spinach puff.

"My son loves those," A voice commented, as you look up to meet Mrs. Nixon's gaze. Of course. True society women met every new person who came in with warmth and civility- she was saving you the embarrassment of having to elbow through the crowd, as well as making you feel welcome.

"Oh?" You ask lightly, afraid to pop one in your mouth and to talk through food, instead perching it awkwardly on the edge of your plate. A second's silence, but enough to make you realize you needed to elaborate, or you'd lose her fast.

"Is that why you have such a connection to the cause, ma'am?" You finally manage to say, but saying it softly enough that it came across as genuine and not prying. Your mother would be proud.

Mrs. Nixon's face clouded momentarily, before the serene socialite mask resettled on her face.

"Yes. Lewis is working as an Intelligence Officer, overseas-"

"Well, at least he's certified intelligent. Not just a mother's bias." You can't help but tease, the words out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

Women turn around to shoot you disapproving looks, as you swallow, looking down and about to excuse yourself, before hearing a bark of laughter, looking up and seeing Mrs. Nixon pull a photo out of her purse, analyzing you for a moment, before turning the photo over and scrawling something on the back.

"Write him. I think he could use a laugh."

You stare down at the general military address given to you, gaping, before looking up and stammering weakly. "Y-You don't even know my name-"

Mrs. Nixon gave you a wry smile, the same smile mirrored in her son in the palm of your hand.

"Bold of you to assume I don't know your mother is waiting right outside. Tell her it's unfortunate, but we don't have time for her to stop in, today. And Lewis is married. Not that has stopped any of the other Nixon men from taking into account the affections of a pretty lady-" She says dryly, pointedly taking two spinach puffs and taking her leave.

-----

New England, 1944

A month later, the address Mrs. Nixon had given you danced between your fingers, along with the face of Mr. Lewis Nixon with it.

"The longer you stare at it, the less likely he'll appear in the flesh-" Your domestic help notes as she brings up your dinner to your bedside.

"That will be all, Betty-" You say evenly, but trying not to smile as she taps the side of her nose, as if to know why you were hesitating.

You never wrote to Lewis Nixon, you were never disappointed.

Plus he was married...

Two seconds later, you were fishing for your best stationary out of your side table, pulling a nearby book onto your bed to use as a desk, and diving in with all the vigour you'd held back for the past few weeks.

Dear Lewis Nixon,

In the spirit of complete transparency, I want to let you know that your mother gave me your mailing address. She seems to think you’re lonely, but I suppose all mothers assume their sons are.

Even those who are married.

So I don’t exactly know what you want from me. I suppose I can pretend to be what you actually wanted when opening up a letter from overseas. A happy surprise.

What’s your type? A Hedy Lamarr? Betty Grable? Even a Katherine Hepburn?

Let me know what I should be to you, and my bust size will expand and contract accordingly.

In the meantime, I will pretend you are Cary Grant.

Yours sincerely, Me, xoxo

You scrawl your name and address on the front, slide it between the letters of your father's to be mailed out in the morning, and promptly assume you'll never hear from the photo now hidden between The Bible your mother forced you to still keep in your bedside table.

---

The letter came back just before Christmas, where your mother was launching into another lecture about you entering your mid-twenties and not having found a suitable match.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Not that!" You argue, throwing your mother's latest option back in her face.

"You've been out in society for six years- all the best choices are taken or divorced-!"

"Well, next time a man shows up on our doorstep, mother, I'll be sure to tell him I'm a pathetic old spinster with no other options, so he better take me now or lose me forever!" You snap, shoving back from the table with a satisfying squeak on the newly varnished wooden floors and storming out of the house, ignoring your mother's shrill condemnation of unladylike behaviour.

It was only when you got to the front of the waterfront near your house did you pull out the mail handed to you that day, sorting through your correspondence, before pulling out a foreign, shaky scrawl, stamped with approval from the U.S. Army.

Hey, Rita Hayworth:

Nice to know my mother continues to be involved in my love life at least three continents over and while I'm in the middle of a Belgian forest.

My ideal bust size is 36, but I don't complain, as I take what I can get.

I don't know exactly what you want from me, either. But perhaps we can find out together.

Nice to know you, too.

Yours,

Cary

(P.S: Send a photo, if you're brave enough).

You look down at the letter, blinking a couple of times, before a smile slowly grows on your face.

You liked a challenge.

----

Your correspondence continued into 1945, kept hidden from your mother and prying eyes, and considering Lewis' marital status, you assumed he kept your correspondence relatively low key.

You both pretended it was nothing, really. At least, on your part. Only you knew that you spent hours getting ready to take a proper photo at the local department store to send off.

There was a lull in activity in spring with V.E. Day in May, although you had a sense of why. Everyone heard the Japanese were on the verge of surrendering after the Germans had effectively turned it in. It was only a matter of time.

The last letter you got from Lewis Nixon was messier than usual. It contained something heavy.

When you opened it, gold ring. Drunk, failure, with failure rubbed out so hard it had ripped the page. Followed by the words. "I write to you from the dead. Divorced."

All you could do was write back and say "That's not funny."

Your first instinct to respond immediately. Next morning down to the water, the only place to write away from prying eyes. The only thing she could think to do was circle the erased bit and draw a line through it, before folding it to go inside the envelope.

You stared at the blank pieces of paper that remained in your hands, before writing down all your own insecurities.

"I'm a coward." You write. "I'm sheltered. I complain about luxuries while enjoying them. I'm a disappointment to my parents. I haven't done half of what I could have done for this war. And I don't want anything- all I know is what I don't want. I keep waiting for what I want to hit me, but it never does. But I know you're not dead. And you're not a failure. And if anything's hit me, it's you."

You post it that day, avoiding the advances of yet another of your father's tennis partners.

-------

By the time Christmas 1945 rolled around, you hadn't heard from Lewis Nixon in months. You knew he wasn't dead, having unanticipatedly received a glowing but generic mailing list letter from the former Mrs. Nixon from Palm Beach, Florida. Your mother could hardly contain her excitement as you look headed past your mother's Christmas party guests and made a strategic beeline past the mistletoe to people-watch in the corner all the people who were barely affected by the war that had occurred almost a world away.

Suddenly, you felt a knock behind you on the window.

You looked down, and were directly looking into the face of the photo still kept within your Bible upstairs.

You gaped, the snow swirling around him outside, wearing a clearly well-designed wool coat, but the intensity in his gaze obvious, it hard to tell whether he was focused or drunk, or what exactly he was doing there.

You looked across the room to see your mother none the wiser to her potential cash cow outside, before looking back down, unable to keep from putting your fingertips to the glass. "I-It's cold out." You finally mouth, as he looks up at you.

"You're not a coward." Lewis looks up at you, before a hint of the humour you had grown to miss over the past couple of months, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Not if you come with me now."

You imagine yourself hearing things, but Lewis' words definitely audible through the single-pane glass. You look back as if on instinct, but Lewis immediately tapping the glass, forcing you to focus back on him, the drifting of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" now seemingly the only thing coming between you two.

"Come with me."

"Where?" You mouth back, but a smile slowly growing on your face.

Lewis gives a little shrug, but his own smile growing to mirror yours.

"Wherever you want to go, Rita. As long as it doesn't involve your mother."

Within five minutes, you had a small bag packed and made an excuse to excuse yourself outside, the feeling of Lewis' arm around your shoulder making you giddy as you threw your bag into the back of a luxury car, with Lewis' ring in your back pocket.

"Cary," You tease as you move over to crank the heat in the car, before cuddling close on the bench seating, pulling your yellow wool coat closer around you.

"You're a couple inches shorter than you look in the movies."

"A Merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart."

-----

Playlist:

Sweet Talk by Saint Motel

Moving- The Happy Fits

Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey

The Last Great American Dynasty by Taylor Swift

Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift

This Boy by The Beatles

What You’re Doing by The Beatles

If I Fell by The Beatles

Baby I’m Yours by The Arctic Monkeys

No 1. Party Anthem by The Arctic Monkeys

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #lewis nixon x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #my writing #my edits #I wrote this in November LOL hopefully you like <3 #lewis nixon #hbo war #softguarnere #hbowardaily

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fictionadventurer · 11 months

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Good news! The channel that plays only old History Channel documentaries had a day entirely devoted to American presidents, so I have a lot more president facts to share with you!

(Important note that I have fact-checked nothing. I am only spouting off trivia the way I would if you were here for me to info-dump at).

Andrew Jackson's wife died soon after he was elected president, and he believed her death was caused by the vicious attacks against her during the election. Because he apparently lived his life as though he were a Shakespeare character, he said something along the lines of, "On the grave of this saint, I forgive all my political and personal enemies, but as for those who slandered her, they must look to God for mercy."

When William Jennings Bryan ran against William McKinley in 1896, he went on an epic nationwide whistle-stop campaign. Though he never drank alcohol, he reeked of liquor throughout his tour--because he was using gin as a deodorant! Instead of stopping to bathe, he would wipe himself down with gin to mask his body odor.

After Harry Truman, it became the practice for both presidential nominees to get security briefings months before the election, so when they came into office they'd be up-to-date on world events--with the understanding that all this info was strictly confidential. When Richard Nixon heard that LBJ's administration was putting together peace talks to end the Vietnam War, he went to the South Vietnamese and told them to refuse to go to the table, because if they waited until he was in office, they'd get a better deal. LBJ found out and told the head of the Republican Party to tell Nixon to stop it, because this was treason. Nixon called LBJ back and said this story was untrue and he had nothing to do with any such actions. LBJ knew he was lying, but only because he'd been secretly recording sessions with the South Vietnamese, so he couldn't do anything without exposing his own actions. Because of this, South Vietnam never came to the bargaining table, and the war dragged on more than five years longer.

When Ronald Reagan was shot by an assassin, Soviet submarine activity increased near US shores, and people thought this might be part of a Soviet attack. George Bush, the vice president, was (I think) in Texas at the time, and immediately started flying back to Washington, but his plane didn't have a secure phone line, so he couldn't be in charge of the country, and people weren't sure who was next in line. Both the Secretary of State and the Secretary of Defense believed that they should be in charge. The press also wanted to know who was in charge, but the press secretary was doing a terrible job at the press briefing, essentially saying that they didn't know who was in command. The Secretary of State then sprinted into the briefing room, took the microphone, and assured everyone that there was a clear chain of command, and he was in charge. The only problem was that he was wrong--he'd completely forgotten that both the Speaker of the House and the President pro tempore of the Senate ranked ahead of him.

At the time this documentary was made (2016), Dick Cheney held the record for the shortest presidency. The president is allowed to temporarily hand over power to the vice president if he's going to be incapacitated. George W. Bush made use of this rule twice when he was going in for colonoscopies, so Dick Cheney served as president for a total of four hours.

#history is awesome #presidential talk #i was babysitting the nephew who was very very fussy #so i was stuck in one room for hours with tv on in the background #this happy coincidence made it rather enjoyable and nephew now has a good grounding in american history #only trouble was that once i finally got a reprieve from babysitting i wanted to keep watching the documentary about elections #they were just about to start lincoln!#i watched through lincoln and mckinley's elections and then even i'd had enough #the lincoln stuff lined up well with what i've read #and i was very glad to have read it because i wouldn't have followed their telling if i didn't have background #i had a minor issue with a line about 'a series of weak presidents had appeased the south for years with compromises'#when zachary taylor's face showed up in that line-up i yelled at the tv 'zachary taylor never compromised on anything in his life!'#the slander!#it's also interesting to see old documentaries and how history changes #the one about early presidents was from 1996 and pushed the 'harrison died of pneumonia after his long inaugural address' narrative #jefferson's slave mistress story was only 'many historians believe this to be true' and not 'tear-down-his-statues settled fact'#among other things this experience made me more appreciative of the merits of broadcast tv #even if these things were available on streaming i'd never pick '1996 presidential elections documentary' on my own #i need some guy desperate to fill airtime to curate this for me

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haggishlyhagging · 3 months

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This obsession with purifying society of deviant/defiant women has been both the origin and manifestation of the secret bond between seemingly distinct and even opposed categories of men. Thus the members of the legal profession, who at first appeared opposed or at least indifferent to the witch-hunting propensities of priests, later became even more fervent persecutors. Thus also protestants, though bitterly opposed to catholicism, vied with and even may have surpassed their catholic counterparts in their fanaticism and cruelty during the witchcraze. Typically, each used the orthodoxy of the other to entrap women under the witch-label. Among some protestants, for example, Bishop Palladius, reformer of Denmark, the term witch was extended to include "those who used catholic prayers or formulas."

This massacre of women, then, masked a secret gynocidal fraternity, whose prime targets were women living outside the control of the patriarchal family, women who presented an option—an option of "eccentricity," and of "indigestibility." The term eccentric is derived from the Greek ek (out of) plus kentrum (center of a circle). One definition in Merriam-Webster is "not having the same center, used of circles, cylinders, spheres, and certain other figures: opposed to concentric." It also means "deviating from some established type, pattern, or rule." The women hunted as witches were (are) in a time/space that is not concentric with androcracy. Hags are Self-centering, constituting the Society of Outsiders, defining gynocentric boundaries. This is the dreaded option of Dreadful, Dreadless Crones, the ultimate indigestible threat to the "majesty of God." Therefore in the name of god this Self-centering process must be halted and all Hag-centered process re-moved, sucked back into the dead center of patriarchal darkness.

The purification of society was legitimated as a cleansing not only of the "body politic" but, more specifically, of the Mystical Body of Christ. Since Christ was believed to possess not only his own body but also a Mystical Body—extended to include all members of his church—this Mystical Body had to be kept pure enough to perform the functions required by its divine Head. This extended Body symbolism had commonly been invoked by fathers and doctors of the church when confronted with the problem of heretics. The latter-like diseased members had to be cut off (killed) for the good of the whole organism. This tradition provided a ready-made solution for the problem presented by the witches. Moreover, while the argument had frequently functioned to legitimate the "amputation" of heretical male members, it was particularly appropriate in the case of deviant women, for there is something basically incongruous in trying to see women with any sense of Self as incorporated into The Male Mystical Body. This incongruity was partially and convolutedly expressed by Kramer and Sprenger when they declared that males were protected from so horrible a crime as witchcraft because Jesus was a man.

It is important to note here an essential pattern in the maze of the witchcraze. On the symbolic level, the emphasis centers around god-the-son, "The Second Person of the Divine Trinity," who "became incarnate." Dogmatically speaking, "the Word became Flesh." Thus in christian doctrine, the "fact" that god-the-son became man (male), assuming a human—that is, male—body, enabled males to become gods. It prepared the way for the Brotherhood representing/replacing Yahweh & Son. Thus the original christian divine model for Big Brother in Orwell's 1984 is the godman, Jesus. It is significant that in this "futuristic"—that is, patriarchally past and contemporary—novel it is not Big Father who is the Head. For everyone knows on some level that this "divine" father is omni-absent, a figurehead as blatant as Archie Bunker, Idi Amin (Dada), Tricky Dick Nixon, or Pope Paul the Sicksth (VI; sic). Rather it is Big Brother who is omnipresent—seeing/knowing/controlling all, constantly purifying the body politic of deviants. Male (and male-identified) professionals and aspirants to political power have identified with this more accessible and "real" symbol.

-Mary Daly, Gyn/Ecology

#mary daly #witch hunting #male psychology #male oppressors #female independence #femicide #male malady #male religion

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beesmygod · 5 months

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you just need to get into wearing cool mysterious masks in public

wearing a rubber nixon mask to the dunkin

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sternevogn · 4 months

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ok hear me out rq. what i'm abt to say may be a tad odd .

but knight enjoyers. hear me out .

i like to think that the knight has a hobby of collecting teeth. no i don't mean human teeth. most of what's on the helmet was already there.

but i like to think he has a taxonomy hobby and branching from that he has a strange collection of fallen teeth he's found; not necessarily from corpses but just things he's found.

i think his favourites are in fact shark teeth and snake fangs ...

ok actually just . let me ramble about the knight for a second idk smth just took a hold of me. sorry .

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

i kind of also think he's gone back to old battlefields thinking about the battles he's seen as way of kind of coping with them. like he walks around and gives himself the time to process what happened.

he definitely does deal with PTSD though, you couldn't convince me otherwise. he has been through things. and because he's very reserved and doesn't really express his emotions- not even to people close to him, like kirk- it gives him a pretty explosive temper, and just... outburst of emotions in general. so when kirk DOES see, he's very careful to be gentle and understanding, and it calms knight down pretty quickly. even though kirk reassures him it's okay to show his emotions, he's very against it and quick to mask again.

going back to the PTSD thing, he has frequent nightmares. often he'll wake up in a cold sweat. and other times he finds himself lost in the memories. kirk will catch it happening sometimes and do his best to ground knight as best as he can. it's one of the rare times the knight will give a soft "thank you" to kirk.

and additionally with the explosive emotions thing, i do think that it's natural but generally harmless- without consequence, i mean. but the thing with alice? yeah, remember that? i do. that's the kind of consequence the extreme build-up causes. no, it's not okay. yes, it's fucked up. it only got so bad it became so violent in THAT sense because kirk wasn't there. kirk, the only person who understood him, was gone. he had no one to turn to, so what happened as consequence? the build up of extreme emotions. from the thoughts plaguing him of vietnam to watching his brother fall apart before running away- never to be seen again, the knight thought- and then finding out about the lunarians, or lack thereof- and THEN the queen absolutely fucking humanity UP- the knight's knowledge of everything weighed so heavily on him and he had no outlet. he was blinded by the horrors of which he and his brother had faced by the hands of man and war. it drove him mad. all of it did.

and he knew he fucked up. it ate at him so deeply too, after what he did to alice- he couldn't fathom he'd hurt an innocent person, one who'd had such deep faith and belief in him and his brother. he knew, in a sense, her retelling of kirk's life story was meant to reach people. to show his strife and struggle. but he knew how deeply that story affected kirk, and how he was ashamed of some of what had happened- that added onto it.

the knight grieved. he grieved so deeply for what he'd done, what he'd lost, everything plagued him.

but the memories of his own world- the world he had lost- suddenly surfaced. he realised, "oh. there's more to this." and then he found out about nixon.

he tried to show to the avenues that he really hadn't meant what he'd done- he knew well that his emotions had got the better of him. but he wanted to prove she was still alive. with them. he ended up freeing the alcatraz matter into its natural state, altering his appearance. altering HIM.

next thing you know, he does his best to reverse his mistakes. to make everything right again. so he stopped the queen by killing her (which is something he knew far too well, being a man of war and seeing this as one). and then, he sacrificed himself, as the alcatraz matter instantly copied and replaced all of america.

it was all he knew.

as long as there is a war, i'll keep on fighting.

it's part of who i am.

OK SORRY!!!! I SUDDENLY JUST WENT OFF ABOUT THE KNIGHT'S WHOLE STORY LMFAO anyways yeah uh ! ignore this or Don't i don't care HELP

#monument mythos #the monument mythos #the nixonverse #the d day knight #d day knight #sterne rambles

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husband · 3 months

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Hi, im a beginner horror enjoyer and im really disturbed by a lot of gore but i wanna understand the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies bc ive heard theyre hugely influential on the genre (rightly so too)

I figured with all this id ask the foremost texas chainsaw scholar i am aware of

Could you tell me the basics, if its gross (im really bad at tolerating gross out horror and gore played realistic), and any fun tidbits?

If not i thank you for reading and hope you have a good day ^-^

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was hugely influential on the genre and set the standard for low budget horror and inspired future filmmakers to rely more on psychological terror over gore & violence! It was also seemingly the birth of a lot of horror tropes, like big, masked killers and using power tools for weapons.

Texas Chainsaw's story is inspired by serial killers like Ed Gein and Elmer Wayne Henley. The movie’s director, Tobe Hooper, was inspired by the graphic coverage of violence by San Antonio news outlets and based elements of the plot on murderer Ed Gein, who was a notorious serial killer who made furniture out of human body parts and created a mask made of human skin. The movie’s underlying themes are mostly the horrors of isolation, and the dangers of unchecked capitalism. The movie is also a metaphor for the Nixon-era mayhem and the government’s deceit toward the public during the 1970s. Hooper intentionally misled audiences by claiming that the movie was based on a true story to attract a wider audience.

I honestly don't know how to give you the basics aside from a plot synopsis because I would, hand to God, be sitting here for about 12 hours minimum going into every weird little detail, like the intricacies of bubba's mental issues and being forced to take on a female role for his abusive older brothers, or all the absolutely insane shit that happened during filming. And that'd just be me talking about the FIRST film.

But if you want to ask me more questions or see more Texas chainsaw related stuff you can ask/look over at my blog @chainsawhouse. I just hate to gum up my main blog with this particular interest.

Also, my fun tidbit is that they've recently confirmed that there is a new Texas Chainsaw Massacre in the works, under the title 'Texas Chainsaw Legacy'! Very fun imo.

#ask #tcm #i think most of the bad gore on my tcm blog is tagged under 'blood' but im sure ive let a couple bts pics fly under my radar by accident #i'm just so bad with words me trying to give you the basics would be a big mess of words #cause i mention one thing and have to go oh yeah sidenote. every other sentence #sorry i couldnt be more informative im honestly just trying to spare you #aside from the shots of dead bodies like the one at the start of the movie. along some dead animals and a lot of gross meat shots there isn #really actual gore that i remember... the big thing about the film was that they left the violence up to your imagination #by tactfully cutting away during the brutal scenes #its still an off putting film but i personally think if gore played realistically is what's turning you off from watching it you should be #good #youd want to avoid tcm2 though they do a lot of on screen gore for that movie. they had tom savini doing special effects

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hellishunicorn · 2 months

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"What kind of mask? Fucking animal mask? Fucking "Point Break" fucking Richard Nixon mask? A mask from the movie "The Mask" mask? What kind of mask?"

#deadloch #Eddie Redcliffe #deadloch 1x8 #Madeleine Sami

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vanwizard · 5 months

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youtube

forcing everyone to watch my favorite itysl sketch it kills me every time alkjdlfkjadsf

(commercial music begins)

Narrator: Dog doors can be a problem. Your dog can get out, but other things can get in. The Darmine Doggy Door brings you the newest high-tech doggy door from Darmine Devices. These doors are fully automatic, and activated by a digital chip in your dog’s collar! You’re not gonna get varmint, you’re not gonna get intruders, and you’re definitely not gonna get this thing!

(creature demonically squeals)

Narrator: …‘Cause I saw that thing. That thing came in here while I was on the couch.

(sinister music plays, more demonic squealing)

Neighbor: It’s a pig!

Narrator: …What the FUCK!? …WHAT THE FUUUUUUUCK!?

(commercial music resumes)

Narrator: My next door neighbor had put a Richard Nixon mask on a pig and had it go through my doggy door ‘cause we’ve been arguing over a property line!

(trampoline bouncing sounds, narrator in flashback yelling: Get it off my bushes!)

Narrator: He was trying to call me a liar and a thief like Nixon and a pig –

Neighbor: You’re a PIG!

Narrator: – but I didn’t know what the fuck was happening ‘cause I’ve barely been sleeping since my wife got flipped upside down by a swing dancer at a wedding! HE MUST’VE FLIPPED MY WIFE EIGHT TIIIIIMES! And it reeeally bothered me. When you can’t sleep and you see that thing –

(pig squeal)

Narrator: – you’re not just right away like ‘that’s a pig with a mask,’ you’re like ‘THAT’S GONNA KILL ME! THAT’S REAL! THAT LIVES WITH US ON EARTH!’

(pig squeals again)

Narrator: I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA GET EATEN!!! I’m not a stupid fucking idiot, I know it was just a pig, but for fifty seconds it felt really real. And when you think you’re gonna get eaten and your first thought is… great! I don’t have to go to work tomorrow! You’re relieved you don’t have to go to work ‘cause you thought you were gonna get eaten!? What the fuck is this world? What’ve they done to us? WHAT’D THEY DO TO US!?!?

(pig squealing and destroying coffee table)

Narrator: That was the most consequential day of my life because now I know I don’t like my work. THE DARMINE DOGGY DOOR! HAPPY PET – PEACE O’ MIND! Anything can happen in this world, we really know very little! My life is nothing I thought it should be and everything I was worried it would become because for fifty seconds I thought there was monsters on the world.

#i think you should leave #tim robinson #unreality #<- that's what the sketch is for anyone sensitive to that.#the way the darmine doggy door immediately shot to the top of my list when we watched season 3 aslkdjfljklakj #it just sends me every time #...cause i saw that thing. :/ that thing came in here while i was on the couch :/.#half of my friends and family agree this one is fucking hilarious and the other half are like meh. mid.#but i shrimply cant get over it

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neikikardartv · 6 months

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Watchmen (2019)

Alternate History Roundtable

What is the koinos kosmos (common world) and mutually assumed knowledge the series shares with viewers?

The show Watchmen (2019) is set in the universe of the comic with the same name but takes place 30 years later. The “koinos kosmos” is that due to having the superhero abilities of Dr. Manhattan the US was able to win the Vietnam War in one month and Nixon instead of being impeached became very popular and amends the constitution to allow presidents to run for more than two terms. He then remains president until the late 80s when Robert Redford was elected president. The show starts in 2019 and Robert Redford is still president. He is very liberal and has passed The Victims of Racial Violence Legislation which grants a lifetime of tax exemptions for victims and descendents of racial justice in America, known as “Redfordations”. This and his other liberal policies have led to more white supremacist backlash against these victims and a white supremacist group known as The Seventh Cavalry is at large in Tulsa, Oklahoma where the show takes place. The history of the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921 is central to the plot.

How does the series depict cultural hybridity through the altered history’s role in reflecting and reshaping cultural assumptions?

In the beginning of the first episode cultural hybridity occurs when the main character is showing her son’s class how to create a Vietnamese dish she learned how to make while living there. What starts out seeming just like any normal presentation in our world changes when the teacher asks her if she was born before or after Vietnam was made a state? In the background of this shot there is also a poster that states “Four Important Presidents” with Robert Redford and Nixon being the top two.

The setting of an elementary school classroom is a great place to demonstrate the cultural hybridity as the cultural changes from the altered historical timeline are subtly showcased through the educational set design and questions asked.

How does the series depict the power of understanding world-creation?

A sacred “text” that is seminal to world creation in Watchmen similar to “Grasshopper'' in The Man in the High Castle, is the lore of the superhuman “Minuteman group” that was the originator of the events that led to Dr. Manhattan and the altered history of the Vietnam War. The influence of them is implemented in the show as a recurring motif via a made for TV special that dramatizes the story of the Minuteman through propaganda. Segments of the special are shown in the series via the TV or the audio serving as a narration for scenes of the present day masked vigilantes. Similar to TMITHC the world-creation being shown through the visual media demonstrates that “[w]what we understand to be ‘real’ or what ‘truly’ happened is determined by what and how we see, read, and hear”(212).

In what ways do formulations of the past, present, and future engage with prospective realities of what might have been and what might be in the series’ alerted history?

The series focus on how the altered history impacts race relations in America is interesting because there are many different ways the show could have explored the previous Watchmen universe events on the future of that reality. By focusing on the Tulsa Race Riots, an event that occurred before Watchmen’s timeline got altered, the show is anchored with something canon in both of our realities. This makes the fictional white supremacy plotline of the show all the more real as it has roots in actual events. While the show is not meant to take place in the future, the altered world is still very “rooted in the present of its time of creation”. The show aired in 2019 fresh off of Republic president Trump where open displays of white supremacy took place often with things like “The Unite the Right” Rally. By focusing still on white supremacy in a universe where an extremely liberal president has been in place since the 70s the show demonstrates that racism is still a systemic part of the present and history of the US no matter the historical changes and liberal policies that have been enacted since the timeline changed.

How do multiple realities or contemplations of multiple realities merge with questions of authenticity?

Similar to TMITHC Watchmen also deals with, ‘“a litany of duplicities” within the reality that merge with questions of authenticity. In the first episode we meet the chief of police that is in charge of the task force against the white supremacist group The Seventh Cavalry. The episode ends with him being found violently hung from a tree. While he and the main character who also works for the police (named Angela played by Regina King) were very close, someone at the murder scene calls into question the chief of police’s nature. Angela then investigates him and finds a Seventh Cavalry Klan hoodie in his closet. This uncertainty and lack of authenticity within people who seemed on the right side initially flips the new reality of the world even more. Making it hard to know who is really who they say they are, and who the bad guys and villains really are. If even the chief of police who openly is against racism is secretly a white supremacist in this world that has a more liberal facade, then the authenticity of the cause and what people claim to champion is all called into question. @theuncannyprofessoro

#oxyspeculativetv

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