#Nixon name for one of the boys and one of the girls

[haroldhearsawho]

Me thinking about what Dick and Nix might name their children if they were able to have their own together Boys:

Billy

Roy

Jack

Maxwell

Alexander

Girls:

Jane

Rosie

Margaret

Audrey

Claudia

Alice

Clara

Louise

Evelyn (Evie)

Eleanor (Ellie)

Elsie

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

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“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

[scramratz]

Rant abt your Cds I'm curious

OK HERE GOES SCRAMS 2024 CD COLLECTION TIER LIST

(Disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions and if yours differ from mine, fine. It’s not a sin to be wrong)

S TIER-

Goo-Sonic Youth: Straight bangers all the way through. Girls love it when you show them your Sonic Youth cd. Extra points cuz the pamphlet unfolds into a sick poster

Midnight Vultures-Beck: Good album to clean the house to. Every song a banger. Beck as a person sets off alarms, though 🤔

Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot-Sparklehorse: Genuinely my favorite artist and album of all time. Fall asleep to Homecoming Queen often.

Siamese Dream-Smashing Pumpkins: Fire straight though. Good when you’re in a depressed 20-something mood. Better than Mellon Collie in my humble opinion.

Gorillaz-Gorillaz: The start of one of my favorite bands and objectively one of the best bands in the world don’t fight me on it I’ll kill you.

A TIER-

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots-The Flaming Lips: Solid album. Iconic cover art. “Do You Realize??” always got me feeling feelings

Violent Femmes-Violent Femmes: Top 3 favorite band. Every song went platinum in my household. Would have been higher but reminds me of my mom too much.

Dig Me Out- Sleater-Kinney: Got it because the name sounded familiar. Ended up loving them! Doesn’t sound right if it’s not played loud, though, and considering I live in an apartment, I don’t play it often.

Fear Yourself-Daniel Johnston: Got it because I love “Hi, How Are You” but haven’t been able to find it anywhere. Was pleasantly surprised! Hits the same melancholy spot but slightly more upbeat.

Figure 8-Elliot Smith: My favorite sad boy that definitely DIDN’T kill himself. Not my favorite Elliot album but every one of his albums is A tier personally.

The Diary of Alicia Keys-Alicia Keys: WENT QUADRUPLE PLATINUM IN OUR HOUSEHOLD. Prime cleaning the house on Sunday music. Dragon Days is seriously underrated.

Garbage-Garbage: Don’t know how to say this without sounding insane but this album sounds like the color #DC007F and I like that color a lot

2-Mac Demarco: The CHOKEHOLD Mac Demarco had on us artschool bitches in 2016 OMG. Was gonna change my name to Viceroy

B TIER-

Money for Nothing- Dire Straits: Top tier dad music.

Lumine fever- The Adrenals: Got it cuz the cover looked cool. Was pleasantly surprised! They rock the adequate amount

Rocket to Russia- Ramones: They’re good but I don’t get the hype honestly. They’re the Flavor-Aid of Punk

Starfish- The Church: Only love one song on it, the only song anyone likes tbh. The rest are your standard 80s deal

Crooked Rain-Pavement: I really love Pavement but there is a thing as too much Pavement and I think I’ve reached it

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-Wilco: Honestly should have been in A tier but all the pretentious music dudes I’ve met has soured this album for me so it goes in B outta spite. Jesus Etc my fave song tho

An Evening with Silk Sonic- Silk Sonic: Nice, short, gets me in a happy mood. Does what it needs to do!

Prolonging the Magic- Cake: John McCrea don’t really be singing, do he? He just fancy talkin

C TIER-

Gigantic, Fuel, and The Nixons: I got all 3 on sale and they all sound the same and that sound is…ok? Like it’s alright background music

Blind Melon-Blind Melon: What was with 90’s bands putting random kids as their album covers? Decent listen, though.

Summerteeth-Wilco: Good background music. I can’t remember any songs off it.

Los Angeles/Wild Gift-X: I like X but I hate that fucking album art omg it’s so hard to look at. I like their songs individually but as a cohesive album, eh.

D TIER-

Throwing Copper-Live: bought it on sale with the above 3 but liked this one substantially less. Only redeeming quality to me is the album art.

Ben Folds Five-Ben Folds Five: Misleading considering there’s only 3 of them. He sounds like my ex boyfriend from highschool before I realized I liked girls

F Tier-

The Ragetones/Fall Apart-The Ragetones: Saw them play at a shitting basement show. Everything sounds better when you can barely hear yourself think.

F Punk-Big Audio Dynamite: Found it at the thrift and rehomed it outta pity. Sounds like the 80s in a bad way.

[shelyue99]

You see the three musketeers sit around the table here shooting the bull, so while it rolls on I'll see if I can make any sense out of this. The three are Irishmen-one Capt. Nixon, and Lt. Welsh and last of all the Major. Now Capt. Nixon is the biggest drunk I've ever seen, known, or hope to see. He's worth a small fortune, never'll have to work a lick in his life, but absolutely the most reliable man I've ever known. Welsh is as bullheaded as you'd expect an Irishman to be.

—May 16, 1945, Letter to DeEtta

At the present time we're (Nixon and I) ribbing Lt. Welsh about marrying an Irish girl by the name of Kitty Grogan. He hopes to be married inside of four months. We're carefully explaining that some 4F will grab her off before that. If he does manage to get married, we promise to steal the bride for the balance of his leave unless he hires us to protect him from others who may have the same intentions. Price is 1 qt. of scotch for Nixon and 1 qt. of ice cream for myself. He doesn't take us seriously.

—May 30, 1945, Letter to DeEtta

I've mentioned Capt. Nixon I believe, of Nixon, N.J. [W]ell I've got him writing his first letter since last Nov. to his wife. Quite a guy, he's having one hell of a time getting organized and down to work. Claims he hasn't anything to say to her, just to his dog. He has a baby boy that he's never seen, but he won't talk about his son, it's always his dog. Knowing you, why I know you could spend an enjoyable two or three hours talking about how awful he is-if you knew him. However I'll tell you he's idealistic. I've known him three years and lived and slept aside and fought with him for two. This guy loves one thing right at this stage of life: a bottle of spirits or a fight. He's OK in a fight, but Jesus, outside of that he's absolutely the most undependable man you'd ever want to find.

Since we've been overseas he's only run around with one girl. An English girl and she was anything but beautiful. However she was a good listener and companion. In fact I am not too sure but this guy might end up staying over here in England. Ah yes, things are really snafu-and don't ask me what that means.

Now here we have Welsh & Nixon mixing Vodka, rum & vermouth-oh boy it won't be long now.

—June 2, 1945, Letter to DeEtta

(Writing about the job offer at Nixon Nitration Works) “I don't count on a thing until I have it," Dick confessed, "but it sounds good."

—September 2,  1945, Letter to DeEtta

Do you know what this new regimental C.O. has gone and done? Declared me essential. Why? Well you know all those nice things one can say at a time like that. Me, with 100 points as of V-E Day, and about the only officer in the regiment who has enough points to get out, and who doesn't want any part of the army, stuck until the division goes home. Which won't be this year. Boy, do you smell smoke? Don't worry, it's just me.

Capt. Nixon left this week, which makes everything just dandy. I am about as lonesome as a lovesick swab who married a Wave on an eight hour pass.

—September 16, 1945, Letter to DeEtta

From “Hang Tough: The WWII Letters and Artifacts of Major Dick Winters”

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Anything For You

So here is the much awaited part 2 of ‘Good Girl’ for @ronsparky I’m sorry it took so long. Warnings: smut, sexual themes, bondage, swearing, Nixon being his usual self, 18+ fic only. Word count: 2.9k

It had been a few months since Y/n's last interaction with Speirs. It’s not like she was avoiding him, the company had been moved back to Mourmelon for a breather and between trying to relax and drills and training they just hadn’t managed to talk about what happened in Hagenau. They still shared longing looks across rooms and when they were occasionally close enough to touch Ron would reach out and brush his hand against hers.

After two months in Mourmelon, the company moved on to Struzelburg, Germany. The air seemed cleaner, the weather warmer and the general living conditions nicer. Y/n often thought that these comforts were almost like being back at Toccoa or Aldbourne.

She had just come back from collecting some eggs with Frank and George when she bumped into Speirs carrying a large tray of silver utensils through the street.

“You want some help with that Lieutenant?” She laughed, watching his shocked face meet hers and he gulped.

“No, that’s quite alright. I can manage,” he replied gruffly, already turning away from her and in the direction of the battalion post office.

Y/n trailed after him, despite Ron’s continued protests. Inside the post office, Ron placed the silverware on the counter, pulling out two packs of smokes for Private Vest.

“Same address as last time, Sir?” Vest asked, pocketing the packets of cigarettes with a smile.

“Yes,” Speirs replied abruptly, his eyes flicking back to Y/n for a second before turning away.

“Sure thing. I’ll say, Sir, the Y/l/n family will sure have a lot of nice silverware.” Speirs harsh glare cut the private off from saying anything else. Y/n stood in silence watching as Speirs tried to break his icey resolve and turn to her. He mumbled something about being needed at battalion before heading out the door, his head down as he passed Y/n but she couldn’t bring herself to follow him.

“Hey, Sergeant, ain’t Y/l/n your last name?”

“Shut it, Private,” Y/n snapped, spinning around on the spot and hurrying after Ron who had disappeared into the crowd of paratroopers.

Y/n had tried to find him that night but Lipton told her that he was in his room and didn’t want to be disturbed. This act went on for the rest of the month with Ron hiding away and avoiding her. That was until the company was moved on to Berchtesgaden.

Y/n finally found herself with her own room, a hot shower and a warm bed. It was these simple luxuries that Y/n had learned not to take advantage of. The alcohol flowed freely and the boys celebrated. The war in Europe had finally come to an end and despite the continuing war in Japan looming over them, for a moment, just for one night they could celebrate in peace.

Y/n had left the party an hour ago, wandering the halls in a dress she had found in one of the rooms. It was long, flowing out behind her and despite the neckline being a little lower than she would have liked, she wore it in a desperate attempt to reclaim something she had lost. She’d danced with nearly all the men that night, arm in arm with Malarkey, spinning frantically around the floor with George, Bull had taken her for a very sweet slow dance. She felt like a woman again, and the men treated her as though she was something to be admired.

Y/n found her way to the balcony that the officers often frequented, the sun loungers lay along one of the walls with discarded whiskey bottles that almost certainly belonged to Captain Nixon. At this time of night; despite the ruckus downstairs, the air was still and quiet. No wind blew, no birds sang. A dark silence hung over the mountains. Y/n didn’t know whether to find it ominous or peaceful but the silence was soon broken by the heavy footfalls of Ronald Speirs who rounded the corner so quickly that they both jumped in surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was out here,” Ron confessed, avoiding her gaze and turning to head back the way he’d come.

“Ron, wait! Please. You’ve been avoiding me and we need to talk,” Y/n protested, watching as Ron fought with himself until he finally turned around to face her.

“There’s nothing to talk about. What happened between us never should have happened. We both know that. You’re going to go back home soon enough and I’m planning on staying in the army, and that’s it, either of us make it out of the Pacific anyway.” Ron huffed, slouching against the hard brick wall, glaring at the ground, “we were never gonna make it you and I.”

Y/n felt her heart clench and her lungs felt tight as she tried to find the words to convey how she felt. “You don’t know that Ron. You can’t know that unless you give us a chance.”

“We have no chance Y/n. One day you’ll wake up and realise that I was no good for you so I’m letting you go now before it’s too late. I’ve sent all the silver home to your family. I want to support you even if I can’t be with you.”

“Who says you can’t be with me?” Y/n cried, “Do I not get a say in this.” She moved closer to Ron, her dress trailing along behind her. They were inches apart when she spoke again. “I want this to be my choice Ron, and I choose you.”

Ron surged forward, pressing his lips roughly to hers. His hand gripped desperately at her hips, pulling her flush to him. In that kiss was the sweetest passion she had ever felt. Ron’s lips were soft, the stubble of his chin grazing her face but she didn’t mind the burn. Y/n found herself weaving her fingers into his hair, wrapping one of her legs around his to pull him closer. The kiss spoke volumes, travelling all the unsaid words, the unspoken feelings and desires. Y/n pulled back, brushing her thumb over Ron’s cheek and feeling the damp tears that had fallen. “I want you too,” Ron whispered, his voice cracking and Y/n realised she had never seen him cry before, his stony resolve breaking down and revealing the man beneath who just wanted to be loved.

“Oh Ron,” she whispered, their lips brushing again as she spoke. Ron looked up at her, his eyes misty and his lip quivering as he spoke.

“I’m sorry I’m so weak. I should have told you before,” he mumbled into her neck, burying his face from her view.

“You’re not weak Ron. You are the bravest man in this company. Only the brave become vulnerable emotionally and for you to show me that is braver than any act of the battlefield,” Y/n soothed him, rubbing his back in comforting circles.

Ron pulled away, his eyes becoming dark and stormy once more and a sly smirk spread across his handsome face. “If I remember correctly, you and I have some unfinished business.”

Y/n chuckled, reaching out and placing her hand in his, “I believe we do.”

Ron chuckled and it felt like the most genuine laugh they had ever shared. He scooped her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style along the corridor. She grinned up at him and Ron smiled happily down at her. Y/n now knew what she was missing in life. All those years of thinking she had a missing part and Ron’s smile filled that hole.

The walk to Ron’s room was short, too short really because all too soon Ron was carrying her over the threshold of his room and slamming the door closed with his foot, never once putting her down until he gently laid her on the bed. Ron moved to close the curtains but Y/n called out to him, “No, leave them open. You look beautiful in the moonlight.”

Ron huffed, the smile growing on his lips once more. Y/n felt herself growing warmer, just led on Ron’s bed watching him unbutton his shirt in the moonlight had her heart racing. The curves of the muscles rippling under his toned flesh caused her to whimper and Ron’s head snapped up, dark eyes watching him intensely as he whispered, “Are you going to be a good girl?”

Ron’s lips brushed against her ear lobe, sending shivers down her spine, as he whispered sweet nothings to her. Y/n had lost all coherent language as soon as Ron’s lips met hers. His hands roamed down her sides, ruffling the fabric of the dress and bunching it around her middle.

“Ron,” she pleaded with him but he ignored her, continuing to kiss down her neck while his hand grazed its way up her bare thighs. Her hands fisted in his hair and Ron groaned at the comforting sting of pain and pleasure it gave him. Ron would be lying if he said he hadn’t been dreaming of this moment since Hagenuea, well maybe even before then. The pathetic whimpers falling from Y/n’s mouth had him driven to the brink of insanity.

“Ronny, please,” Y/n begged again and Ron chuckled at this new nickname he’d been given.

“Oh Darling, you’re so needy. Tell me what you want. I’ve barely touched you and you're so desperate already.”

Y/n gasped as Ron’s fingers ran over the edge of her pant line, “Ron, God, please. Please.”

“So impatient, Darling.” Ron tutted, sitting back on his heels and smiling down at her. The distinct bulge in his trousers caused Y/n to groan further. She reached out, massaging the bulge through his trousers and watching as Ron fought back the urge to moan.

“Please Ronny,” Y/n mumbled, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Please, Ron.”

Ron couldn’t take it anymore, he sprung forward, pinning her beneath his large frame, his hands gripping her wrists and pulling them above her head. Y/n tried to wriggle out from his grip but his grip only tightened.

“Now now Darling, don’t get upset,” Ron reassured her, pressing his lips to hers to silence the whimpers.

Ron worked quickly, stripping her of her dress and underwear, tossing them across the room to be collected later. Next came his trousers, he pulled off his belt and began wrapping it around her wrists, pulling them flush against the headboard and restraining her there.

“Please Ron, let me help you. Let me touch you,” she cried but Ron silenced her again with another kiss.

“Oh pretty lady, you don’t need to touch me. Tonight is all about you.”

Y/n could feel his fingers slipping down beneath her dress once more, rubbing against the soft flesh before trailing to where she wanted him. Where she needed him.

“Ron!” She gasped, as his thumb began to slowly circle her clit, while his other hand moved up her body, stroking the smooth skin of her lower abdomen before trailing up to her breasts. Y/n had never felt so safe and secure while simultaneously being so exposed as he pressed another kiss to her lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ron cooed, brushing the stray strands of hair that had fallen into her face while continuing his movements on her clit. She couldn’t speak, she could barely breathe as her stomach began to knot and the pressure between her legs grew. She wanted to snap her legs shut as she wriggled beneath him, and as if Ron sensed this he situated himself further between her legs. “Now you promised you’d be a good girl and good girls don’t close their legs now, do they?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, she’d never felt so pathetic. Ever since she joined the paratroopers she had spent every day proving she was tough, she could handle herself and yet by just his touch alone Ronald Speirs had rendered her incapacitated.

A small moan escaped her as Ron’s tongue swirled around her nipple.

“Do you like that, Darling? Tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” Y/n nearly screamed. “Please, I like it. Don’t stop.”

Ron hummed in amusement, repeating the action and earning the same response.

“Please Ron, please I need more,” she whined, fighting against the restraints that held her there. The desperate look in her eyes was all Ron needed. He reached forward, removing the belt and freeing her hands. They immediately landed on the hem of his underwear, pulling at the elastic impatiently but Ron pushed her hands away.

“Not yet my Darling. Remember I told you, tonight is all about you,” Ron pressed a final kiss to her lips, squeezing her hips before he sank beneath the covers out of view.

Y/n had been with men before but none had done anything like this. She gasped, grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets and throwing her head back in an exaggerated groan. Ron linked his arms under her legs, placing them over his shoulders and he continued to trail kisses over her clit. The small licks and nibbles drove her wild. Y/n cried and whimpered, tugging frantically at Ron’s brown locks as the pressure in her stomach continued to build.

“God, Ron I’m so close. I’m so close. Please…” she cried out as the knot came undone and her whole body spasmed. Her legs clamped tightly around Ron’s head but he didn’t seem to notice, choosing to continue to kiss and lick her until the tremors finally subsided and Y/n could breathe again.

He reappeared from beneath the covers, his lips and chin dripping with saliva and a wicked grin on his face. His brown locks fell onto his sweaty forehead as he spoke, “Did you enjoy that my Darling.”

“Yes,” Y/n mumbled, her chest still heaving from the effort of her orgasm.

“Good because I’m only just getting started.”

Y/n let out a guttural moan, pushing herself off the pillows, “Ron, I want you to fuck me.”

She wasn’t sure where the foul language had come from, despite being surrounded by soldiers all the time she rarely swore but now seemed like an appropriate time.

Ron took this as a sign, pushing his boxers down and allowing his desperately hard cock to spring free from its restraint. He reached over to the bedside cabinet, retrieving a condom and rolling it down his cock. Y/n watched in awe of him. Not only was he an attractive man but his body was sculpted like a Greek God and Y/n thanked all those runs up Currehea for that.

Ron pushed her back against the bed, pressing his hips into hers and teasing her once more but the teasing didn’t continue for long and soon he was lining himself up to her entrance.

“Are you ready? If at any point you want me to stop…”

“Ron, please just shut up and fuck me,” Y/n snapped, already too wound up and desperate to keep talking. Ron nodded, pressing his lips securely to hers as he entered. With every inch that pushed inside of her Y/n felt fuller than she ever had before and the ecstasy building within her was stronger than ever.

Once he was inside all the way, Ron allowed her a moment to adjust before pulling out and slamming back into her. His thrusts were relentless and precise. Hitting the exact spot with every thrust and sending Y/n into a frenzy of incoherent phrases as she clawed at his back like a mad woman. Despite the pace he was going, Ron made her feel loved with every thrust, pressing delicate kisses to her ear lobe, whispering to her, a number of ‘I love you’s’ were exchanged too.

“Ron, please… I’m so close,” she cried out, causing Ron to draw in a deep breath. He reached his hand down between their bodies, circling her clit with his thumb once more until she came undone with a loud cry of his name. He grabbed her face, kissing her passionately and silencing the moans as he came undone inside of her.

The pair lay like this for a few moments, sweat trickling down Ron’s spine and his damp hair smeared against his forehead.

“Y/n, Sweetheart, are you alright?” He looked down at her, his eyes full of love and concern.

“I’m perfect,” she replied, reaching up to brush away the stray hairs from his eyes, “Everything is perfect.”

The moment was disturbed by a harsh crashing noise followed by the bedroom door flying open and a very drunk Nixon stumbling into the room.

“SPEIRS?” He shouted, seemingly shocked that Ron was in the room he thought belonged to him.

“SERGEANT Y/L/N?” Nixon started blankly for a few moments before sticking his head out the door.

“HARRY YOU OWE ME 20 BUCKS. I TOLD YOU THEY WERE FUCKING!”

“NIXON!” Ron snapped, glaring harshly at him as he rolled out of Y/n who let out a small moan. “GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Nixon looked at them again before waving his hand and mumbling as he retreated out of the room. The couple fell back onto the bed laughing. Ron pulled off the condom, disposing of it into the bedside bin and moving to get out of bed when Y/n stopped him.

“Wait. Let’s cuddle for a while.” Ron nodded, sighing as he pulled Y/n flush to his chest. Y/n glanced up at him, her face shining pale in the moonlight.

“Ron, next time we have sex, can you please make sure you lock the door.” Ron nodded, sighing as he pulled Y/n flush to his chest.

“Of course my Darling. Anything for you.”

Tags @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @ronald-speirs @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

[solipseismic]

2022 poetry rec list

wrapping up this year w another poetry rec list! this year i’ve leaned a lot more into actively reading and writing much more poetry and hope to be publishing a compilation of my work (hopefully!) this time next year as well :) once again, i’ve tried to link what i could back to original sources + authors but a few of these link to tumblr posts / screenshots. this one is MUCH longer so i’ve organized it into my fav 15 + the rest below the cut!

top fifteen:

desert hymns no.2 (@/prophetfromthecrypt)

despite my efforts even my prayers have turned into threats (kaveh akbar)

erishkigal specializes in butchery (joan tierney)

for the dogs who barked at me on the sidewalks in connecticut (hanif abdurraqib)

fricatives (eric yip)

hammond b3 organ cistern (gabrielle calvocoressi)

let your father die energy drink (daniel lavery)

morning prayer with rat king (kaveh akbar)

not even this (ocean vuong)

on coming back as a buzzard (lia purpura)

the swan (@/tinyghosthands)

sometimes i wish i felt the side effects (danez smith)

song of the insensible (andrew kozma)

space boy wearing skirt (lee jenny)

the stars are warm (chung ho-seung)

everyone else:

14 lines from love letters or suicide notes (doc luben)

blood makes the blade holy (evan knoll)

border patrol agent (eduardo c corral)

carpet bomb (kenyatta rogers)

death comes to me again, a girl (dorianne laux)

desert (john gould fletcher)

do you consider writing to be therapeutic? (andrew grace)

dust (dorianne laux)

first will and testament + missing persons (sam sax)

fish (richelle buccilli)

for the feral splendor that remains (caconrad)

glitter (keaton st james)

gravedigger (andrew thomas huang)

heart condition (jericho brown)

it is maybe time to admit that michael jordan definitely pushed off (hanif abdurraqib)

leaves (lloyd schwartz)

letter to s, hospital (emily skaja)

metaphors for my body on the examination table (torrin a greathouse)

miss you. would like to grab that chilled tofu we love (gabrielle calvocoressi)

my brother, asleep (steven espada dawson)

my brother out of rehab, points, (ron riekki)

my cat is sad (spencer madsen)

notes from jonah's lecture series (tanya olsen)

publick universal friend contends with orthgraphy & meditates in an emergency (day heisinger-nixon)

red stains (allen tate)

red shift (david baker)

salvage (hedgie choi)

shoulders (naomi shihab nye)

social skills training (solmaz sharif)

the 17-year-old & the gay bar (danez smith)

the desert dispels this hallowed ground of coarse insinuations (julia wong kcomt)

the twelfth day (rosanna warren)

two-mom energy drink (daniel lavery)

two poems (rachel nelson)

two times i loved you the most in a car (dorothea grossman)

un [naming] / trans (after golden) (angelic proof)

valentine for ernest mann (naomi shihab nye)

vi. wisdom: the voice of god (mary karr) 

WAITING (keaton st james)

what mary magdalene said to the young transsexual (elle emerson)

wild geese (mary oliver)

worms (shyla hardwick)

[dan-and-the-dandelions]

an introduction of sorts

Established in 1962 in mainland Nova Scotia, Dan & The Dandelions have been a classic on Canadian and American radio stations alike since their debut album. Starting off as a folk quartet in the late 1950s, The Dandelions have come a long ways.

Frontman, Dan Miller, was born and raised in a Nova Scotian farm off the Bay of Fundy. Growing up the oldest of 4 siblings and having both parents pass away at a young age, Dan has always been quite aware of his surroundings and place in society’s food chain. As a boy, Dan adored the music of Hank Snow, Wilf Carter, and Patsy Cline, even naming three barn cats after them. After being diagnosed with autism in the 90s, Dan begins fighting and protesting for the better treatment of children and testing of adults that may have been overlooked.

In 1959, Dan formed a small folk quartet called Miller, MacLaughlin, Murray, and Nixon. It had two school buddies, Simon Nixon and Craig “Crash” Murray, and his life-partner, Pete MacLaughlin(married 2006). After Crash had left the group, the other three renamed the band and began travelling across Canada eventually meeting bassist, Blanc Monet.

Simon Nixon was the band’s drummer, an orphaned southern boy adopted by his aunt and uncle in Nova Scotia. Dan and Simon met at 9 and 10 years old in a one-room schoolhouse. “We met the December of 1954– Simon had never seen the snow before, he was like a cactus in a snowy tundra,” said Dan in his 1994 autobiography, Dan Miller; Maritime Boy, Guitar-Wielding Hero. Simon married Scottish paranormal-investigator, Anne Abercrombie upon finding out she was pregnant with their first child. The couple have three children, Lenora (later Lennan), Esme and Celeste.

Pete MacLaughlin, a multi-instrumentalist, son of the CEO of MacLaughlin Oral Care and later husband of Dan Miller. On top of that, Pete is a devote animal activist and gay-rights activist after being outed at the height of the AIDS epidemic. Miller and MacLaughlin had been together since they were teenagers, the two had met during the summer of 1958 and began dating in 1961.

The last member to join was French-Canadian bassist, Hugo-Michel “Blanc” Monet. When he first joined the band, Blanc could barely speak English and was taught by his bandmates. He is the younger brother of famous model and radio personality, Colette Monet, the siblings grew up in an apartment in Québec city. Before joining The Dandelions, Monet was married to Melvina Harris, the two had no children. After his divorce with Melvina, Blanc married fellow musician, Natalie Benoit in 1969, they had one daughter, Avril Monet. A decade after Natalie’s death in 1973, Blanc married friend of the band’s, Jael Levi in 1983, they have one son, Antoine Monet-Levi, and Blanc began treating Jael’s daughter, Juniper Levi like his own.

The only girl in the band would be single mother, protest singer, and women’s rights activist Jael Levi. After being forced to marry at 16 her verbally abusive dear husband, James Hall, mysteriously died (she killed him and was never caught) the next year. Levi had her first child at 18, refusing to let the child have her dead father’s last name she was named Juniper Levi. Jael began writing songs and met Dan & The Dandelions in 1966 after their second album hit the charts.

Their east coast roots have most definitely influenced the band, the usage of fiddles and even bagpipes and the lyrics and stories of maritimers being woven into lyrics. Blending country, folk, and rock into a genre of their own.

CREATED BY @shitandpissworldtour

[roadtogracelandx45]

Courage Under Fire| Currahee part 2

@marycorleone

masterlist

Wattpad

ao3

August -September 1942

Camp Toccoa 

Lieutenant Hebert Sobel wasn't happy, at all, he had gone to Colonel Sink to try and get rid of the nurses before he had even met them, the medic, Roe, he thought his name was, and another medic that was being placed there would be good enough for Easy Company. But Sink shut him down saying that this was coming from General Taylor and General Forbes of the Army Nursing Corp directly and what they said went.

So now on top of these men, and he used that term very loosely, he also had to deal with women who shouldn't even be in uniform, they should be at home with children. Shaking his head he rounded the corner where Easy Company was lined up, his dark beady eyes going from Lieutenants Winters and Nixon to where the head nurse was standing. "You people are at the position of attention." He barked before he went towards the nurse missing out Nixon, Winters and several of the other boys tensed up.

"Relax." Bobby hissed, "Olivia can handle this." During the summertime, instead of going to camps like Bill did where he learned about the Army. The Stewart kids were sent to the family summer home outside of Columbia, South Carolina and the boys had it beat into their heads military training, and once they figured out that Olivia was watching, she was included in it. She could handle a CO yelling in her face, this one she just couldn't sass after everything was said and done with.

Sobel came to a stop in front of Olivia, letting his eyes flick over her body, "Lieutenant Stewart." He started waiting for her to recoil away from him, like other women in his presence had, instead she held his gaze.

Almost confidently.

Good, this meant he was going to have a challenge, he liked having a challenge. 

"Sir." She returned, she had already been told stories by her brother, Bill, Lewis, and Dick about Sobel and how more or less how useless he was. She tried not to judge him before she actually met him in person but it was looking like they were right. He looked at her last name then over to where Bobby was standing with Bill and Joe Toye, another Pennsylvania boy she had been introduced to in a rush the night before.

"Are you two related?" 

"Yes, sir, that's my twin brother." She returned, knowing it was better to tell the truth than to lie. Especially when Bobby would want to defend her if he thought she was being threatened. "Us being in the same company isn't going to do a darn thing. We are both here to do our jobs. And I assure you, sir, Colonel Sink knew of our familial ties and placed me in your company." That part was a fib on her part, she didn't know if Sink knew the truth or not.

And if he really cared if he did.

'And no amount of complaining will get him to approve of me leaving Easy for another company.'

"That's my girl," Lewis muttered loud enough for Dick to hear, causing a half smile to appear on his face. They both had been taunt and ready to defend Olivia but Bobby had been right about her being able to defend herself. 

"And honestly, sir, if I were to be completely honest. Having me here for my brother and Guarnere is for the best. They tend not to get into trouble if I am around." 

 That was a bold-faced lie, even Adele and Amber who had been the last two to be introduced to the two men knew that they got into trouble and a lot of the time dragged Olivia in with them, the punishment was usually a lot less when she was involved. "If you want to prove you are the best and that you know what you are doing. Leave me and the girls here."

Olivia was going to be forever thankful that she was filled in on Sobel's shortcomings so she could learn how to twist and turn him to see things how she wanted to see if need be. But that was something that she was going to keep close to her chest and only use when she needed it.

He flicked his eyes over her shoulder to the other girls and then looked back at her, "You are beautiful and smart. I like that.' 

"Thank you, sir." Her statement came out more like a question than an air of confidence, like her previous statements. She knew that she and the girls were extremely pretty and for the most part extremely smart and they were picked for the Nursing Corp and for the Paratroopers for that reason and she had been told for years that she was beautiful, most recently by Joe Liebgott that morning when he stopped her at the counter in the mess hall. But hearing it from Sobel made her extremely uncomfortable. So much so that she wanted to go take a shower and scrub herself clean.

He finally broke his gaze away from her and went back towards the boys who now had newcomers in there. There were several new boys who had joined that hadn't been introduced fully to Sobel.

Olivia once he was away from her took a step back and visibly cringed. "You good Liv?" Adele asked keeping her voice low so Sobel didn't round back on them. "No, I need a drink and a shower." She returned glancing over her shoulder at her friend. "I don't blame you at all. Though I do feel bad for Don and the others."

 Don was Donald Malarkey, one of the new guys that had been assigned to Easy after getting out of W company and it already seemed like he was going to be a target for Sobel along with Smokey Gordon, another newbie, and Frank Procente, one of the first members of the company.

"Yeah, me too.' She agreed, twisting a bit to see what was going on. Sobel was prowling up and down the rows of the three platoons looking for something to dig them for. A happening, Olivia was assured, happened quite often and if more than one man was dinged then the weekend passes were revoked. It happened once already in the short two weeks they had been there, Lewis had been sure that it was going to happen more and more.

"Change into PT gear, we are running Currahee.' Sobel ordered, "Ladies included."

 The girls' training for the medic stuff was normally in the afternoons with Eugene Roe and Ralph Spina the two medics assigned to Easy Company. 

"You heard him ladies, fall out," Olivia ordered as she met her brother's eyes and nodded, assuring him she was okay. 

**

Amber was quiet as she pulled off the ugly green uniform that had been issued for them to wear, after meeting Sobel, an idea had formed in her head. If Harding was unwilling to get Olivia kicked out of the program for faradization then maybe Sobel would. She was just going to have to find a way to get him alone and talk to him. If Olivia could sleep with Lewis and from what she had seen Dick, then she should be okay to be with Sobel.

"You handled that so much better than I would have." Betsy commented, shaking Amber out of her thoughts, "him being all up in my personal space like that." 

"A lot of practice before Lewis came down from Yale, I was going to have to go to the Deb ball with my Uncle Finn's nephew Joshua and he was three times as bad as Sobel. He was all hands and no class.' 

"And Nixon isn't?" Alice teased, she, Amber, and Betsy had seen how he got with Olivia on weekend passes and how often they ended up in a hotel together for a full 48 hours. 

"Nah, Lew is different, he is all class, hands, and dick." She returned, her mouth curving into a smile.

"Olivia!" Lily scolded from where she was standing by her bunk, Dog Company was going to the obstacle course while Easy ran Currahee. "Sorry, Lil, it's true. Just like Bill is all dick and hands and no class.'

"That is true.' Evie agreed with a laugh, "And that in and of itself is a talent." She had figured that Bill had slept with Olivia once or twice when she came back from Charleston, she had seen the nail marks on his back and the dark purple love bit on his neck and she couldn't get mad at it. They weren't together and it seemed to her that it was fair that it happened.

"I couldn't share a man like you two have." Mary threw in finally, normally when the girls talked, she stayed silent, not wanting to be included in the conversations or to make friends. She saw Olivia as a rival for Liebgott's attention and she didn't want to see the charm like the others did. "We don't share." Both girls said at the same time. "Liv was with him first, they dated for what two years?" Olivia nodded her head as she fastened a bobby pin into her braid to keep the strands in place, "But then she slept with him behind my back before I slept with him." Mary shook her head, she couldn't do it, let alone be friendly to the girl who slept with the man she supposedly loved.

"Let's go, ladies, PT formation." Carwood Lipton called as he opened the door to their barracks, out of the Sargents they had in Easy Company, he was the most respectful of the women and their space. Floyd Talbert was standing just behind Lipton and offered the girls a smile as they passed. "Olivia, my darling." He commented once she was out onto the pathway. 

"What do you want, Floyd, sugar?" She returned glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye knowing that he was flirting with her. Bobby had quickly filled her in on his friends the night before about how both Talbert and Liebgott were both ladies' men and how she should stay away from them. 

"What? I can't check on you?" Lipton's laugh from behind them made her think that she was on the right path. "You don't know me well enough to check on me." "Then let me get to know you." He knew it wasn't fair to Liebgott to do this when he had made his interest in the younger Stewart twin known to him and to Chuck Grant. But he also had Mary on a back burner as well.

Floyd didn't.

"You have to earn the right to get to know me." She returned before raising herself up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek before going to join the rest of the girls in the group.

"Careful Tab," Lipton warned, "You don't know what you are getting yourself into." 

Joe who had seen the exchange was angry, he had thought he had made it clear that he was interested in Olivia and that should've been enough to stop him from approaching Olivia. But it wasn't, now he was going to make his own interest clear and that was the last thing that he wanted to do, Tab had forced his hand.

To try and see if he could weed out the weaker girls, Sobel separated them throughout the platoons. Olivia and Adele in the first platoon with Lipton, Talbert, and Liebgott, Amber and Evie in the second platoon with Bill, Bobby, and Joe Toye, and Betsy in the third platoon with Grant, Johnny Martin, Bull Randleman, and Mary.

“Hey ya Princess.’ Liebgott greeted as he joined Olivia and Talbert. “Liebgott.” She returned, “I thought I told you not to call me that.” “I would prefer you to call me Joe.”  Everyone called him by his last name or a shortened version of his last name.  But to prove a point that he was serious to Tab and to an extent her, that he was serious about his pursuit of her. 

“You know, Bobby warned me about both of you.’ She started low enough for them to hear her, Sobel was already roaming up and down the platoons and she didn’t want to be the reason why the boys got into trouble because of her. She didn’t even like it when Bobby got into trouble for her and he was her flesh and blood.              

“What did he say?” Tab was curious, he knew the night before after Bobby saw Liebgott talking to his sister, took her aside, and talked to her about things. “Said y'all were man whores. And that I should stay away from you both.” 

“Of course he did,” Talbert muttered, as Sobel called out for them to start running, saving them from saying anything. In a way either one of them blamed Bobby for telling his sister how they were, if their sisters were there, they would have done the same thing. 

Joe would have done the same thing with his sister and she was thrown into a situation like Olivia was. He glanced down at the girl and found that her eyes were on Sobel studying him, with an intense dislike. 

“What is it?” 

“He looks like a demonic swan.” She answered after a heartbeat, finally looking back at him. “She ain’t wrong.” Pat Christensen said through heavy breaths from behind them causing her to smile victoriously  

Sobel was now running back and forth between the groups throwing his arms around, yelling things that Olivia was thankful that she could barely make out. Something about the Japanese, High-Ho-Silver, and a bunch of other nonsense that she wasn’t ready to deal with yet.   It was like trying to mourn her brothers, uncle and great great grandfather’s death. She couldn’t handle it right then and the best way she knew how to was to bottle it up and let it simmer until it was enough. And Sobel was going to be the same way it felt like. 

[heavenboy09]

Happy Birthday To One Of The Greatest Martial Artist / Actor Since Bruce Lee 👊🇨🇳

Li Lianjie, better known by his stage name Jet Li, is a Chinese film actor, film producer, martial artist, and retired Wushu champion. He is a naturalized Singaporean citizen. After three years of training with acclaimed Wushu teacher Wu Bin, Li won his first national championship for the Beijing Wushu Team.

Li's first role in a non-Chinese film was as a villain in Lethal Weapon 4 (1998), and his first leading role in a Hollywood film was as Han Sing in Romeo Must Die (2000). He has gone on to star in many international action films, including in French cinema with the Luc Besson-produced films Kiss of the Dragon (2001) and Unleashed (2005). He co-starred in The One (2001) and War (2007) with Jason Statham, The Forbidden Kingdom (2008) with Jackie Chan, all three of The Expendables films with Sylvester Stallone, and as the title character villain in The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor (2008).

He was born in Beijing, China and was the youngest of two boys and two girls. When he was two years old, his father died and his family then lived in poverty.

Li was eight when his talent for Wushu was noticed as he practiced at a school summer course. He then attended a non-sparring wushu event, followed by joining the Beijing Wushu Team which did a martial art display at the All China Games. Renowned coaches Li Junfeng and Wu Bin made extra efforts to help the talented boy develop. Wu Bin even bought food for Li's family in order to boost Li's protein intake. A very young Li competed against adults and was the national all-around champion from 1975 to 1979.

According to Li, once, as a child, when the Chinese National Wushu Team went to perform for President Richard Nixon in the United States, he was asked by Nixon to be his personal bodyguard. Li replied, "I don't want to protect any individual. When I grow up, I want to defend my one billion Chinese countrymen!"

Please Wish This Iconic & Legendary Martial Artist/ Chinese Born Actor A Very Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

Happy 60th Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To One Of The Greatest Martial Artists And Chinese Actors Alive of the 21st Century.

Mr. Jet Li   李连杰 Jet Li  #JetLi

[spaceorphanssecondbreakfastclub]

SO's Bookclub : The Specter

Title: The Specter Author: Joan Lowery Nixon Genre: YA Mystery

Goodreads Summary: Seventeen-year-old Dina is fighting cancer and is angry at the whole world. But when Julie, a nine-year-old survivor of a car accident, becomes Dina's roommate at the hospital, there's no time for Dina to keep on being angry. Because Julie is frightened. Desperately frightened. She's sure that someone caused the accident she was in ‒ someone who will return to kill her. Now she's insisting on being with Dina all the time. But by befriending Julie, is Dina making herself the target of a dangerous killer?

Review: It's now 1982, a year skipped, because JLN was probably writing one of her hundred Orphan Train books (this woman was prolific, and yet most people don't remember her - weird, right?).

Keeping watch over some trope-ish things I've been tracking -- Set in a small Texas town? Check. Religious community? Check - and this time in Spanish. Male hero popping up half way through the novel but romance is never firmly sealed with a kiss? You've got it! I've also noticed that these books often have some kind of older matriarch in them. In Christian Lattimore - it was her grandmother who ran the family. In The Séance - an elderly aunt was the caregiver. In this one, a retiring, Hispanic nurse takes care of the two kids. Interesting, right?

Oh - and conversations about college. Our main character, Dina, is really obsessed with college -- but it makes sense that she's preoccupied with it, because she has Hodgkin's Disease and doesn't know how long she'll live.

Oh boy, is this an uplifting book...

The story revolves around Dina dealing with her cancer treatment - all the meanwhile, a strange girl named Julie ends up in the hospital bed next to her. (Now that I think of it -- Julie, a car crash survivor, probably wouldn't end up in the same section as the cancer patients - but it's probably best not to think too hard about these plots.) The book is split up into two distinct parts - the first part dealing with everything that happens at the hospital and the second half dealing with being fostered by a retiring nurse.

Oh right, because both the teenage Dina and the 9yo Julie are orphans. This book just doesn't stop hitting you with these tragedies, but they're all in service to the plot that Nixon is trying to sell. Does it all work? Mmmmm - I suppose it's better than everything that happened in Christina Lattimore.

Here's the thing - it's kind of hard to talk about this book without getting into spoilers because all of it kind of hinges on the 'twist' that's at the end of the book. I will say - even if I hadn't remembered (and I was surprised at how easily it came back to me) it's pretty obvious what the twist is. Even the cover is spoilery once you know what's happening. It might have been intentional, though, to drum up drama. You're one step of all the characters in the book the whole way, and that adds to the tension.

The crux of the book lies on the growingly complicated relationship between Dina and Julie - and the mystery surrounding what happened in Julie's past that got her to this point.

I can't say that this was the most intriguing plot. Honestly, it might have been better as a short story - as the character development of Dina trying to cope with her cancer going into remission just felt like filler and padding time to get back to the, somewhat thin, plot of what was happening with Julie. I can say that Dina was at least a decent main character - and better written than either Christina or Lauren, but, while this is still a quick read, the book drags -- especially when it pushes in on the drama and consequently stretches out the mystery.

I should also note - while there is quite a bit of tension in the novel, it's not steeped in that unnerving late 70s/early 80s horror-esque feel. While definitely dated, it feels more generic than feeling of a single time and place.

Alright - so I am going to talk about the twist, so that'll be under the cut. The non-spoilery ending of this review will be -- it's fine. Not my favorite, not terrible, but not great either. Meh.

Rating: 2.75 Stars

**spoiler section**

Okay - so here's the thing. The whole twist is that after her mom decided to run off with this dude who nearly killed her father, Julie decided to cause the crash to kill them all. (Or did the guy kidnap them? I'm a little fuzzy on this.)

The thing is -- I feel like the ending is trying to paint Julie in a sympathetic light at the end. Oh, this poor girl and all the trauma she's been through. And her dad is alive - and they'll go live happily ever after.

But here's my issue. The kid is a freaking psychopath. Everything she does with Dina is psychopathic behavior. And she tries, multiple times, to murder people without really any kind of remorse. Everything she does is manipulative and selfish. And I guess I don't buy that the basis for all of this is psychological trauma from what happened to her. Not saying she wouldn't be traumatized because she would be. But the girl is also a psychopath. And I'm worried for her dad once he comes out of that coma...

The thing though, too, is that Julie is really what made me not like this book. She is terrible and annoying. The rest of the characters are fairly interesting (if a little dull). Dina is a find MC. Her love interest, Dave, is the first male hero I've liked. And her Hispanic community she gets fostered into are really fun. But Julie and all of her games - and the fact that they all keep making excuses for her is really annoying. The twist isn't that hidden, and like I said earlier, probably purposely done - but it makes it even more frustrating seeing it coming. I know times were different back then, but would they really so easily shuffle this girl, with these behaviors off so easily? Ug.

Anyway - that's my two cents on that. I still found it overall a better read than Christina Lattimore, though.

[roosterbox]

The Hannibal watching finally resumes! I might have gotten back to it in December, but that month SUUUUUCKED for me, in ways I cannot begin to summarize.

But this is a new month. A new year, even! And I am ready.

Also I took notes

Season 2! We in it baybeeeee

Hanni doing what he does best - slicing dat meat

Oh hai Jack

Reflections

Oh shit son

The girls are FIGHTING

One one hand, go Hannibal. On the other, FUCK HIM UP JACK

Oh damn, DAYUM, Jack just fucking BODIES him, Jesus

Jack with the tie garrote for the win… hold up!

Glass to the neck! Ah, who could have seen it coming?

Jack: *record scratch* yeah that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here…

Twelve weeks earlier…

So is this entire season just flashbacks to show how we get from the end of season one to Mizumono? Because okay, that’s a way to do it I suppose.

Moar meat

Oooooh sea urchin too

Hai again Jack

Title drop

“I never feel guilty eating anything.” Lol Hannibal

Talking about Will. Jack feels guilty, AS HE SHOULD.

Hanni says investigate me, bitch

My baby boyyyyyyy ❤️

Him fish

The stag. He’s thinking of Hannibal.

Ah, Chilton! You look a lot better than the last time I saw you, lol.

Also, surviving what you did? Respect.

Speaking of Chilton, what an asshole. He’s only saved in the series because he’s played by Raul Esparza, but movie Chilton? No redeeming qualities. ZERO.

Cynthia Nixon!

She’s an administrator, huh?

Everybody trying to figure out what went wrong with Will. It starts with an H and ends with annibal

New case!

Poor guys, lol

Bedelia!

Hanni just wants to see bae

“I miss him.” *screeching into the void*

“Will is my friend.” *currently emitting a noise only dogs can hear*

Hanni: hey boo

Will: alright time to seduce a cannibal how hard can it be?

Light years from friendship, lol okay sure Will

Oh shit, damn. Will with clarity is hot as fuuuuuuuck. Hannibal doesn’t stand a chance.

Y’know, I like Mads Mikkelsen as much as the next guy, but that’s a liiiiiittle close for me

BEV! God I love her. And don’t worry, I know the terrible irony in my saying that. I’m not going into this series COMPLETELY blind, after all

“It’ll be your evidence that convicts Will.” Boy she sure looks happy about that, lol.

Time to see how the other half lives, eh Hanni?

Water bloated bodies, lovely

I love fountain pens

I think Hannibal is very turned on that Will knows him, in a sense.

I ❤️ Gillian Anderson

Seeing these interactions between Hanni and Bedelia, I can more easily accept them running off to Europe together. Bedennibal doesn’t hold a candle to Hannigram, of course.

THE DOGS ❤️❤️❤️

Winston!!!!1!! He goes home to wait for Will 😭😭😭

That’s right, blame the encephalitis

Chilton you motherfucker

Hypnosis time

Dang Will, this is so not relaxing, lol

Quite a feast

EAR

more food! And vegetarian this time! Hannibal, you’re branching out!

Will won’t talk to Chilton - he’s a smart cookie

Hannibal: he thinks of me so much? Awwww boo…

Packed subway train. Thank god I’ve never been on one. So many people near me would give me a freaking mental breakdown.

“Nice skin.” Asdfjklbfjblk this is exactly what would happen, my mind tells me

That guy’s probably dead

Inside the mind of a killer. Would be creepy if the show wasn’t named after the baddest killer of them all, lol.

Hey Zeller!

Jimmy! I love you too! Always gotta show love to one of the Kids in the Hall

Bev is still thinking 🤔

I freaking love Bev and Will’s friendship, seriously

Getting a consult

Ah, prison food. Not like the stuff hanni made for you, huh?

So… Hannibal forces a long pipe down Will’s throat. At what point exactly does this stop being subtle?

Wait, was it even supposed to be subtle? Lmaooo. (I am aware it was not)

And that’s the story of the ear

Jack, feeling contemplative. Still wondering what went wrong.

I’m still crying over Winston *sobs*

I still like Alana, dang it.

“Hannibal’s not guilty.” Lmaooo Jack you are a leading FBI agent, this isn’t a good look for you, my dude.

Side note: I love Jack, partially because he’s Laurence Fishburne, but even the Scott Glenn one is alright. But he is kind of a dick.

Moar fishing

Dreaming about Jack - Hanni would be so jealous, lol

My blorbo ❤️

Hannibal just stares at Will’s empty chair, lmaooo this pining loser

Is this the exact moment where it hits home for Hannibal that Will being in jail means he can’t see him as much? Lol.

Oh dang, my dude is still alive! What a fucking trooper.

That is quite a display of bodies.

And that’s Kaiseki, finished. Good cliffhanger, lol

(btw the fact that my twelfth note is the twelve weeks earlier caption? A happy accident, I assure you.)

[designaday]

Ultimate Playlist: Men’s Names, BJ – Buddy

B.J. Don’t Cry by Moxy Früvous A strange little ditty about a dude whose heart is broken by a woman with three other lovers.

Cowboy Bob by Robbie Schaefer This clever children’s song features a cowboy who only speaks backwards, so his own name is the only thing he says that anyone can understand.

Bob by “Weird Al” Yankovic Sung in the style of Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” this song is just a long list of palindromes. It’s not about a man. It’s titled “Bob,” because Bob is a palindrome, but it also contains the names Adam, Nixon, Don Ho, and Geronimo.

Boolean Love Song by Paul and Storm Presenting hypothetical relationships as simple algorithms, we eventually reach Bobby in a ménage a trois.

Sneaking Up On Boo Radley by Bruce Hornsby Featuring the character from Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Hornsby’s song describes the children making fun of the mysterious man and feeling guilty about it.

The Brady Bunch by “Weird Al” Yankovic Parodying “The Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats, Al gives us a rundown of TV shows, including Mr. Rogers, The Addams Family, Barney Miller, Johnny Carson, Phil Donahue, and Captain Kangaroo before landing on a story of a man named Brady.

Brian Wilson by Barenaked Ladies This song about the musical genius who co-founded The Beach Boys focuses on his struggles with mental illness.

Old Brown’s Daughter by Great Big Sea The singer longs to marry old Brown’s girl in the chorus, but the verses are about the man himself.

We Don’t Talk About Bruno by Lin-Manuel Miranda Mirabel’s uncle Bruno has the gift of prophecy, and he gets all the blame when his unfortunate foretellings come to pass. But I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.

Buddy Holly by Weezer Another song named after a singer, this one isn’t actually about Buddy Holly, but it was released on what would have been his 58th birthday.

[lboogie1906]

Kouri Marshall (July 31, 1982) is the Director of State and Local Government Relations, Central Region at the Chamber of Progress. He served as the Deputy Director of Agency Personnel and Executive Appointments in the Office of Illinois Governor J.B. Pritzker. He returned to Chicago to serve as the Chief of Staff for the Cook County Board of Commissioners 1st District. He served as the District of Columbia’s State Director for President Barack Obama’s re-election campaign and as the Executive Director of Democratic GAIN, a progressive political association with 42,000 members. He was the campaign manager for DC Councilwoman Anita Bonds’ first campaign in 2013, winning the crowded race by 10 points. He joined the professional staff of DC Councilmember Tommy Wells as his Senior Advisor.

He (Democratic Party) ran for election to the House to represent Illinois’ 7th Congressional District. He lost in the Democratic primary (2024).

He graduated from Eureka College, where he was elected as the first African American Homecoming King in the 150-year history of the college. The Eureka College Board of Trustees and Alumni Board named him the 2013 Eureka College Outstanding Young Alumni of the Year. He is the recipient of Campaigns & Elections Magazine’s 2016 Rising Star award, one of the political industry’s most prestigious honors.

He is the co-founder and Board Chairman for ChiGivesBack, Inc. a nonprofit that has generated $2.5 million in resources for low-income communities in Chicago. He is a member of the Boys & Girls Clubs of Chicago’s Young Professionals Board of Directors and is a member of the Eureka College Board of Trustees. He resides with his wife, Dr. Kayla Nixon Marshall and they have a son. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #alphaphialpha

[footprintsinthesxnd]

HBOWAR Fandom Q/A

Tagged by: Thanks for the tag @sharkboyandlavalieb

Name / Alias: Jess or Jessie

Country: England

Which of the series have you seen - BOB, P, GK, MOTA:

All of them. Very excited for the rest of Masters of the Air

Use an emoji or ONE word to describe your favourite character in an hbowar miniseries:

BoB: ✂️

Pacific: 🐶

GenKill: 🎶

MOTA: ✉️

Ultimate ship (if any): I’ve gotta go for Winnix. They’re my original boys although Buck and Bucky are a close second.

Favourite fic: I can’t pick one so I’m gonna list a few

- ‘Epiphany’ series by @mads-nixon it’s a series between Lewis Nixon x Y/n and please get your tissues ready before reading it because Mads has broken me many times.

- ‘Come Away With Me’ by @malarkgirlypop. Kate knows i have a ridiculous obsession with Gene Roe and she fed that obsession.

- ‘This is for You’ by @malarkgirlypop because there is not enough Webster fics out there and this one absolutely made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

- ‘Change Partners’ by @ronsparky. We get Speirs dancing, what more could a girl want.

- ‘Doing Alright’ by @holdingforgeneralhugs. I love this fic so much and I’ve read it so many times. We love Lew and a cute dog.

- ‘You Matter Too’ by @softguarnere this is very fluffy, lovely Lipton fic. Another one that I’ve read multiple times.

There are so many fics that I love so I could list way more too 😂

What are some ways you interact in the fandom?:

I make fics and moodboards so I mainly interact with people through comments and reblogs through that. I also interact with others in their own comment sections of other users fics and art etc. And also through hbowar discord chats.

Favourite colour: Blue

Current favourite song: Does the Masters of the Air theme song count because that has been on loop 😂 I’m very obsessed with the ‘D-Day Darlings album at the moment and my favourite song is ‘Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer’

What would you say if I held up a can of peaches?:

It’s a can of peaches, Sir!

Complete this sentence: "Where the hell is __ company?!"

FOX COMPANY!

Other accounts or socials?:

This is my main account which was originally multifandom but let’s be honest it’s HBOwar now 😂

My only other account is my Top Gun account which I’m trying to be more active on @callsignspitfire

List one other fandom member (mutual or a follower you admire) for some appreciation:

@major-mads for being the best collab buddy and putting up with my ramblings about Gale Cleven. I can’t tell you home much our collab means to me Mads and I love our OCs so so much. I feel like they are canon at this point 😂 she’s the Bucky to my Buck

Tags: @major-mads @malarkgirlypop @georgieluz @ronsparky @samwinchesterslostshoe @liebgottsjumpwings @l13bg0tt @bucky32557038ww2 @hesbuckcompton-baby @iceman-kazansky @coco-bean-1218

[fearsome-series]

Book One [Book Two]

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | [Seven] | Eight | Nine

The bus bounced hard over a hole in the road. Gef scratched at nothing in her hoodie pocket.

“It’s just a bump, you wuss.” Laura whispered.

Gef hissed back and stopped scratching.

As they disembarked downtown, Gef swiftly climbed into Laura’s hood.

“You’re sure they’re here?”

“Would I lie?”

“They’re hiding on the busiest part of campus?” Laura dodged out of the way of a college boy catching a frisbee, though she knew that if you asked him, he’d be insistent it was called ‘ultimate’.

“Tell everyone, why not?”

“But where?”

“Not on the hill,” Gef whispered, “but under it.”

“Under? So we don’t have to climb the hill?”

“Of course you do.”

“Ugh.”

Every step up that stupid steep hill felt like death. Laura huffed for breath and stopped to lean against trees and wondered what lycanthropy was good for if this still made her feel like absolute trash. Gef gnawed on her hoodie strings.

“Gef, calm down. We’re almost there.”

Gef peeked his head out of her hood. “That way.”

Laura went off the path to circle around the back of one of the stone buildings on the right; Gef’s horrible disgusting human finger pointed the way to a loading dock, where Laura stopped by the doorway.

“What now, Gef?”

“They don’t get many visitors,” Gef whispered. “The staff never come in from the surface.”

“What, there’s tunnels under here?”

“Yes. Used for maintenance. These ones aren’t in use anymore - the University thinks they’re sealed off. Or so Sjöberg says.”

“Yeah, dad told me about the steam tunnels. Every college has them. But they’re too narrow to live in.”

“Aren’t in use anymore, aren’t in use anymore,” Gef quoted himself smugly. “They’ve carved and built it up since then - or somebody did, anyway - it is still quite narrow, however. They added the entrances, as well.”

Laura leaned both directions, scanned for anything to press. “How do we get in the door, anyway?”

“You knock.”

Really, Laura thought? But she did. She heard shuffling feet, and a minute later a voice responded. “Excuse me, do you have the delivery for Professor August?”

“I have his shipment of mackerel skeletons, yes,” said Gef.

The door swung open; behind it was an Asian man in a labcoat, who looked at Gef with the expression of anyone who knows Gef as well as Laura. “Back so soon?” He sneered.

“Not my fault I’m late, Yang,” Gef crawled out on Laura’s shoulder. “The girl here kept getting into scrapes, you know how it is.”

“Get inside before someone sees something.” Laura obliged. “You’re the werewolf from down south?”

“I’m from here, actually,” Laura said. “And my name’s Laura.”

“I don’t really care. You aren’t supposed to even be here. You’ve brought doom to our doorstep.”

“Yeah, but Gef wanted to come home?”

“We’ll take him off your hands,” Yang said. “In the meanwhile, go down to the tunnels. Gutierez wants to meet you.”

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

“How can anyone live down here?” The tunnel was hellish: narrow and hot and full of pipes that seemed like they could blow at any moment. Laura’s parents had told her legends about a man who lived down here, who knew the tunnels like the back of his hand, and she’d seen him once, but that was one weirdo. How could there be a bunch of people down here?

“They don’t,” Gef said. “There are some clear tunnels.”

“Why?”

“Cops! Bashing! Hippie skulls!”

“Thanks, Richard Nixon.” Laura’s parents had told her that one, too; they’d tried to occupy some buildings on campus for some cause they could no longer name, and there were rumors about how the cops came so quickly.

“You try to sleep down here, you’d wake up dead. Not me, though. Now, right around the corner-”

“Who the hell are you!?” said a boy who popped around the corner. He was lanky, with tan skin and light hair. The first thing Laura noticed was his gray University hoodie. The second was the cloud of dust orbiting his head like a halo.

The third was that he was pounding his fist into his hand.

“They’re here!” He yelled. “Katie, Eliza!”

Eliza, Laura remembered. That was on the note that came with Gef.

“Javier! Javy, Javy, Javy! Calm your head, eh?” Gef crawled onto Laura’s head, yanking on her hair.

“Katie! El pequeño hijo de perra ha vuelto!”

Laura batted him off her head. “Gef, what did you do to them?”

But Javier was already running down the tunnel, down a long, white corridor of peeling paint and rough doorframes blocked off by curtains or sheets of steel.

“Wolfgirl?”

Laura spun around and jumped in shock at the creature behind her. Her eyes were drawn to her fangs, to her wide, red eyes, to her thick claws and green-and-black scales, to the bristly little hairs poking out behind pockets of scales, to her long, thin, red tongue, to her haunched over posture and thin, sharp, limbs, and...and...her hoodie. Her smile. The fact that she was walking over to her slowly. Literal werewolves shouldn’t throw stones, maybe. At glass houses?

“You know me?”

“I’m Eliza,” she flashed her fangy smile. “I gave Gef a note. You get it?”

“Yeah. Did you see me when I was all…furry?”

“When you were a werewolf,” she said. “Sorry if I scared you. Not sorry if I scared Gef. Laura?”

“Yeah?”

Eliza reached out a clawed hand, and Laura shook it; Eliza’s hand had three fingers and a short thumb, and was hairy on the palm and scaly on the back. “Nice to meet you, Wolfgirl. Was hoping you’d come.”

“Is it okay to ask what, uh-”

“El chupacabra,” Eliza said.

“You’re a chupacabra?”

“The chupacabra.” She smirked, revealing more sharp fangs.

“Pleasantries - fie!” Gef cried, leaping out onto the wall, failing to find a hold and slowly sliding down. “Curses! None of you saw that! I’m off to find the doctor Give me your phone!”

Laura handed it to him, and he clutched it tight to his body. “You do you, Gef,” Eliza said as he scurried off. “Want me to give you the grand tour?”

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

“Most of the others are kind of wary around new people,” Eliza said. “So meeting them will have to wait. But I can show you how we live.”

“How do you live in this place?” Laura asked. “Uh, not to be judge-y. And how did I come down here?”

“Doctor Wood and Coleman rescued you. Like they rescued a lot of us.”

“From who?”

“Different people with the same bad ideas.” Eliza said. “Don’t want to talk about it right now. But it kind of makes waves when a werewolf gets brought down here. Didn’t even know werewolves were real.”

“Huh. Well, I didn’t know chupacabras were real ‘til now.”

She smirked. “We’ve been down here a couple years now. I think back in the ‘70s there was some kinda paranormal research group here. Lots of colleges had them.” Eliza gestured at her hoodie. “Now, we’re all kept safe here by Doctor Sjöberg.”

“Who’s she?” She thought about the European woman who had delivered her home after her first night of werewolfery.

“On the surface, she teaches marine biology.” Eliza said. “She and a couple other staff from the college run this place. Coleman’s the one with connections to the agriculture department. That’s how I get my blood.”

“Blood?”

“I’m el chupacabra. I drink blood.”

“Can you drink things that aren’t blood?��

“Nope. And I’ve tried so many times.”

“Can you, like, go outside?”

“Only with a disguise, and when we’re on low alert. I used to, but now I’m too afraid of them finding us. We’re on higher alert. Some of the others...they blame what happened in Chicago. Not me.”

“Javier looked human.”

“He is human. All of us are human. Except Lensa.”

“And me.”

“My parents have zero scales between them. Big shock when they had me. Werewolves aren’t human the rest of the month?”

“Not as of three days ago, apparently! It’s all really confusing.”

“All of us are confused sometimes,” Eliza said. “Hey, Doc!”

The European woman from the other day walked down the corridor, dressed in a green suit. She smiled gently; her face was round and she wore thick glasses. “I’m Professor Linnea Sjöberg. I think we should talk.”

“I did something wrong,” Laura said.

“What? Why ever do you think that?” Sjöberg said in her Scandinavian accent.

“The people you’re hiding from are after me. Chicago. I’m the Chicago!”

“They were not after you. They were after the lycanthrope that turned you. And if they are hunting you now, we ensured that they believe you to be somewhere near St. Louis.”

“Then who are you? Why here?”

“I promised to set up this sanctuary wherever I went,” Sjöberg said. “As for why I came here, well, this is the University that hired me.”

“You’re European.”

“Swedish. From Karlstad.” Sjöberg said. “Are you faring well since awakening?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Uh, why did you give me Gef?”

Sjöberg paused at a doorway - an actual doorway, not a covering. “To keep you safe.”

“There was no other small furry thing that could keep me safe.”

“Not one we wanted to keep, no,” Sjöberg opened the door.

Laura entered, and bumped into a giant goat.

Laura took in the seven-foot tall goatperson in front of her. A white-furred creature with curved horns, wearing a blazer made of patches of different jackets, coats, and wrappers, and with a bottlecap necklace around her neck. “Hi.” What more was there to say after everything?

“Hello,” she said back.

Laura turned to the two humans in the room, and she recognized them in a second. The drivers. Dr Wood, a Native American man who was frantically writing on a whiteboard, and Coleman, a tall woman with a streak of blue in her mohawk of dark hair. The lab was a jumble of gear across hastily erected shelves, none of it in any order. Neither were the books sprawled across a counter; between a few open ones, Laura could make out a bright pink sticker from the second-hand shop where they’d bought it.

“Doctor Wood, Doctor Coleman, meet Laura.”

“You are so wrong,” Wood said. “It’s obviously some kind of black shuck or pain -”

“Adam, we have guests,” Coleman said.

“The witness. Right.” He turned around. “Hi. You’re the one who caused the migraine I’ve had for the last three days.”

“Thanks for saving me in Chicago?”

He looked at her, then threw his head back and screamed. He went over to Laura. “You’re welcome. Jazz, any theories?”

“Hey Laura,” Coleman said with a cocky half-smile.

“Gef showed you the pictures?”

“The mongoose showed me your tracking device so I know who to blame when the Feds swarm us.” Wood snapped.

Coleman waved a hand. “Let me translate. Do you have data or location on?”

“I don’t think so,” Laura said.

“This place jams signals anyway,” Coleman said, “any unapproved traffic wouldn’t get out, Adam.”

“So there’s this thing, it’s like a werewolf, but not? Like a black dog?”

“That’s a werewolf,” Coleman said confidently.

Wood stole another glance at Laura’s phone, on the table in front of him. “It is not a werewolf.”

“It’s not a black shuck, alien big cat, or any other type of were. Occam’s Razor dictates that it’s a werewolf.”

“Adam’s Razor dictates that if it looks like no type of werewolf we know, it’s not a werewolf.”

“Adam’s Razor?” Coleman laughed. “I…”

“You…”

Laura turned to Lensa. “So how’s, uh. Being a big goat?”

Lensa spat her own necklace out of her mouth. “Can’t complain.”

Laura looked back at the scientists. “I’ll…let you argue it out.”

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

“Welcome to the zoo, Wolfgirl,” Eliza said, petting a lazy, four-legged reptilian creature with one long, curved horn and one broken one.

“Cage looks really small.”

The creature grunted. “We do our best. All the creatures here wouldn’t be alive without us.”

Laura sat on the bare concrete next to the cage. “What’s its name?”

“It’s a hodag. From further north.” Eliza shuddered. “Is it cold up there, Wolfgirl?”

“Colder than it should be, yeah.”

“Ugh,” Eliza said. “I’m not quite warm blooded enough to deal with the winter.”

“Does it get cold down here?”

“Never. You see that?” Eliza pointed to a grate on the upper wall; through it Laura could see a snippet of sidewalk; wayward beams of light passed through the open sections of grating, except when eclipsed by passing legs and cars. “Only window in this entire place.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Laura said. “I can go up there and you -”

“Don’t be. Some of the others may not like that you can go up there, but some of us look pretty human-y too.”

“How long have you been down here?”

“Three years,” Eliza said.

“Has it been good?”

“Better than it was.” She felt for something on her back. Guess she was running her hand over her spines.

“What do you do down here?”

“Sleep. I’m nocturnal.” Membranes flicked over Eliza’s eyes. “Don’t know why I was up today. But good thing I was.”

“Can I meet everyone else?”

“If you want.” Eliza said. “You can always come down here, Wolfgirl. But maybe leave the mongoose home next time.”

“No thanks. He’s coming back here. Permanently.”

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

“You cannot come back,” Sjöberg said. “Not permanently.”

“Liar! Betrayer! One who would take all my dreams and lay them out on the line to die!” Gef snarled. Reared up in a fighting pose.

“Stand down, little mongoose. I require that you continue to keep watch over the werewolf.”

“Why are you so concerned about her, eh? Or are you leaping at the chance to be rid of me?”

“I need eyes on the werewolf activity that is occurring above.”

“That’s all?”

“Do you wish for more of a burden?”

“You want a spy! Not someone to watch over her!”

“Strange reaction for you to have. Perhaps you were more tired of your life here than you will admit.”

Gef hissed. “A foul accusation.”

“You are to report back to me. Daily, if you can manage it. Next time, try to use one of the less public entrances.”

“I can never remember them!”

Sjöberg drummed her fingers on the table. “Push your tiny brain a little bit harder, yes, mongoose?”

Gef scowled. “Come home, and get insulted! Demeaned! You won’t see me again! You’ll all see! I’ll run away from Laura! I’ll run away and join the circus! I’ll be a star, doctor! A star!”

“See you tomorrow, Gef.”

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

Laura returned to the lab, Eliza by her side. Wood and Coleman had ceased sparring and were waiting by the whiteboard, Laura’s phone lying on the table in front of them. As Laura entered, Gef leapt from the nearest shelf - which creaked - and clung to Laura’s arm, hauling himself up onto his perch.

“We’re still not certain what the creature in your photo is,” Coleman explained, “but we did notice two details of note.”

“One is that the creature has nails embedded in its neck and upper body,” Wood explained. Yeah, already know that, Laura thought.

“The other is the objects in the background of the photo. When we zoomed in, we discovered that…” Coleman zoomed in the photo to show Laura. “They’re wearing shoes. Those aren’t objects. There are three people in that tunnel, though the photo doesn’t contain enough information to ascertain their…”

“Their ‘status’,” Wood finished.

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

Eliza accompanied Laura and Gef back to the exit; on her way, Laura didn’t see Javier or any of the other people Eliza said lived down there. They came out the same way they’d gone in; at the door, Eliza clasped her claws together and smiled.

“Will we see you again?” she asked.

“Uh…”

“No way of knowing,” Gef hissed.

“I’ll be back. I’ll be back in a couple days. To see you, Eliza.”

Eliza flashed her fangs. “Have Gef let them know when you’ll be coming so I’ll be awake for it.”

“Gef?”

“Oh, blast it. I’ll try if I remember.”

“You’ll remember,” Laura said through gritted teeth.

“As long as I’m not forced to tell Malphas.”

“Trust me, he wants that as little as you,” Eliza said. “See you soon, Wolfgirl.”

“See you soon,” Laura - lied? - before walking out into the daylight.

Going down the hill was much faster, and they found their way to a bus stop. A skateboarder quickly picked up his board and darted out of the way of an incoming bus (one of the few vehicles allowed downtown). Laura looked out. Not her bus.

“I cannot believe they wouldn’t take me back! The nerve! The gall! What is that place without old Gef, eh?”

“We’re in public.”

“Hmph!” Gef buried himself in her hoodie pockets.

“It…has people down there,” Laura whispered.

“Corpses. Meals,” Gef whispered back up.

“People.”

“You aren’t considering - “

“I already texted everyone to see who wants to go.”

“We aren’t stopping by your house first, are we? I’ve been pressganged! Shanghaied! Kidnapped into service from which I may not return alive! I’m a sprightly young man, due to be cut down in the prime of his -!”

“Wow, it’s our bus.” Laura poked her pocket. “Shut up.”

“Hmph.”

[chobit92]

House Of Wax: Homecoming Part Five

Warning: Smut.

10 HOURS EARLIER

 (Mara is in the basement workshop of the wax museum. She is staring down at the drawing of herself. She then looks up at the others. There are several drawings of her along with a child’s crayon drawing of a cottage with a blonde haired girl and black haired boy standing outside it.).

Mara: I don’t believe it.

(She hears footsteps behind her and turns and sees a tall man with long black hair. He is wearing a mask made out of wax and a grubby apron. She stares at him and her mouth drops open. She puts the drawing on the desk and takes a step towards him. He suddenly pulls out a knife.).

Mara: Vinnie?

(He tilts his head staring at her.).

Mara: Oh my God I can’t believe this. I had no idea you’d still be here.

(He steps towards her and she raises her arms as if to hug him. He stops and tilts his head again staring at her bracelet.).

Mara: Vinnie I’m so sorry.

(She leans against the table and sighs.).

Mara: You’re angry aren’t you?

(He stares at her then reaches out and touches her bracelet. It’s a piece of string with small hand carved love hearts on it. They have all been hand painted a different colour.).

Mara: I still have it. I’ve never taken it off except to shower.

(She lets out a shaky laugh.).

Mara: You made it for me. For my fifteenth birthday.

(He runs his fingers over the bracelet then narrows his eye at her.).

Mara: You are angry aren’t you? You have to understand I never wanted to leave. And I’ve never stopped thinking about you.

(He doesn’t look convinced.).

Mara: I’ve always wondered what you were up to. Where you were. Have you been here this whole time?

(He stares at her then he nods.).

Mara: Oh Vinnie. I’m sorry. After my mom died and Mrs Nixon took me in I thought...I thought we could still see each other but then...They closed the sugar mill. A hundred people out of work and then the town just...More and more people started to leave. I thought I could stay but...Mrs Nixon’s husband walked out and left and she wanted to leave too. You remember? I told you then why I had to go.

(His eye is still narrowed and she notices that he has tightened his grip on the knife.).

Mara: I didn’t want to leave you. That last day I couldn’t stop crying. We took one last walk together to our favourite spot do you remember?

(He nods.).

Mara: I couldn’t stay here I had no money and no job. I didn’t know how I could do it. I was only nineteen. We were some of the last few left in the town by then. Everyone else was gone. I thought your parents would move away with you too. I knew I had to say goodbye so I did. But I didn’t want to. I figured that you would move on.

(She sighs.).

Mara: Mrs Nixon passed away a few months ago. We’d been living in Montana. It’s quite nice actually. Quiet, beautiful scenery. But...I don’t know. I left. It’s never really felt like home. I didn’t really know where I was going. Mrs Nixon left me her money and the house so I bought an RV and packed my stuff up. Hit the road. Then I thought I’d stop in here. Just take a look at the old place again you know? I had no idea I’d actually see anyone much less people I grew up with. I see Lester earlier. I don’t think he recognised me though.

(She looks up at him.).

Mara: So...You’re still into your art then?

(He nods. She smiles.).

Mara: I always loved your drawings. They were so good. I remember the first time you drew me. You made me look so beautiful.

(She now has tears in her eyes.).

Mara: So...I take it there hasn’t been anyone else?

(He frowns at her. Then lets out a grunt before storming across the room. He sits down at the desk and fiddles with the knife. She slowly walks over to him.).

Mara: I take that as a no. There hasn’t been anyone else for me either.

(She sighs.).

Mara: Maybe we could have dinner. Tonight. Catch up properly and see where things go.

(He looks up at her.).

Mara: I really am sorry.

(She lifts her top up and he stares at her. He then notices a tattoo on her left hip. The name Vincent is written there. It looks just like his signature.).

Mara: I took your signature from that drawing you did of me for my eighteenth birthday. Got it done in Missoula few years after I left.

(He reaches out and runs his fingers over it. She places her hand over his and gazes down at him.).

Mara: I love you.

(He freezes and looks down. She pulls away from him.).

Mara: I’m sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have-

(He has suddenly shot out of his chair and grabbed her. She gasps and stands there staring up at him.).

Mara: Do you still...

(She looks down. She can hear him breathing. He puts the knife down on the desk. A tear rolls down her cheek.).

Mara: Vinnie?

(He suddenly lifts her up making her let out a surprised gasp. He dumps her down on the large table in the center of the room. The nose of his wax mask is touching hers. She wraps her arms around his neck.).

Mara: You still feel the same too. Don’t you?

(She sounds almost hopeful. He looks down then slowly takes his mask off. He places it on the table and looks at her. She gazes up at him.).

Mara: Vinnie.

(She runs her fingers over the scarred part of his face then kisses him. He kisses her back. Then his hands are all over her body, caressing her every curve. He then suddenly grabs her top and tears at it ripping it. She runs her hands through his hair. He then slides her top upwards and she pulls away from him and pulls it over her head. She then reaches out and unties his apron. He takes it off then kisses her again. His kisses are sloppy but hard and asserting. She remembers him being very shy and awkward. He’s changed and Mara wonders how much.).

Mara: I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.

(She tugs at his sweater and he yanks it off. She stares at his bare chest and runs her fingers over his skin. She then places several kisses on his chest. His breathing has gotten much heavier and his hands grip her hips pulling her towards him. She yanks at his trousers and tugs them down. He kisses her and she undoes her jeans.).

Mara: Why have you still got your trousers on?

(He stares at her. She smiles.).

Mara: It’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this.

(His eye narrows.).

Mara: There hasn’t been anyone else.

(He looks suspicious.).

Mara: There hasn’t.

(She slides off of the table and unzips her boots before taking them off. She then takes off her jeans. He stares at her. She grabs his trousers again and tugs them down further. He isn’t wearing any pants and she smiles.).

Mara: No boxers?

(She kisses him again.).

Mara: Boots off.

(He doesn’t move. He just stares at her.).

Mara: What’s wrong?

(She sighs.).

Mara: You don’t want to do this do you? Of course you don’t. I leave breaking both of our hearts then turn up years later out of the blue and expect to pick up exactly where we left off.

(She lets out a small laugh and turns away from him. He grabs her arm. She stares up at him then points to the bed in the corner. She smiles and walks over to it. She sits down and watches as he takes off his boots then his trousers.).

Mara: Just as handsome as I remember.

(He makes a scoffing sound as he walks over. She stands up and wraps her arms around him.).

Mara: Don’t be like that. You know I’ve always fancied you. Then and now.

(She kisses him and he unclips her bra. His hands then caress her breasts with such gentleness it makes her smile.).

Mara: I remember you always liked my boobs. And my thighs. I used to love how you caressed my body. Guess you’re still good with your hands huh?

(He looks down at her. He suddenly lifts her up again and dumps her down on the bed. He then yanks her knickers off and climbs on top of her. He looms over her, his hair hanging around his face and tickling her chest. She reaches up and runs her hands through it.).

Mara: Your hair has gotten so long. I like it.

(She wraps her arms around him and kisses him. She can feel him pressing against her and she lifts her hips.).

Mara: Vinnie.

(He looks down at her then shoves himself inside her taking her by surprise.).

Mara: Okay.

(She giggles. He starts to move hard and fast.).

Mara: You really have changed.

(He looks down at her and frowns.).

Mara: You used to be shy and awkward. Like...You’d never take control like this. I mean I’m not complaining but...What happened to slow sweet Vinnie?

(He is still frowning. She runs her hand down his back and squeezes his backside. He lets out a small breath then kisses her. She kisses him back and grabs a fistful of his hair. He lets out a strangled grunt and rests his forehead against hers. She kisses him again then she lets out a moan.).

Mara: Um.

(He lets out a loud breath and she moans again. He then shudders and his mouth drops open. Another loud breath escapes him then he goes still. She sighs and kisses his forehead.).

Mara: Um.

(He moves and lies down next to her. She rolls over and slides her hand over his chest kissing his shoulder.).

Mara: I’ve missed this. I’ve missed us.

(He just lies there silent as always.).

Mara: It’s like fate us meeting like this again after all these years. What are the odds that we would find each other again? I never thought we would. I hoped for it but...

(She props herself up on her elbow and looks down at him.).

Mara: You know I haven’t really made any plans. I don’t really know where I’m going or what I’m gonna do when I get there. I could...Stay here if you want. We could catch up.

(He looks up at her.).

Mara: I could cook us dinner tonight.

(She kisses his cheek and runs her fingers through the little amount of chest hair he has. He swallows hard.).

Mara: Would you like that, dinner?

(He nods.).

Mara: Does that mean you want me to stay?

(He nods. She smiles then kisses him. She gets up and walks around the room naked. Vincent sits up and watches her.).

Mara: You not got anything to drink down here?

(She turns and walks back over to him. He is now sat on the edge of the bed staring at her. She smiles and slides onto his lap kissing him.).

Mara: I’ve got some nice wine in my RV. We could have it with dinner later.

(She kisses him again then rests her forehead on his.).

Mara: I can’t believe we’ve found each other again.

(His hands slide over her hips. She wraps her arms around him and runs her fingers over his back. He is hard again and she giggles.).

Mara: Look at this, you want me again?

(He grunts and kisses her. She lowers herself onto him taking him inside her. His mouth drops open and his eye closes. She runs her fingers over the scarred half of his face before kissing him and sliding her hand into his hair. She starts to move and lets out a moan. He suddenly surprises her again when he starts kissing her neck.).

Mara: Um.

(She quickens the pace kissing him. It isn’t long before they both reach climax for a second time. They are both breathing heavily and she kisses him before resting her forehead on his.).

Mara: Damn.

(She kisses him again then gets up. She gets dressed and he stands up grabbing her wrists.).

Mara: What? I’m not leaving.

(He shakes his head. She smiles.).

Mara: What do you wanna do? We could go for a walk.

(He shakes his head again and gets dressed before walking over to his desk. He picks up a small half finished model and she watches as he starts to work on it again. She then smiles and slides onto his lap before wrapping her hands around his. They sit there together for a couple of hours before she gets up. He looks up at her and she smiles at him.).

Mara: Well I’m gonna leave you to your work. I’ll see you later for dinner. Let’s say around eight?

(He nods. She smiles and kisses his cheek before leaving.).