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amenders93 · 1 year ago

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5 Weeks till Chicken Run 2!!

When two people are in a relationship (platonic or romantic), sometimes one of them never really knows how much the other truly cares about them unless they do something that shows it. Sometimes they can do an act that touches their heart and tugs at their strings. Other times, they can do a daring deed that may put their life in danger but in the end all is well. That's why for this week's post, we are going to review one of the most action-packed scenes from the movie - the pie machine rescue. When Ginger is taken for a test run for the Tweedys' new pie machine, Rocky is given the task to rescue her. Will he succeed or will he and Ginger be turned into chicken pies?

Let's pick up from when Mr. Tweedy snatches Ginger to test run the new machine he just put together for his wife. The other chickens see that their trusted leader is being taken to the barn and while the hens all start to panic, Fowler tries to take charge of this situation. Unfortunately, his commands are fallen onto deaf ears. That's when Rocky comes out of the hut and asks about the situation. Babs tells him that the farmers got Ginger and they're taking her to the chop. If only she knew where Ginger is really being taken to - and that it's much worse than the chop. Rocky is standing there all frozen, horrified to learn that the hen he's starting to care about is now meeting her doom.

Fowler insists that Rocky flies over to the barn and save Ginger. The younger rooster thinks fast and says that him flying into the barn is just what the Tweedys would expect and instead they give the enemy the old element of surprise, and the older rooster buys into it, still talking about the Germans as if WW2 had never ended. Fowler asks what his plan is and Rocky simply improvises by using a small coat hanger from Babs's knitting bag and having Bunty lift him up a telephone pole with an electrical cable that runs into the upper loft window of the barn. He hooks the coat hanger onto the wire and slides down toward the open barn window, screaming all the way down. He might have been hoping he looked heroic, but actually he looked completely terrified.

Landing in the hay loft, Rocky gets a closer look at what is making the engine sounds. At first he is surprised by the size of the pie machine in the barn but then his amazed surprise turns to shocked surprise to see Mr. Tweedy clamp Ginger's feet into ankle holders on an overhead conveyor belt. The farmer pushes a couple of levers and the belt starts moving Ginger toward the big opening in the machine. The Tweedys now move around to the side of the machine where the pies would come out so they're completely unaware of what happens now.

Ginger struggles ineffectually against her ankle clamps. Up ahead, she could see that the clamps released over a large chute that led to who-knows-where. This was a situation she couldn't think her way out of, or even will her way out of. For the first time, maybe in her whole life, she was totally helpless. But never fear because Rocky pops up behind her. Ginger had never dreamed she would be so happy to see him in her life. The rooster at first tries to run on the slick surface of the conveyor belt but his feet are churning madly. More than anything he'd ever done, he wanted to get to Ginger and save her. Beneath her tough exterior, Rocky had a feeling she liked him. He fights the conveyor belt and gets his legs to work, running towards the hen. He makes a leap for her, but was about a few seconds late. The ankle clamps releases Ginger and she falls down the chute. She was gone from his grasp. Our dashing rooster makes an inadvertent pun as he looks down at her from the top of the chute.

As Rocky looked down to where Ginger had fallen and hears her helplessly screaming his name, he was unaware that he was standing on a lever. Since he didn't know he was standing on it, he also didn't know that it was moving downward under his weight. When it reached its lowest point, it turned on an indicator light that was labeled Veg Feed. A trough of mixed vegetables poured down on Rocky's head, sending him hurtling down the chute too. As he slides down the chute, ahead he sees a sign that said Veg where the mixed vegetables go but just before he arrived, it flipped over and now it says Meat. Still zooming downward, Rocky was diverted down another chute that sent him toward a set of rotating saw blades. At the last second he notices a pole he could reach and grabs onto it. He dangles over the blades for a few seconds, then the pole dips down a tad and he slides down, plummeting down a dark shaft. Down below, he could see that in the depths of the machine was a labyrinth of conveyor belts going in all directions with huge, noisy stampers, rollers and pushers going the whole time.

Rocky lands in a big clump of dough that was chugging along on a conveyor belt. And to his surprise and relief, there was Ginger chugging along as well with her feet stuck in dough too. Rocky and Ginger may be together again but right now having their feet stuck in dough is the least of their worries. They hear another menacing roar and look behind them to see a giant roller, rounding around the corner and coming down the conveyor belt toward them. It was clear to see that as it rumbles toward them, it flattens all the clumps of dough. In a second, it would flatten them too! They struggle mightily to get out of their dough balls but are far too mucked up in it so Rocky hops over to Ginger with the dough attached to his feet. He sees a chain swinging over the conveyor belt; he grabs Ginger's hand and grabs hold of the chain, pulling them both out of their dough balls and out of the way of the dough-roller.

When they reach an opening above the roller, a large pole knocks them off the chain and they plop down face-first onto a flattened blob of dough. They quickly recover from their fall when Ginger notices a giant pie crust cutter coming toward them. Rocky and Ginger quickly get out of the way in time as the cutter comes down around them, holding onto each other in the process. They notice this little detail as they look at each other when the cutter goes back up. But then they are then swept up in a pie tin that is then moved onto yet another conveyor belt. Both are scared but at least they're going through it together. Rocky places his arm on Ginger's arm to comfort her through their scary ordeal.

Up head they see a giant gravy dispenser, squirting scolding hot gravy into the tins in front of them. Then diced mixed vegetables come raining down on them. Rocky and Ginger are now stuck in a chicken pie tin being covered in diced up carrots, potatoes, peas and celery and about to be smothered in gravy. Rocky digs through the vegetables to find something to help them as Ginger keeps looking at the dispenser in fear. Soon the clever rooster grabs a whole carrot and, wielding it like an orange lance, shoves it right smack into the hot snout of the gravy blaster. The carrot plug holds; Rocky and Ginger high-five each other on their narrow escape from this ordeal. But just then, a presser comes down on them, covering them up with a layer of pastry.

A pusher then slides the Rocky-and-Ginger pie into a large room filled with other pies. This particular pie has two bulges moving around in it until the rooster and hen pop out of it, breathing some fresh air and a sigh of relief, but also feeling a little bit of heat. Rocky comments that it feels like an oven in the room they were in, but Ginger notices something he doesn't at the time. She taps his arm to alert him and that's when he finally takes notice. The room feels like an oven because it IS an oven. Rocky and Ginger watch terrified as blue lights begin to light all around them, shooting out of the floor. Then they see a large, heavy door at the front of the room start to close. With no time to lose, Ginger races toward the door with Rocky right behind her.

Rocky is following Ginger towards the door until he falls into a pie. He tries to keep up with her, he really was, but just keeps on falling into more pies and getting covered with more gravy. All the while, Ginger is still running towards the door not realizing that Rocky's ordeal. She slides through the space beneath the lowering door and looks back to see her friend falling into nearly every pie in the oven. First Rocky has rescued Ginger a few times in the machine. Now she has to rescue him. Talk about teamwork. Ginger grabs a wrench and sticks it in the door to hold it open, then races back inside, pulls Rocky out of the pie he was mucked up in and rushes him toward the door. And she knows she has to do it quickly too because the door was now bending the wrench. Soon the wrench shoots out and lands into nearby gear works, and the door starts to close again. Rocky and Ginger then slide through just in the nick of time; Ginger did have to save her beloved beanie hat before the door closed though.

Ginger places her hat back on her head and Rocky uses a rag to wipe the gravy off his face so he could see again. At least they're finally out of danger. However, Ginger then feels a drop of gravy fall on her head and one on her hand. She and Rocky look up to see the gravy dispenser still with the carrot stuck in the spout, shaking vigorously and dripping gravy. The chickens looked around the machine as it started to ground and groan. Rocky yells to Ginger that the machine is going to blow and that it's time to run. As they start to make their getaway, one of the gear works shoots out a screw and falls down on the gravy dispenser. The dispenser spits out the carrot which shoots past the fleeing Rocky and Ginger and knocks out six enormous cogs from their spot.

The terrified chickens make it to another chute just before the cogs could either come crashing down on them or block their escape. The cogs begin the clatter down the chute after Rocky and Ginger who were now running for their lives as fast as their feet could carry them. Kind of reminds you of the boulder scene from Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark, doesn't it? All around them sharp gears are shooting out and getting stuck into the walls. Up ahead they see an opening that leads to a chasm of bigger gears. Rocky uses one of his hands to grab Ginger's hand and they make a leap the rooster grabs hold with his other hand. Screaming their heads off, the chickens swing over the chasm and towards a vent where they are then flown up and out of the machine. They then land on top of a pie box rolling down a line which comes to an abrupt halt.

Rocky and Ginger can finally relax now that their scary ordeal is finally over; they were finally out of the horrible machinery. They breath a sigh of relief with Ginger lying on top of Rocky. At once, Ginger looks up and screams again, moving out of the way just as a giant press comes down from overhead and stamps a label onto Rocky's chest. The hen's face of terror gets even worse when she reads the label on the rooster's chest; she peels it off and he yells out in pain. Ouch, that's got to hurt! Ginger tells Rocky they've got to warn the other chickens of this horrible realization and they run out of the barn, completely unnoticed by the Tweedys who are far too preoccupied with their pie machine going on their fritz.

We're going to stop right there because what comes after this daring rescue is important for next week's post. Anyway last week's post has shown that Rocky and Ginger are starting to like each other. Some might even say there's a hint of attraction between them. However you never really know how much someone cares about you unless they do something to show it like doing a kind and heartfelt act or even a brave and daring deed. In this case, Rocky went in to rescue Ginger from the pie machine even though he was in danger himself. He may have been scared but he swallowed his fear to rescue his damsel in distress. After their dance and her apology, Rocky was starting to truly care about Ginger. The rooster even had a feeling that the hen was starting to care about him after seeing him cheer up her friends and their dance together as well. In this case, it's true; Ginger does care about Rocky because when he needed rescuing himself, she came to his aid. This whole action-packed scene showed just how much they do care about each other. When one needed saving, the other is there to lend a helping hand even if it meant putting themselves in danger in the process.

Anyway this is my eighth weekly Rocky/Ginger moment post commemorating the upcoming sequel to Chicken Run. I hope you enjoyed this post. There will be 4 other posts about the first film coming up in the future as well as one monthly post about the sequel. Waiting for this long-awaited sequel may not be easy but these posts are making it easier as the release date draws nearer.

#chicken run #chicken run 2 #chicken run dawn of the nugget #dawn of the nugget #ginger and rocky #rocky and ginger #rocky #ginger #countdown

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mamabearwonders · 10 months ago

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Rant About Manager (Part 2/2)

So my other boss or general manager is- well, let's say he's a few fries short of a Happy Meal. In his case, a McSad meal because I genuinely don't understand how he's a manager. He also walked out when I got hired and now he's back??

So in my healing from c*vid/before stomach fl* era, I called out for a mental health & thrifting day on Thursday or I knew I'd quit when I got my thrifting therapy to fuel. So I already didn't wanna come in on Friday and lowkey both still sick and getting sick again.

This guy literally stands on the line all day texting. He's supposed to be covering grill. I would call back so many times well before we ran out what we were out on. I'd just get, "K." "Yeah." Then no food. When we were in a rush ALL DAY. He starts blaming me and the other person doing a 5 person job on line that "we're giving too much food out."

Listen buddy. I'm not a math expert. But one rinky dinky pan of white rice is not going to be enough for an all day out the door mad dash rush. And customers are able to get as much rice as they want- our portions are like WW2 rations so I get it.

He refuses to put signs up, refuses to communicate with guests, won't give refunds, it's a nightmare. Half the time he doesn't put cash in the drawer so no cash. He makes giving breaks seem like such a burden.

We asked him politely to grab stuff from the fridge he's right next to because we can't leave the line or there's one poor unfortunate soul at the mercy of the hungry masses up there. He refuses and just texts. End of the day, he starts complaining to my manager who was in the trenches with me about how I didn't do outs all day. She defended me.

Like OBVIOUSLY? I can't leave the line? And we asked you to help us! There's no staff here?? We even had folks who come on at my time to leave who offered to clock on early to help us. He refused, but then refused to cover me up front while he's just texting away. Why are you a manager? I'm minimum wage, idc if this sad place burns to the ground. You're supposed to care about customers and workers - ya know, the two people that bring money in for your paycheck twice the size of mine for standing around looking at the air.

I get it, I don't do much either. But you're not gonna yell at me for having no change in the drawer which isn't my job or for not outs when you won't let anyone help us including you.

But the final straw was- at long last I could see the light outside beckoning me to leave. 30 minutes after my shift, finally. As I'm making my EMPLOYEE MEAL, he asked me to clock back on to take out another section's trash. Excuse me?

He's like I'll pay you. i hope so, sir. That would be illegal otherwise. Is that supposed to be an incentive? Also 10 extra minutes is like peanuts, it won't show up. ALSO. That's not my job either? I'm happy to help out those who help me, but not to CLOCK BACK ON? The absolute disrespect. Not even a "hey I apologize for keeping you late". But while I'm making my burrito.

So I threw my gloves on the counter, pretended to be in the back and turned around to leave. It's not about the money. And this is why friends of mine and I impulsively quit jobs- because we don't like being disrespected like this. And it sucks how you have to just put up with it because sadly that's the current state of the retail and fast food job industry.

I've been looking for an escape for months. Popped back on indeed, all the same jobs I've been applied to months ago or jobs just as toxic as mine.

I'm trying to just say, oh I don't work that often, but I absolutely dread going into work. I have 1 coworker that helps a bit, but he's only there on my shift once out of the three shifts if that anymore (college for him). I can't even sleep on nights I have work.

It doesn't help it's me and one other person if that running tortilla, hot food side (so like rice), salsas side, bagging chips and salsas and doing cashier. If we had a cashier, it would help a lot instead of constantly changing gloves and changing food and washing hands to avoid cross contamiation.

Oh. And I've gotten sick TWICE from there. I wasn't exactly having the time of my life with c*vid and certainly not with the stomach fl*, but I was happy to be away from work. Now that it's happened twice especially I just don't wanna be back.

And I can't get temporary unemployment because a previous job lied about things so I can't get it. Also adulting is kind of stacking up so I might HAVE to take another day at work and mentally, physically and emotionally I can't. My health is already bad enough, I'm just trying not to push myself so hard I'm forced to quit due to health and then have no job.

Tbh if I just got transferred to the restaurant down my street instead of that one, I'd be ok for a bit longer. It's a smaller one and just down the block instead of a few stops away. But I've applied for MONTHS and they say they're hiring, but apparently aren't. I also don't know what the environment is like over there. I just need a change of pace...anything like idk. It's not doing wonders for my health at all.

It's frustrating turning around and my manager is literally out in the open just texting. Not getting change, not helping us, yelling at us for not doing his job, trying to force us to do even more work without extra pay...

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thirstyforred · 1 year ago

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saw another absolutely amazing blazed post, by which i mean it raises some red flags

(just being in the military or having interests in other cultures aren't bad things, but the combo of military service + WW1/WW2 history + German can be, and often indeed is, the red flag)

checking her blog bc I'm already awake, might as well be also a nosy bitch

great, someone already called her out in the notes of the blazed post on following the self proclaimed nazi blog (couldn't confirm bc im not awake enough to scroll through the tone of ww1 photos and google each identified guy there). love the idea that since your part of USA military and at some point it fought in ww2 on allies side, it means you absolutely cannot be a bad guy

🙄 i should be soooo insane about the Ruso-Japanese war now, because one of my great-grandfathers fought it (unrelated to being insane about Golden Kamuy) (the rest of that post was boring)

again, love the condensating tone despite the evident confusion about how Tumblr works (since for 4 months she couldn't find like-minded people and had to pay to be put on dashes of a bunch of uninterested strangers)

#annoying blazed post

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whiterose-bluespace · 2 months ago

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God, I've seen a Tankie post on my dash and it has just made me incredibly frustrated. Just... Why!? Why make excuses for the country that killed fellow leftists who were more liberal than them!? The country that didn't let independence movements flourish during the Russian Revolution/Civil War but instead conquered nascent countries in Imperialist acts!? I'm with the Anarchists and my fellow democratic and liberal socialists here Marxist Leninism is not cool. The Soviet aesthetics may be unique, they made some very cool stuff, and their history is interesting, but they weren't exactly a bastion of freedom and goodness. This is something that is especially true whenever you look into anything with Stalin or the Russian Civil War. You know, this wasn't the subject of the post that got me mad but I saw one from the same person going after Anarchists pointing out the Soviets wiped out the Makhnovshchina, The Ukrainian Anarchists, saying that the Soviets just "had to take them out as a rival faction" (paraphrasing here). Just- No! They weren't really in the Russian Civil War, they were fighting in the little sub war, The Ukrainian War of Independence, cus you know, they weren't exactly gonna take the fight to Moscow, they were an independence movement! The reason why the Soviets fought them was because they wanted control of Ukraine, where they also wiped out the independent Ukrainian People's Republic, a fellow left-wing government and a parliamentary republic.

Also, the Soviets weren't always at war with the Makhnovshchina too, they signed a peace treaty in 1920, the Starobilsk agreement, which made them allies with the Revolutionary Insurgent Army of Ukraine willingly placed itself under Red Army command, and the Soviets gave the Anarchists freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and freedom of association, with anarchists even allowed into the All-Ukrainian Congress of Soviets. They didn't have to fight them anymore, with the Anarchists helping the Soviets in several important battles against the Whites as the Red Army high command ordered their units forward even when they asked for rest, such as in the Northern Taurida Operation. The Soviets then stabbed them in the back and resumed conflict the next year, taking them and the independent republic out and conquering two independence movements. The Soviets did not need to take Ukraine, or Belarus, or Kazakstan, or Georgia, or Azerbaijan, or Armenia, or Kyrgyzstan, or Uzbekistan, or Tajikistan, or later Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia alongside the eastern flank of Poland and bits of Romania and Finland. This nicely brings me onto the post that enraged me. The good old Tankie talking point that the Soviet Union won WW2 by itself, no help needed, and it never willingly operated with fascists at all!

HA! HA HA HA HA HA! Fuck no!

There are just so many things wrong with this idea, so many... Well I guess first with the cooperating with Fascists bit. The Soviets under Stalin did it a fair bit. First up is the Italo-Soviet Pact of 1933! The nonaggression treaty between the Soviets and Fascist Italy under Mussolini with a corresponding economic treaty where the Soviets sold oil and coal to the Italians in return for technical support in fields like aviation and naval industry. The Soviets even sent over a military mission where both countries' attaches complemented each other with the Soviet ambassador expressing "gratitude for the exceptional attention devoted to the Soviet mission by the Italian command and government". YAAAY! However this treaty was somewhat strained till it was broken in 1941 due to the Spanish Civil war amongst other things, where the Soviets also shot a bunch of fellow leftist allies while their side was losing! Great fun! I wonder where Orwell, who fought for the Trotskyist international brigades during said civil war got his distrust of the Soviets from alongside his socialist leanings...

But anyway! We have the big one, the stuff with the fucking Nazis! You see, during the period of Weimar Germany, the Reichswehr, their armed forces, actually did a lot of kinda super illegal testing and training in the Soviet Union such as training fighter pilots and testing new fighters at the Lupetsk Fighter-Pilot School, or the Kama Tank School for their armoured core! This cooperation would not entirely disappear when the Nazis came to power, as while they openly broke the Versailles treaty and therefore didn't need secrecy, there was still stuff they could help each other with. Like carving up Eastern Europe!

Yes, right after Stalin did a Great Purge and killed off a bunch of important, competent people like Mikhail Tukhachevsky, the creator of Deep Battle and the command of the Soviet forces in the Polish-Soviet War- Wait- Oh yeah! The Soviets tried to do an Imperialism against Poland in the early 1920s! But anyway! Purges! So yeah he killed off a bunch of competent people such as Mikhail who blamed Stalin for the defeat in that Poland run, and imprisoned tons of others like Andrei Tupolev and Georgy Zhukov! Both of whom would be released later and play important roles in WW2 and later on, with Zhukov first achieving victory in the Battles of Khalkhin Gol, and then organised the defences of Leningrad, Moscow, Stalingrad, and was the planner and commander in several major offensives and battles like The Battle of Kursk! Oh- Wait- Sorry, tangent again!

But anyway, the Soviets and the Nazis kinda decided to carve up Eastern Europe and go into a non-aggression pact, the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. The one everyone knows about where the Nazis and Soviets secretly agreed to jointly invade Poland from both sides, split it in half while the Soviets also invaded the Baltic states, Bessarabia, and was allowed to try and influence Finland under the German-Soviet Boundry and Friendship Treaty.

But this, as I say, was the culmination of multiple other treaties, like the German-Soviet Credit Agreement of 1939 where the Soviets and Nazis traded and loaned each other money!

And while in the wake of Operation Barbarossa, these agreements with Germany and Italy would fall apart, what wouldn't were the agreements with fascist imperial Japan! Because the Japanese had been drilling for oil in Northern Sakhalin in the Soviet Union for quite a while, even with the entire Kalkhin Gol border war thing. This led, in 1941, to a non-aggression pact between the Soviets and Japan in April that was only denounced in April of 1945, at the very end of the war, and the Soviets gave the Japanese Oil concessions in Northern Sakhalin which lasted till 1944. The Soviets were giving Imperial Japan oil for three years after Pearl Harbour and the Invasion of Thailand and the British East Asian colonies.

Oh this is so long and I have spent so long writing this but then there is also the Tankie's bit about the Soviets being the main guys who won WW2 and Lend Lease was useless because "8 Million men"! To that I would like to ask, how gave those men rations, fuel, trucks, tanks, aircraft, and extra guns? Who were the people fighting Japan for most of the War? Who were the people feeding intelligence to the Soviets and breaking codes? Who was fighting in North Africa, Italy, and Western Europe? Who was blockading German ports? Who was fighting in resistance movements? Who was supplying those resistance movements? Who was bombing German Factories and Romanian Oil Fields? (Which by the way Stalin approved of, do you want me to bring up all the letters from him saying he wished the Red Airforce could join in on bombing Berlin?)

The answer is the Allies, we all know that. World War 2 was fucking massive and a team effort.

Resistance movements from the French Resistance (and their Spanish Republican remnant allies), to the Yugoslav Partisans, to the Italian Resistance, to the Polish Resistance were fighting the Axis forces with a lot of their equipment being provided by the Allies. Tons of pictures of Resistance fighters have them wielding British and Commonwealth-made Sten Mark 2 SMGs, and in their headquarters they had equipment, radios, explosives, etc provided and airdropped by the British and Americans. Not to mention the equipment the resistance movements captured and made themselves. The Polish Resistance made an armoured car from scratch to fight in the Warsaw uprising!

The Soviets were the ones who demanded an invasion of Italy to take the pressure off the Eastern Front and it turned into a grinding slow affair in the mountains. That was fought by British, Commonwealth, American, and Free forces.

And, yeah, that Lend Lease! It's the Elephant in the room. Operation Barbarossa and the chaos that was the Soviet's organisation on the day of the Invasion alongside Stalin's refusal to listen and prepare defences even when a defector told everyone that the Germans were coming devastated the Soviet army and airforce. The Soviets were desperately lacking in modern aircraft, with the famous IL-2 Shturmovik that would later become the backbone of their close air support force was barely in production by the start of the invasion, with pilots having little training on the craft. Most of their fighter force was also made up of old biplanes like the I-16 and I-15 which were torn up and had to scramble to get into the air on the day of the attack to either run to other airbases or try to fight off the superior BF-109s. T-26 tanks, while able to beat Panzer 1s and 2s were outclassed by the 3s and 4s, with not enough heavies and early T-34s there to make up the difference. Though as a side note, those early T-34s were also not great, they had awful visibility and ergonomics which made them nightmares to crew, leading to poor crew performance and Soviet crews not spotting German tanks right in front of them before they were blown up.

This, along with the occupation of many of the Soviet's major industrial regions meant they absolutely required Lend Lease to stay in the fight. Even battered after Dunkirk, The Battle of Britain, and engaged in North Africa and Burma/Myanmar, the British sent nearly 3,000 Hawker Hurricanes, starting soon after the invasion, and later over a thousand Spitfires, alongside Valentine and Matilda 2 Infantry Tanks. The Valentine would actually see continued production in the UK after it left the British army partway through the war because the Soviets liked it as a light tank! Roughly 2,000 of the 6,800 Valentines would be sent to the Soviet Union from the UK and a further 1,200 from Canada. Here's a historical archive video of Matildas getting sent over!

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But this all pales in comparison to the US as dear god did they send a shitload of everything! 11 Billion dollars worth (back then! 148 Billion now!) worth of stuff! Canned pork was made in the Russian style to send over and feed the population, over 400,000 jeeps and trucks were sent that were fucking vital to logistics and for the mobility of the red army I cannot understate how important these are, like seriously, logistics is the life and death of armies and mobility was very important on the eastern front, and a lot of Katyushas were slapped on Studebaker trucks. Anyway! Thousands of armoured half-tracks, about 4,100~ M4 Sherman tanks which formed the core of several armoured Brigades (and was well liked), over a thousand M3 Lees (Which the Soviets really did not like, no one did), plus some Stuarts, about 4,700~ P-399 Airacobras and 2,300~ P-63 King Airacobras, plus 2,400~ P-40 Kityhawks, 862~ B-25 Mitchells, hundreds of PBY Catalinas, 3,400~ A-20 Havoks of the A variant alone never mind the B varients, and the US also gave the licence for production of the C-47 Skytrain over. This is not to mention all the oil and other foodstuffs and supplies that were sent over.

Though... Wait- Why have I spent over an hour writing this? I know I'm a nerd for history and I hate it when people get it wrong, but this is a little obsessive. Especially since this is a response to a post, from someone claiming that the Soviet participation in WW2 and the war against the Nazis somehow makes all Marxist Leninists good because a country following that ideology did big stuff that should be held up as something unique that belongs and characterises their whole ideology... While all the stuff they did to the Ukrainian Anarchists or the Hungarian Uprising and all that is not meant to be a "grand indictment of Leninism", nor any of the other crimes committed by the Soviet Union. They just think all the good stuff that people following their ideology did should make said ideology automatically righteous because it "killed more fascists than the other guys", while all the bad stuff people following their ideology did is completely separate from it and is not related to it at all. I'm writing all this after being incensed by a bloody hypocritical argumentative Tankie, and in turn, became pedantic and argumentative, when they have the stupidest of all arguments!

Huh, this really is the internet...

#Youtube #rant

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divergentexarchickeyblade · 4 months ago

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I never really post on here. I'm just a fandom account, really, and I tend to dodge the news like the plague, as it has a habit of negatively affecting my mental health. But I just need somewhere to shout into the void, about what's happening in the UK. This might be a long read, so I'll add a read more. If you just want some advice, it's after the TLDR.

Also, trigger warnings: racism, riots, current news. I know it's too much for some people, especially today.

Right now, in the UK, there are far-right groups doing scheduled marches, touting some anti-immigration shit. It's stupid. It's infuriating. It's scary. There's one down the road from where we live.

None of them actually give a shit about migration, or the socio-political-economic side of migrating vs. living nationally. This is all about racism (and a dash of classism). How do I know that?

Both me and my partner's grandfathers are not from the UK, or have a family background outside of the UK. They would only hate one of us. They'd think I'm one of them, because I'm paper white, and my grandfather is Southern Irish. My partner's grandfather was Romani, and my partner is (as they themselves say) 'not entirely white'. Both of us were born in the UK. Both of us have English parents.

And yet, they'd absolutely hate my partner, but be fine with me. Because I'm painfully white.

Maybe to some people I'm stating the obvious. Of course these riots are about racism. Racism, from a country that notoriously conquered half the world, had an empire, and were surprised that the people of those nations came to the UK. From a country with a high amount of ex-pats. From a country with entire cities built from multiculturalism and diversity. From a country that, in academia, encourages us to look at sources from a variety of locations across the world.

Yet, here are the riots. Here are the racists. Some places in the UK have had to EVACUATE their workers, like it's a bomb threat, such as Sunderland University. People living in the cities have been told to avoid the centres and find alternate travel measures. Town centres are being plastered with stickers, covered in racist remarks.

I'm reminded of the Nottinghill violence. If you don't know what that was, please read about it. It was a horrific event, and the victims of that violence should never be forgotten.

We are a nation that says 'never again' when we see WW2, but are happy to be just as vile to others who don't fit into our little idea of 'UK'. We are a nation that prides itself on the quality of our degrees, and their popularity across the world, yet reject non-nationals. We are a nation built of years and years of fighting for freedom and rights, yet snatch them away when it's convenient for us. We are a nation that is about the people and collective, when we are threatened from exterior forces, but when that dies down, we attack each other.

It's brain-dead. It's terrifying. It's the stuff of nightmares. And I'm not even the demographic being fucking targeted. I can't imagine how much worse they feel.

TLDR: Fuck racists. Fuck your 'protests'. Go read a fucking book. It's not 1960, anymore - the web has so much free information you can access, like archives, documentaries, etc. Fucking use them. Then, grow up.

As for people like me, who are worried for their families, spouses, friends, etc. Please, check on them. Text them, call them, anything. Even if they've just been hanging out at home, make sure they're okay.

To the people who are being targeted, I'm so sorry. This is such a BS situation, and my heart really goes out to you. The only thing I can do is offer the following advice:

- Avoid city centres and areas with large crowds. Try not to use public transport that links cities, too. Rioters will likely be taking these routes.

- Please, stay home, make sure all of your windows/doors/gates are locked, even if you're in the house (moreso at night). Considering how hot it is, close your blinds/curtains to block out sunlight. You can, also, use fans or dehumidifiers to keep your house cool.

- Make sure you have a torch/flashlight/candles/etc., just in case the power goes out. People like that tend to be looters, or looters hide in the crowds to go unnoticed, and will steal copper wiring out of electrical pylons and stuff.

- If you're still outside, make sure to keep your phone on you, and record ANYTHING that happens. If anyone attacks you, physically or verbally, record it all, and hand it to the police. Chances are, you won't be the only one, reporting that person.

- Take longer, quieter routes home.

- If your public transport breaks down, get yourself a taxi. It'll suck, but your life and safety are worth more than money. Uber works in the UK, and local areas have their own taxi services.

- Keep cars in a garage, or somewhere quiet/difficult for other people to get to.

- Try not to travel alone.

- Please, above all, STAY SAFE.

- Keep pets indoors.

- If you have nice neighbours, let them know where you are. Try to stick together, and keep each other safe. Their company can, also, do wonders. Maybe do go round for that cup of tea you both keep putting off.

- If your home has CCTV, security alarms etc., keep them on. Even if you live in the nicest neighbourhood, keep it on for now.

- Try and keep your kids at home. They will target children, too. A lot of people have pointed at the Southport murder as evidence of this.

- If you, or someone you know, is homeless, or needs somewhere safe to stay, the charity SHELTER is a great place to start. On top of that, each area has local charities that might be able to help. Sometimes hotels will, also, offer a safe room for situations like this, but it is hotel dependent.

- It might sound obvious to state, but the number for emergency services in the UK is 999. You can call this number, even with bad signal. You'll be asked if you want police, fire fighters, or an ambulance. If it's a medical issue, but not urgent, call 111. This number directs you to an NHS health department, that can advise you, or escalate the problem to Accident and Emergency, if they feel it's appropriate. These numbers are FREE, even from mobile phones. 111 has seriously saved my ass with medical problems, so don't be afraid to contact them. They just wanna help.

- If all of this is getting to you, and you take a crash in your mental health, you can contact the Samaritans charity, or MIND charity. They're not long-term, but can help you in times of crisis. Much like the hotels thing, some areas have their own charities that deal with this sort of thing, and they can help you.

- If you're ordering a prescription, you can ask for it to be delivered to your address. Even if it's just a temporary measure. They'll understand. I'm not sure if you have to pay for the delivery, so be mindful of that.

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elareine · 4 years ago

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JayTim Fic Masterlist

(Last Updated: February 7, 2021)

Works in Progress

Secret Witness (34k, ao3) CSI except with ghosts.

A Hope Like You (17k, ao3) A/b/o with single dad Jason and identity porn.

Silver and shadow and vision of things not seen (8k, ao3) WW2 and post-WW2 urban fantasy noir.

Completed

rosy cheeks (i want to kiss) (8k, ao3) A decade’s worth of pining.

Myosotis (9k, ao3) Ancient Greek break-ups and battlefield reunions.

Be brave that we may shine (2k, ao3) Series: And Earth is but a star, that once had shone Space stowaway Tim.

In the Shadows of Gotham (1k, ao3 I tumblr) Buzzfeed Unsolved AU.

Revenant (1k, ao3 I tumblr) Sad ghost headcanon.

Turn yourself toward home (4k, ao3) Retired pirate seeks retired navy officer.

The space between us (8k, ao3) Mr. & Mrs. Smith in space.

Hold me (like you held on to life) (6k, ao3) Vampire sex to spite the parents.

If I know you (4k, ao3) Annoyed witch cares for sleeping prince.

Lifelong learning (5k, ao3) College, but it’s not an AU.

safe with me (14k, ao3) Figuring out intimacy, with a dash of d/s.

Ornamental (2k, ao3) Christmas party butt plug fun.

Far away (1k, ao3 I tumblr) + So close (1k, ao3 I tumblr) Tim’s in space and then he’s not.

Like no other pain (2k, ao3) Soulmates, but Tim makes it angsty.

If I had a type (then baby it would be you) (1k, ao3 I tumblr) One-night stand with surprise bondmark.

The Sacredness of Tears (13k, ao3) Tim gets the ability to travel through time, but somehow that’s not the main story.

The Reluctant Brides (13k, ao3) Genderbent regency. Bonus Tumblr Drabble One and Two

Adamare (9k, ao3 I tumblr: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7) Harry Potter AU.

What demons they carry (5k, ao3 I tumblr: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14) Outsider POV of demon!Tim.

Shelter (19k, ao3) Royalty arranged marriage.

glaukopis, promachos, atrytone (4k, ao3 I tumblr: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7) A god and his reincarnated lover.

Not the hurricane (2k, ao3 I tumblr) Soft handjobs.

Night falling softly and without mercy (4k, ao3 I tumblr) When you want to marry your bodyguard but are pretty sure he means to kill you.

Reasons to be jealous (4k, ao3 I tumblr) Unfounded jealousy crack. Side DickDami.

Just a fool for you (6k, ao3 I tumblr) The Regency Daemon Thing. (Part two of ‘foolish, perhabs’)

A fool’s game (1k, ao3 I tumblr) Outsider POV of The Regency Daemon Thing. (Part one of ‘foolish, perhabs’)

A fool to believe (2k, ao3 I tumblr) Epistolary companion to The Regency Daemon Thing. (Part three of ‘foolish, perhabs’)

Blood will tell (9k, ao3) October Daye AU.

So easy to begin (4k, ao3) Dealin’ with fear toxin and trauma, a/b/o-style.

Somebody ring the alarm (2k, ao3) Strangers flirting while undercover.

To love and to honour (6k, ao3) Five anniversaries and a wedding.

A question of trust (3k, ao3) Jason hides an injury.

The Wedding Job (3k, ao3) Leverage-style heist.

One day the slipper fits (2k, ao3) The perils of not-dating.

Tumblr Ficlets

I’m also gradually posting these to ao3.

Everyone wants the Costco cookies

Tim starts talking to an alien

A first kiss in the moonlight

The frog and the stablehand

College Rivals and Soulmates + Part Two

A regency fic in which the marriage arranges itself

Tim is sick at the office

Two actresses at a premiere, holding hands + Prequel: Two actresses pining

Lending an ear (also with RoyDick) + Bruce and Olli get involved

Soulmarks and lies

“You don’t wanna get involved with me”

Touch-starved Talon Tim

Omega/omega forbidden love

2 a.m. at the flower shop

A visit from the future

I thought fairies are bigger

Are you crying? (Break-up)

Sleepless night better spent in other ways

Too many rumors

Leaving + Following

Tough city, full of tough guys

Terrible at breaking up

Carrying your photograph

Bruce finds out

Distraction at breakfast

Trying to figure you out

Jason wearing glasses

‘Can’t let you go’ kiss + the next morning

Tea with Alfred

A first date

An old married couple, temporarily far apart

“Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”

Post-apocalypse decisions (“It’s always been you”)

Awkward flirting

A soulmark that says “Please don’t leave me”

Stop pulling heroic shit without me

Married for the aliens

Unexpected cuddles

Cuddles on a rainy day

Cyborg AU

Hades and Persephone AU

Regency misunderstandings

Crying

Accents and ‘fighting’

Surprise Baby Acquisition

“It’s you I love, not her.”

Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt

Helping brush their hair after a shower

“I can’t sleep, can I stay here?”

“Who hurt you?” (Jason edition)

“Is this okay?”

“Who hurt you?” (Tim edition)

Strangers at a gala

A black ribbon (Vampire AU)

De-aged cuddles

#jaytim #elareine writes #masterpost

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raineydays411 · 4 years ago

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Steve Harrington sucks.

Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

A/N: Yay! My first request done!🎉✨ Please don’t hesitate to request anything, and I hope you enjoy. Sorry it tooks so long, I just started school.

Summary: (Y/n) Henderson has been through some shit in her 17 years. Her father leaving, an overprotective mother, bullies, interdimensional monsters, government conspiracies, etc. Needless to say her life was constantly changing. There was one thing that will always remain the same though. And that was the hatred she has for the one and only Steve Harrington.

Request from anon.

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Steve have never seen eye to eye. You haven’t for a very long time. You two used to be best friends, but that was a long time ago. Before high school and cliques mattered, and before Steve was known as “King Steve.” But once you two entered freshman year, Steves popularity rose and you were left behind.

Even though you and Steve no longer associated with each other, that didn’t stop you two from fighting any chance you got.

You two argued about everything. If you said the sky is blue, Steve would argue that its actually purple. No kidding, he actually made the argument that the sky was purple. Needless to say, you two hated each other.

“Steve, I swear if you don’t move your feet I’ll--”

“You’ll what Y/n, please tell me what you’ll do?

“ I’ll take your feet and shove it up you---”

“Can you guys not...”

It was always like this. Ever since Steve started dating Nancy it was like he was always there. And because Nancy was your best friend, you got reacquainted with the King of Hawkins High.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After everything Will with through with the Upside down and El, you were relieved that it was over. You could go back to your normal life of being a big sister and being top of the class. But then your brother started acting weird.

It started on Halloween, he came home and was holding his ghost trap thing from Ghostbusters weirdly. You thought it was a rat or something at first but something seemed off.

Then Mews went missing. Mews was given to you on your thirteenth birthday, so loosing her was devastating to you. You still had faith that she just ran out and was lost somewhere in the woods. You spent hours looking for her but no dice so far. You were in your room when your mom called you from the kitchen.

“Yeah?!” you shouted, finishing up some missing flyers for Mews.

“Can you go find Dusty for me? It’s getting dark outside.” After the incident with Will and Barb, the parents became a lot more wary when it came to being out after dark.

Rolling your eyes, you get up from your small desk and walk out to the kitchen where your mom is. As you get closer, you smell the weird concoction your mother is making on the stove. Your mom wasn’t the best cook.

“Did he mention where he was going?” you ask, scrunching up your face at the sight of the...stew??

“He mentioned something about Lucas and a code red?? Whatever that means.”

“Code red?” you ask, you weren’t too nervous because code red could mean anything. and Dustin tends to be over dramatic. But still, a small voice in the back of your head is warning you.

“I’m not too sure dear. Would you like to have a taste before you leave?” aaand that was your cue to leave. You start rushing to the door

“Sorry mom! I better go find Dustin before it gets to late.”

You start to make your way down the road when a flash of red catches your eye, you walk towards it . You realize its just some pieces of meat. Then you see what looks like a trail. Leading from your basement to the woods. A bad feeling settles in your stomach, and before you go in the woods, you get a hockey stick that you wrapped with barb wire a few months ago just incase.

Then you follow the trail of meat into the woods.

You follow the trail till it leads you to the junkyard. By the time you got there it was already dark and surprisingly foggy.

“Dustin?!!” You shout, seeing the pile of meat stopping. You step over it as you walk around shouting for your brother.

“Hello!!? Dustin this isn’t funny, moms worried about you.”

And that's when you heard it. A low growling sound. Right behind you.

“Y/N!! WATCH OUT”

You spin around to see what looked like a demogorgon, but on all fours like a dog. And it was slowly walking towards you. Growling as it stepped closer and closer. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you tighten your grip on the hockey stick. Adrenaline rushing through your body. Your senses heightened as you focused on the creature in front of you. You lowered your body into a crouch to prepare for an attack. You slowly backed away slowly as it stalked toward you. You heard what sounded like Lucas or Dustin tell you to run but you knew if you turned around, that thing would pounce on you and you’d be dead. And if you died, what would happen to your brother? To Lucas?

Then the demodog lunged at you. The muscles in its leg tightened as it jumped toward you. You held your breath as you swung the stick with all your might, hitting the monster in mid air. It yelped as its body was flung sideways. It layed there for a moment them leaped up on all fours again, You backed away but never took your eyes off it.

“Holy shit what is she doing” a girl??

“YEAH THATS MY SISTER!” Dustin

“Y/N THREE O’CLOCK! THREE O’CLOCK!” shit.

You can see another figure moving in your peripheral vison. Another one. You position your body so your able to see both dogs at the same time, but then you hear chirping and growling from all ends. You were being surrounded.

“STEVE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Then, Steve Harrington runs out of a broke down bus, bat in hand as he settles up behind you.

“What the hell are you doing here Harrington?”

“Saving your ass Henderson, what does it look like?”

“I had this under control”

“Oh yeah, being surrounded definitely screams under control.”

You aren’t given a chance to respond as another demodog leaps at you and Steve, forcing you to swing out and hit it again straight in the head. Another dog leaps at Steve, and he manages to hit it with the bat.

“We’re going to die if we stay here” you say assessing the situation.

“ No shit sherlock.”

“Shut up and listen” You shout. “you run back to the bus. You need to protect the kids. I’m going to distract these fuckers. When I say the word, you open the bus door and let me in. These things hunt in packs, so they won’t chase both of us if I run first.”

“Henderson thats--” You don’t hear the rest as you dash from the spot. As predicted the dogs chase you and don’t pay no mind to Steve. You can see Steve reluctantly run back to the bus as you take a lap around the junkyard. You have to hit some more dogs but you manage to get back where you were.

Then you were tackled. Dropping your stick you scream in pain as the demodog digs it claws in your shoulder. You struggled to get your stick as the other dogs get closer and the one on top of you is lowering its flower mouth to your throat.

“Y/N” you hear your brother scream desperately. You find the strength to kick the dog off of you and launch yourself off the ground. You scoop up the hockey stick and swat the other dog that was in your way as you sprint towards the bus.

“NOW STEVE LET ME IN” You screech as you near the bus. The doors slide open as hands wrap around your arms and pull you in.

You lay there for a few seconds breathless. Muscles burning and ears ringing. You ignore the kids talking over each other and Dutsin fretting over you. You just breath, feeling a bit safer than you did outside. Then something rams into the side of the bus. The kids start screaming and Steve shouts something. You gather your strength once more and stand up, your body screaming at you. You see those demon dogs are trying to get in through the roof. You watch Steve start fighting them as you push the kids behind you. You step forward to help when suddenly they stop. Then they all run away and its quiet. After a few moments you feel weak and slump to the floor.

“Woah woah, Henderson” Steve surges forward and grabs you by the shoulders, you hiss in pain as he grabs the wound, “Shit, this is bad”

“Bad? What do you mean bad? How bad??” Dustin questions, his eyes watering at the thought of loosing his sister.

“I’m fine Dusty.” You say standing up. “ It probably just needs a cleaning and some stitches that all.”

‘You look like you should be an extra in a WW2 documentary.” Steve deadpans. “You should go home.”

You roll your eyes “ Oh like YOU would know what that would look like, you don’t even show up to history class.”

“ That's not the point Henderson, your arm is about to fall off.”

“I am not leaving these kids here defenseless.” you say crossing your arms, but wince as you do.

“First of all they have me, and second of all, you can’t even move your arm! You’d be in the way.”

“ I’m sorry but who was the one that distracted those things? Who came up with that plan to get you back in the bus??” you say, annoyed at the accusation of being useless.

“she has a point” muttered Lucas, earning him a smack in the arm by Max and a glare from Steve.

“Listen Harrington” You say poking him in the chest. “ I’m fine, im not going anywhere, and I can kick your ass even with my arm fucked up. Now we’re going to get out of this FUCKING bus and figure out what the fuck is going on. AM I CLEAR?”

A shocked silence settles in the bus. Lucas and Dustin chuckled and Max smirked in admiration. Steve glared at you, simply saying “Crystal” and turned around marching off the bus. You roll your eyes as Lucas and Max get off as well, leaving only you and your brother.

“That was really badass. The way you fought those demodogs back there.” Dustin said looking up at you.

You smile and ruffle his hair.

“ I wasn’t going to let them get my Dusty Bun” You say in a baby tone pulling him in for a hug. He groans at the name but hugs you back.

“HENDERSONS MOVE YOUR ASSES” Steve shouts. You roll your eyes and nudge Dustin towards the door.

“Come on, before King Steve blows a gasket”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You find out that Dart killed Mews and are absolutely devastated. Dustin felt guilty as he was basically the reason why your beloved cat died.

“It’s fine Dustin, now I have even more of a reason to kick their doggy ass.”

You walk ahead of the group seething in anger and fear. Your arm was still sluggishly bleeding and throbbing in pain.

“You really should do something about that shoulder” Steve said as he walks up next to you.

“Sure, let me just stop at the hospital while my brother and his friends chase flesh eating dogs from another dimension.” you reply in an sarcastic tone.

“I’m just trying to help.” Steve says in a soft tione

You roll your eyes and mutter a fine. You then rip a strip of fabric from the bottom of your shirt and wrap it around your shoulder.

‘There are you happy now?”you ask

Steve is stunned, he never realized how...tough you are.In fact this whole experience has made him realize how smart and resilient you’ve become. Far different from the shy quiet girl you used to be when the two of you were friends. He never wanted to stop being your friend, in fact he even harbored a little crush on you but he just got caught up in the popularity and attention. Then he got with Nancy and started seeing you constantly again, only now you hated him. It hurt him in ways he didn’t understand. And while he’ll always love Nancy, he’s starting to realize that maybe he’s starting to fall in love with you too.

You look at him weird, as he just stared at you with this weird look on his face. You walked past him as the entrance to the lab becomes clear.

“Hey guys” You shout. “We’re here.”

Then you hear it. Bone chilling roars fill the air. The lights are out inside the lab and you can hear the screams of the people inside. and then rustling comes from the woods. You push the kids behind you and Steve as you tighten the grip on your weapons.

“Steve?” “Y/n?’

“Nancy?’” “Jonathan?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After finding out El was actually alive and Will’s interrogation, you officially have seen it all. You, Steve, and the rest of the kids stayed in the Byers house while the “A team” went back to the lab. You finally were cleaning your shoulder when you heard the rumble of an engine.

Great Billy Hargrove.

“It’s my brother! If he catches me here he’ll kill me” Max says, he tone laced in fear. You and Steve look at each other, and then Steve walks out to deal with Billy.

“Quick hide and don’t let him see you” you say moving toward the door. You open it in time to see Billy knock Steve down and kick him. You flinch and are just glad that it wasn’t you.

“Oh” Billy coos, “ Are you gonna let me in Princess or am I gonna have to move you?”

“Moving me sounds fun, how about we try that” you flirt back, hey anything to get him to calm down.

He chuckles. “Nice try toots but I got a bone to pick with my step sister.” And with that she shoves you out of the way. You realize that you can’t fight Billy off alone, so you run to help Steve.

“Come on Harrington, up you go” You try and help him up. You hear the kids shouting and some stuff smashing. “Come on Steve, he’s on there with the kids.” You say urgently.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Steve says, finally getting up. You and Steve rush into the house to see Billy holding Lucas up against a shelf. Steve then rushes to the two, as you go to the kids making sure they’re behind you.

“YOU’RE DEAD SINCLAIR, SO DEAD”

“No, you are” and with that Steve punches Billy in the face. You pull Lucas away, checking him over to make sure he’s alright. The kids are cheering Steve on as he beats Billy.

“KICK HIS ASS STEVE”

Then the tables turn. Billy smashes a plate over Steves head, knocking him down and punching him in the face. They get into the living room and Billy isn’t stopping. He’s punching Steve in the face continuously.

“STOP YOU’RE GONNA KILL HIM” Dustin screams

“BILLY NO”

You rush forward and try to pull him off. “Billy thats enough, he’s already down!” he just pushes you to the ground and resumes his beating. You get up, desperate to help Steve.

“Y/n!” You hear Max yell. You look at her and she hands you something.

Will’s morphine.

Without a second thought you ripped the cap off the needle and injected the drug in Billy’s neck. He flinched and stood up, giving poor Steve a break from his brutal beating.

“youbitchwhatdidyoudo” He slurred as he pulled the needle from his neck. He then fell on his back, half unconscious. Max, surprising you all, took Steves bat and yelled.

“From now on you leave me and my friends alone, you understand?!”

“Screw you.”

She brought down the bat between his legs. Your eyes widened as she slammed the nail covered bat on the floor between them.

“SAY YOU UNDERSTAND. SAY IT! SAY IT!”

“I understand” Billy finally whispered as the drugs took over. After watching that you ran over to Steve. You checked his pulse just to make sure he was alright.

“Alright Harrington, get up” You said. “Come on Steve.”

“Y/n, we don’t have time.” Mike said. “We have to help El.”

“How are you even going to the tunnels Mike? It’s too far to walk.” You say as you put Steve's head on your lap.

Max then walks up to Billy and pulls his keys out of his jacket. “Y/n can drive us.” she says. Then the whole party laughs. “What? What's so funny?”

“Y/n can’t drive us” Dustin said laughing. You glare at him from your spot.

“Why not?” Max asks.

“Because” Mike replies, “ She failed like three of her drivings tests”

“Yeah, unless you want to hit every mail box on the way and get whiplash, y/n is out” Lucas chimed in.

“Hey! I was not that bad” you yelled incredulously. “ Besides what would we do with Steve?”

“Leave him here?” Mike said

“With Billy?” You asked

“Yeah we could just tie Billy up or something”

“We are not leaving Steve” Dustin said. “He’ll be chill when he wakes up, I promise.”

“We still can’t go” you say. The group groans

“Why not” Mike says

“Because, I can’t drive you.” You reply. Then Max ‘s face brightens

“I can drive.” She says

Suddenly, you’re in the backseat of Billy's stolen car, Steve sprawled across yours, Mikes, and Dustin's lap as Max drives erratically to the field.

And then Steve wakes up.

“y/n??” He mutters looking at Mike, Mike gives him the side eye as Dustin starts talking.

“Hey buddy” Dustin says “ He kicked your ass but you put up a good fight”

“Dustin!” you shout

“What?”

‘Oh god” Steve says realizing what was happening “ Oh my god stop the car!!”

“Steve I promised them you’d be cool if we brought you”

“oh god

“Make a left here” “you’re okay”

“Steve relax she’s driven before”

“yeah in a parking lot””That counts!”

“Stop yelling!”

“Stop the car, stop the car” Max takes a sharp turn

“WOAHH” “STOPTHE CAR”

“Steve calm down” “I told you we should have left him!’“

“AHH SLOW DOWN” “CALM DOWN”

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP! I’M TRYING TO FOCUS”

Max hits the breaks as she makes to to the field. You all stumble out of the car and head to the trunk, getting ready to head into the tunnels. As you’re putting on your mask and goggles Steve stumbles to the back of the car yelling,

“HELLO! Do you guys hear me, we are not going down there!”

“Y/n how could you let them talk you into his” “ARE YOU DEAF? HELLO?

“WE ARE NOT---”

“STEVE!” Dustin shouted, “The fact of the matter is that a party member needs our assistance. We can’t just abandon her.”

“...fine” Steve says, and he puts on the bandana and goggles. You walk up to him and hand him his bat. “ Wow Harrington, you’ve never looked better”

“Ha ha, get in the hole”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After struggling to get into the hole, you finally made it into the tunnels. It was dark and damp in there. Cold as you and the party walked further and further into what could be your doom. Specks of...something floated in the air and the walls were covered in what looked like vines. Steve was at the from of the line while you were at the end.Making sure both ends were covered and there wasn’t any chance at a sneak attack.

You stood at the back with Dustin as he kneeled down to tie his shoe and then a flurry of that white shit sprayed in his face. He started freaking out immediatly, screming and spitting

“SHIIT! ITS IN MY MOUTH!”

Steve ran over to him and started asking whats wrong. Seeing Steve so worried about your brother warmed your heart, especially because it’s been so long that Dustin had a male figure who cared about him in his life. Now that you think about it, Steve has been really protective over Dustin these past few days, in fact he--

“Hey Y/n, are you okay” Steve says, interrupting your thought.

You look at him and nod, “We should keep going”

He nods and take his place back in the front. The group only had to walk a few more steps till they reached the hub,

“Let’s torch it” Steve said as he stepped forward. The kids spread out, pouring gasoline on every inch of the cavern. After you were done, Steve pulled out his lighter and flicked it on.

“You ready?” He said. You all nodded and prepared to run for your life. Steve threw the lighter and the whole hub was lit. The everyone ran. Mike got caught as a vine wrapped around his leg. Steve struggled to it get off when you came around.

“Stand back!” you yelled and swung you hockey stick down on the vine a couple times. This cut it in half as you heard it..squeal?? You then helped Mike up and urged him to start running. You were almost back to the hole when you were stopped.

A demodog stood in the way of your freedom. Hunched low and growling as it wait for you to make your move. Thats when Dustin spoke up.

“Dart” “Shh Dustin get behind me” You shushed him, trying to pull him away from the creature but with no luck. He slowly walked toward iy.

“Dustin what are you doing?””Get away from it” the rest of the group whispered as he pulled a candy bar from his pocket.

“yumm nougat” He said, breaking the candy bar into pieces and fed them to the demon dog. ‘There you go buddy, eat up” He then waved to you.

“hurry up go” He said still crouched down. Carefully, each member of the party passed by. Creeping passed the demodog who paid no attention.

“Bye buddy” Dustin whispered as you and Steve pulled him away.

You finally got to the hole. You and Steve helped each of the kids up the rope. Rushing as you heard the rest of the demodogs running to find you. You finally got Dustin up the rope when you saw them. The pack of demodogs running full speed toward you and Steve. There was no time for either of you to get up the rope. Steve pulled you into his chest as the pack drew nearer. You tensed up, waiting to get torn apart by these creatures.

“Y/N! STEVE” Dustin cried, being held back by Mike and Lucas.

The closer they got the harder it was for you to breath. You closed your eyes and dug your face into Steves chest.

They ran past you. The demodogs run right passed you and Steve as if you weren’t there. You feel them run past your legs, bumping into you as they are called somewhere else.

You sigh in relief . You look around the cavern, realizing you’re not dead. Steve laughs a breathless laugh as you smile, the threat of death gone. You realize that you’re still pressed up against him, and look up. Staring into the brown eyes of the one and only Steve Harrington. His goggles pulled up against his forehead and his bandana around his neck.

You don’t know if the adrenaline or you not giving a fuck, but you fling off your safety glasses, pull down your bandana ans surge up.

Capturing Steve’s lips in a kiss.

He makes a little ‘oomph” sound in surprise as he realizes what's happening. But then he relaxes and kisses you back, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your hands go into his hair as you wrap your arms around his neck, prompting him to lean closer. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip and you begin to let it in when--

“OH GOD, REALLY?”

Dustin. “GUYS THEY'RE MAKING OUT’”

“Ewww, come on do you really gotta do that here” Lucas complains.

“Yeah! we don’t wanna see that” Mike says, frowning in disgust.

“Come on’ Max says, pulling Dustin and Lucas by the collar of their shirts. Mike following behind them.

You pull away from Steve, giggling as you see the awe struck face he's making.

“Come on King Steve” You say, starting to crawl up the rope. “Before Max starts joy riding and leaves us here. He shakes his head as he watches you get to the top and starts climbing.

“Hold your horses Henderson, I’m coming.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #reader insert #stranger things x reader #fanfic #steve headcanon #netflix #enemies to friends to lovers #adventure #d&d campaign

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trillgutterbug · 2 years ago

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tagged by @malewifemanhunter ty!!

name: trill q gutterbug, the q stands for queer

star sign: who knows or cares

height: 5'10, which means i can definitively say coffee doesn't stunt your growth, even if you start drinking it age 4

time: 9:38am 😓 i do NOT want to be awake rn but the rest of my family is gone atm so the grisly burden of letting the chickens out at ass o'clock fell to me. (eta it is now 12:13 bc i fell asleep for two hours before posting this)

birthday: the day laura ingalls wilder was wed

favorite bands/artists: of montreal, why?, clipping., and nine inch nails are the eternal faves i can't get sick of, but im also tremendously partial to kendrick and lil nas and hozier and mcr and twenty one pilots and the like. also i listen to a lot of chillhop and electroswing, because im a good person with good taste

last movie: i think mad god, which was fantastic and completely incomprehensible. i don't usually have the attention span to sit through a movie if im watching it alone, so.... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (eg, the way i still have to finish everything everywhere all at once, which i got an hour into last week, enjoyed tremendously, then got up to walk around and listen to a podcast and play a video game and jerk off or whatever the fuck, and just haven't gone back!)

last show: i believe the latest ep of what we do in the shadows.... or maybe sunny? or euphoria? whatever it was, i was watching it with jackie im sure!

when did i create this blog: idk where to find that info, but im p sure 2014, after LJ shat the bed and i dipped from active fandom for a couple months and when i came back it was like.... owo where'd everyone go?! here, apparently.

what i post: constant thirsty nonsense about a rotating string of fandom obsessions, shitposts, sometimes a bit of tumblr-brand anarchism and socialism bc even the junkfood buffet churns out a smidge of healthy caloric content every once in a while

last thing i googled: i don't use google but the last thing i duckduckgo'd was........ where's wade wilson from, bc i saw something that said vancouver and one of the movies implied regina but i swear to GOD i know it's winnipeg from some other source. results annoyingly inconclusive.

other blogs: @truelevelb1tch, my rick and morty side, which is going to pop off again in a MONTH (!!!!!!!!!) when s6 starts dropping 😱😱😱. i do not apologise for the person i become when r&m occurs, fair warning

do i get asks?: not enough to worry about, thank goodness

following: idk where to find that info either, but it's probably a few hundred, the vast majority of which are inactive at this point. i probably see <50 blogs on my dash??

average hours of sleep: like eight, which is NOT enough for me, but it varies wildly between 5 and 10 depending on what im doing for work on a given day/whether i have to get up early for animal-related reasons/if im up reading fic until 3am/time of year/blah blah

instruments: flesh flute....,,,

what i’m wearing: nuthin

dream job: I Do Not Dream of Labour

dream trip: i hate travelling! but i am partial to visiting my cousins' farm on the reg, so let's say that

nationality: canadian

favorite songs: the trapeze swinger by iron and wine has been my fave song for about ten years. it's almost ten minutes long and if stats across various laptops and ipods and phones could be collated, it would show a playcount in the thousands lol. i first heard it as the closing music on the amazing podfic for the inception fic presque vu and it gutted me on the spot. ode to the mets by the strokes is also on the same trajectory. otherwise, my fave songs come and go in the usual way, by liking something and listening to it repeatedly until i can't stand it. (eta: just went into my music app to see if i'd forgotten anything, and literally the only thing on my "most played" list is the trapeze swinger, so...)

last book i’ve read: currently reading (aside from the massive eternal stack of ww2 ref books) the half life of valery k by natasha pulley and grimscribe by thomas ligotti. most recently before that i read borne by jeff vandermeer, the kingdoms by natasha pulley, blood meridian, the d&d 5e player's handbook, and some postapoc scifi thing that was so forgettable i genuinely cannot conjure up the name of it or its author!!

top 3 fictional universes i’d like to live in: idk, they all seem uniquely bad in ways that do not necessarily improve upon the unique ways in which our current universe is bad. but to be sporting i'll say star trek of course, anything jared harris is in bc i want to fuck him more than im afraid of space terrorists or freezing to death or nuclear radiation, and the fictional universe i've been manifesting in my imagination for years where we never invented agriculture and i died at birth for simplistic umbilical cord-related reasons

lowkey tagging @kaasknot, @collapsinghorizons, @mollynoble, @twobrokenwyngs, @pohjanneito, @lingua-mortua, @sloppyplanetary, @alakeeffectgirl, and @quiescentire

#meme

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hurt-care · 4 years ago

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The Reunion - WW2 era fic

I've been listening to an audiobook about WWII in the UK and there's been multiple mentions of people writing in their diaries about suffering from lengthy colds as well as a discussion of the increase in casual sex during the war (especially during air raids, when it became a welcome distraction). So, let's just say I was inspired...!

Male, cold, OCs, contains 18+ content

The Reunion -

The club was positively bursting with young revellers and the sounds of a jazz band playing as couples moved across the dance floor in tight embraces, flitting in and out of shadow of the chandeliers sparkling overhead. Champagne flowed liberally, delivered by waiters in smart tuxedo jackets and white gloves. If a time-traveller had been magically transported inside, they would have no idea that outside the walls of the club there was a war on.

Making her way through the throngs of people was Katherine Marsh, or Kat to her close friends. Close at her heels was Mary Alderman, an old school chum who'd come up through London society with her. The girls wove through the dancers on route to a table up on the balcony that circled the dance floor, providing a spectacular view of the room below. Only the uppers of society generally occupied the tables here and the demand was such that often bribes had to be given to the head waiter to ensure a spot. Peter Halford, one of Kat's other longtime friends, had been in charge of the evening's transaction and now he waved cheerily from a spot in the corner as the girls approached.

“Hello, Peter!” Kat said joyfully as she sided into a chair along the wall, tucking the skirt of her silk gown around her. “Have you ordered a bottle yet or shall I do the honours?”

“It's just coming now,” Peter replied, nodding towards the approaching waiter who carried a magnum size bottle in a silver ice bucket while another waiter followed behind deftly balancing a tray of champagne coupes.

“Your timing is impeccable as ever,” Mary said with a laugh. “I'm parched.”

She flashed a smile at Peter, her eyes sparkling in the light of the crystal scones along the walls. Kat smirked knowingly at her friend. Mary had been pursuing Peter over the course of several of these evenings out on the town, but Peter remained seemingly oblivious to her advances.

Tonight, Mary was draped in layers of royal blue silk with a spectacular diamond bracelet glinting on her wrist. She looked radiant and Kat thought Peter had to be completely daft to not notice. Kat, on the other hand, had no particular beau in mind. She'd danced with dozens of men and dined at parties across the countryside around London, but no one gentleman had captured her heart. Besides, she was barely twenty and so many of the young men her age were away at service. For now, she was content with dancing and snogging sessions in dim alleyway with soldiers on leave and officers posted to city stations.

The waiter poured them all glasses of champagne and the trio toasted to health, happiness, and the victory of Britain. The chat was light and merry, with Peter filling them in on his new job at the Royal Airforce's London offices near Whitehall. At the hour neared eleven, someone took to the microphone to introduce the next band complete with a line of cabaret dancers dressed in feathers and sequins for entertainment. Mary squealed in delight as the drums kicked up the beat of a popular dance tune and she reached for Peter's hand.

“Oh, will you dance?” she asked breathlessly. “I love this song.”

Peter downed the last of his champagne glass as he stood up.

“Of course. Kat, find yourself a man and let's go.”

The two disappeared into a sea of people moving towards stairs that led to the dance floor. Kat drained her own coupe and stood, surveying the crowded tables for familiar faces or handsome strangers.

A few girls were lingering at a table of Naval officers and as the men stood and paired off with them, one man remained seated alone with a cigarette in his hand. As the duos passed by, Kat realized with a heart-dropping thud that she recognized the lone officer that had stayed behind.

Oliver Hartnett had danced with her at her first debutant ball when she was seventeen and she'd been completely enraptured by him. Two pages of her diary were dedicated to extolling his virtues, from the gentle tambour of his voice to his green eyes, from to his broad shoulders to his chestnut hair. As quickly as he'd come into her life, he'd left it again. They'd shared two dances that night and some brief conversation at a dinner party a week later, and then she hadn't seen him since. Word in the upper circles said he'd gone to Scotland to work for an aging uncle's business and he disappeared from London's upper crust.

Kat dumped the dregs of the champagne bottle into her coupe and gulped it down, feeling the rush of bubbles to her head as she bolstered her courage. She reached into her small handbag for her compact, inspecting her face and reapplying a coat of her precious lipstick, as the bright red shade was now nearly impossible to find with the war rations and so she reserved it for nights out alone.

With a smile on her face that she hoped concealed her nerves, she glided as confidently as she could over to the table.

“Ollie Hartnett, is that you?” she said over the din of the music and the crowd. The man at the table seemed startled by the interruption and he looked up at her, his face vacant for a moment. Then, a grin spread across his face.

“Oh my goodness, Miss Marsh,” he said, standing suddenly and extending his hand.

She laughed.

“It's Kat, please,” she said, taking his broad hand in her and shaking it. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course, please do,” he said, fumbling to get around the vacant chairs nearby in order to pull out one for her. She folded herself gracefully into the seat, crossing her ankles as her mother had always instructed. For once, she was glad she'd listened to Mary's constant chatter about fashion and had worn the deep emerald green silk gown with the black trim that she'd purchased for the previous winter's New Year Eve celebration at Mary's family estate. It set off her figure nicely and contrasted with her auburn hair and milk-white complexion.

Oliver was shaking her head, still grinning.

“What a surprise,” he said, his gentle voice barely audible over the music. “You look well.”

She smiled back.

“I am! Well, as well as anyone is in London at war, I suppose. You've joined up, I see. On leave?”

“For a few more weeks,” he replied, taking a slow drag of his almost burnt-out cigarette. “I'm posted at Brighton, usually.”

“And you're not on the arms of a dozen girls dancing your night away?” she teased.

He snubbed out the cigarette in the ash tray and shook his head.

“Honestly, I wasn't keen on going out at all but the other gents insisted.”

“If I recall, you were quite popular on the dance floor,” she continued. “What's changed?”

“Just a bit under the weather, that's all,” he replied. “Haven't felt up to much dancing tonight, but I'll spare one for you, for old time's sake.”

She felt herself blush.

“Not yet,” she said. “I have to hear all about where you disappeared to that summer. You left a lot of us wondering why one of our dashing debs up and left London at the height of the season.”

“It's not a particularly exciting story, but if I'm going to tell it we ought to do it over a drink.”

He beckoned to a waiter who returned shortly with two cocktails on a black lacquered tray and a serving of peach melba for each of them.

Oliver detailed how the rumours were true; he'd left London for the banal task of running the business operations for his uncle's small factory in Glasgow. A year ago, as the ferocity of the war had begun to increase, he'd enlisted in Royal Navy and left the factory in the hands of the old foreman and his cousin, a savvy young woman named Rose.

More than once during the story he'd paused momentarily to clear his throat with a cough or take a sip of his cocktail to revive his waining voice. Kat felt a pang of sympathy now that she was close and could see clearly the weariness in his face. Though it was spring, the weather had been dreadful and frigid for weeks and many people she knew had been battling heavy colds.

She told him about her adventures in London with Mary and Peter, and about her volunteering posting with the Women's Auxiliary Service where she worked to find temporary housing for those displaced by air raids.

When they'd finished their peach melbas and cocktails, the band struck up a lively tune and Oliver appeared to summon some energy with a broad smile aimed at Kat.

“This is the one,” he said, extending a hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She nodded, trying not to let her rush of enthusiasm show too greatly.

He led her down to the dance floor and took her into his arms, leading the gentle sway as they danced among the other couples. His broad hand rested on the small of her back and Kat felt a rush of heat to her body as they touched, cheeks almost against one another. The gentle warmth of his breath tickled her neck and she was sure he was about to lean in to kiss her there.

His voice mumbled something deep and low into her ear but she couldn't discern it over the music.

“Mmm?” she replied.

“Oh Christ, sorry,” she heard him say and suddenly he was moving swiftly away from her, his one hand leaving her back and his other dropping its grip from hers.

Eh-TSGHT! He turned his face into the sleeve of his officer's uniform, sneezing inaudibly to her as the rest of the dance floor continued their rhythmic sway.

“So sorry,” he shouted, leaning back so she could hear him. He reached into his pants pocket for a handkerchief, which he dabbled briefly under his nose.

“Sorry,” he repeated as he took up his embrace once more.

“It's okay,” she said into his ear. “I hope you don't feel too poorly.”

“No,” he said into hers, his lips almost brushing against her. “Better now.”

She leaned herself closer against him and he pressed his lips to her neck. She sighed with delight, feeling all the rush of emotions that she'd had when they'd first danced. His body was more muscular and square now, without the lanky lines he'd had as an eighteen year old.

Tilting her head upwards, she met his lips and they kissed briefly.

He leaned over to speak into her ear again.

“I hope I'm not catching.”

“I don't care,” she said and captured his lips again. The kiss deepened and a couple nearby sided away to give them a moment of privacy.

The song ended and Katherine stayed in the embrace of Oliver's arms as the next began.

He looked down at her with a soft, tired expression.

“I'm dreadfully sorry, but I'm afraid all this noise and such is too much for me tonight.”

“Can you stay up a little longer?” she asked. “There's a nice restaurant not too far from here. We could go and have a drink there and talk. It's much quieter.”

It was past midnight now and while Oliver looked like he might consider declining in favour of being tucked up in bed, he nodded and smiled.

She grinned back at him and kissed his cheek.

“I'm so glad. I'll find my friends to tell them I'm off. Meet me by the doors? Would you be a dear and get my coat for me?”

She fished the small coatcheck tag from her handbag.

After she'd shouted her goodbyes to Mary and Peter (who looked very cozy together on the dance floor, she noted with pleasure), she found Oliver leaning against a wall by the exit with her coat over his arm and his own Navy-issued wool peacoat already on. He held up her coat to help her into it and offered his arm to her, walking at her side out into the cool spring night.

The air was clear and crisp, with a half-moon overhead. The streets were brutally dark thanks to the blackout and they made their way clumsily along the road, squinting to see landmarks in the dim moonlight.

“It's down to the left, one more block,” she said as they passed the entrance to another dance club where the only light came from several cigarettes that glowed as young people poured in and out from the doors and slipped behind blackout curtains into the well-lit hall.

“Can we pause a moment,” Oliver asked. “Sorry, just a moment.”

She stopped, turning to look at him.

“Sorry,” he repeated, reaching for his handkerchief. She could see him silhouetted in the dim moonlight as his shoulders trembled and he shook his head for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he pitched forward with a wrenching sneeze.

Hurhhh-TSGHXTT!

Unable to mask the sound, he gave a brief but noisy blow into the handkerchief afterwards before hastily tucking it into his coat pocket.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, taking her arm up again. She gave him a light squeeze, leaning against his side as she did so.

“Don't apologize,” she said. “I'm only sorry to hear you so poorly. Blasted cold seems to be going around everywhere.”

“The boys in my unit said that if I can't spend a night out with a head cold, there's no way I'd last through a month at sea battling the Germans,” said Oliver, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat with a cough. “I suppose that's true.”

“Well, we'll find you something warm to drink at the restaurant and that should revive you,” Kat said cheerfully.

They were just rounding the last corner onto the street where the restaurant was located when a sound split the air. The wail of the air raid sirens began their raised pitch, increasing to a loud din of pulsing noise.

They paused in the street, stunned. It shouldn't have been entirely a surprise; the sirens were a regular occurrence in the city but neither one of them had encountered the alert while out on the street.

In the darkness, a voice shouted authoritatively.

“To your shelters, please! Nearest public shelter is the Piccadilly Circus station. To your shelters please!”

The figure of an air raid warden with a metal helmet on passed by.

“Which way is Piccadilly?” Oliver asked.

Kat glanced up and down the dark street.

“My rooms are only two or so more blocks past here,” she said. “If we hurry, we should be fine. There's a cellar in the back.”

Gripping his arm tightly, she led the way down the road. Several times they nearly collided with others making their way to safety. As they neared the house where she rented lodgings, the sky began to shine with searchlights and in the distance, the sound of anti-aircraft guns began to crackle. The bliss of dancing and the haze of champagne cleared from Kat's head as she steered them down an alley between some homes and to a metal hatch that covered the entrance to the cellar. She tugged it open and hovered a foot over the void, finding the top step.

“Six steps down. Pull the door shut behind you,” she said to Oliver. Her hand trailed along the earthen edge of the wall until it met the edge of a candlestick and a pack of matches. She struck one alight as Oliver shut the hatch with a loud bang.

The tiny chamber glowed in the candlelight, illuminating the stone and soil room. Oliver was breathing heavily, almost wheezing. Katherine tipped the lit candle to light others, gradually brightening the room enough to see without too much strain.

“Sit,” she insisted, gesturing to a small crate topped with a cushion. “Catch your breath. I'll put some tea on.”

Hhh-TSGHHH!

The sound of the sneeze startled her and she looked over in time to see Oliver building up to a second. He tipped forward, nose nestling into the folds of his waiting handkerchief.

Ehhh—hhehhTSXHHT! “Bless you!” she said earnestly. “Are you warm enough? There's plenty of blankets. My landlady, Mrs. Beecher, is up north visiting her sister and the other girl who rents rooms is at her family home for the week. So it's just you and me here unless we get some surprise guests from next door.”

“No, I'm fine,” he said quietly, wiping his nose. “Sorry.”

“I don't mind a bit of sniffling,” she said teasingly. “You don't need to keep apologizing.”

“Have you had to spend many nights down here?” he asked, surveying the cellar. It was appointed with provisions for the three woman who lived above plus extras for any visitors who might end up sheltering there. Two wooden bunks were stacked against one wall, each with pillows and blankets and thin mattresses. Another mattress was rolled and stored in a nearby trunk with additional linens. A small table held a kettle on a fuel-powered heater and several teacups. There was a deck of cards, a basket of knitting, and a lidded chamberpot. Someone had cheekily hung a framed piece of embroidery that read “Home Sweet Home.”

“Oh, I've lost count,” Kat said as she set the kettle to boil once she'd filled it with water from one of the three large canteens by the steps that led outside. “This is only the second time I've ended up down here in an evening gown, though.”

Once the kettle was heating, she opened a chest and took out a wool jumper and a pair of socks.

“Good thing I'm prepared,” she added.

Oliver watched as she sat on a wooden chair and unstrapped her high heel shoes and slid her hand up under her gown to unclip her precious nylon stockings. Careful not to snag them, she rolled them down her legs and pulled on the socks.

He laughed as she put the jumper on over her evening gown, put her coat back on top of that, and donned a pair of Wellington rubber boots. She struck a pose for him.

“You'd be the toast of all the fashion magazines,” he declared.

His chuckle turned to a cough that sounded strained and painful. She frowned at him and shook her head.

“I'd say you should've followed your own ideas and stayed home instead of the advice of your mates,” she said. “But I have to admit I've awfully glad I ran into you.”

He recovered from the coughing spell and looked at her with affection.

“I'm glad too,” he said. She poured the hot water from the kettle into a teapot to steep and selected two teacups.

Outside, the din of the air raid sirens had ended. There was the sound of distant explosions, but for the time being they were far from the action.

“I'm afraid I've no milk to offer but we have a bit of honey.”

“That'd be lovely, thanks,” he said.

She poured them each a cup and sat opposite him, savouring the warm tea. He drank his own cup, clearly soothed by the hot liquid. He dabbed at his nose a few times with his handkerchief as it began to run from the warmth.

When the cups were empty, they sat in silence for a moment. A bomb exploded somewhere a few blocks away and the candles flickered as the shockwave trembled through the earth. The remaining teacups on the table rattled against each other. Kat closed her eyes for a moment, sighing.

“Are you frightened?” Oliver asked.

“No, I don't think so,” she said. “I suppose I always am, a little. But not terribly.”

She set her teacup down on the table and moved to sit on the bottom bunk bed, patting the mattress beside her. He stood and moved to her side. The next thing she knew, they were kissing, his hands were in her hair and she had a hand on his chest. She kicked off the boots and pulled up her dress so she could sit astride his lap. He kissed down her neck and tugged her coat off, his hand going under her jumper and stroking her breasts through the silk of her gown.

She exhaled with pleasure, starting to slowly grind against his hips. She reached for the waistband of his trousers and he helped her with his belt. He made a soft moaning noise as she fumbled with the buttons at his fly and found her way downwards. His lips brushed her shoulder, pressing kisses where the neck of her jumper was stretched to the side. A brief cough escaped him, puffing against her skin. He muttered an apology and she murmured a sweet assurance as she began to stroke him.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly. He pulled her arms upwards and guided the jumper off over her head. She pushed his coat off him and made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, tugging that off too. He urgently shed his shoes and trousers as she stood and slipped off the silk gown revealing a satin bra and knickers with mother-of-pearl buttons.

He watched her hungrily as she slid out of the knickers and climbed back onto the mattress, guiding his pants off his hips. They kissed tenderly and she settled down on top of him, hips rising to meet hips. He made that same low moaning noise and she felt her body jolt with pleasure, hands roaming through his chestnut curls.

He made love to her urgently as the sound of bombs echoed outside. They moved together, breath increasing to gasps. His nose was running freely and he briefly sniffled and pressed it against his own shoulder to rub it. She kissed his neck and felt the expanse of his chest press against hers as he took a sharp breath. His body shuddered under her as he sneezed a restrained outburst, clearly trying to keep the explosion minimal.

Ngh-GHXT!

She moaned involuntarily as the spasm thrust him against her.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. “Sorry.”

“Please,” she gasped. “Oliver!”

He sniffled thickly and then resumed with vigour until they both lay panting and shivering on the bed. He looked utterly exhausted but there was a smile on his lips. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You sweet thing,” she whispered. “As if you weren't exhausted at the start of the evening.”

She slipped out of the bed with a blanket around her shoulders and found his shirt and socks and underthings on the ground.

“Best put at least your socks on before you drop off entirely,” she said tenderly, helping him dress before they both slipped under the quilts again.

She woke at some ungodly hour to the sound of nose-blowing and the roar of the 'all clear' siren. From feel, she could tell Ollie was sitting up in bed, straining to clear his nose with his sodden handkerchief. It was pitch black in the shelter and she had no idea how long they'd been asleep.

She managed to find the matches and lit a candle. Oliver sounded dreadfully congested and by the dim light of the single candle, she could see his nose was red and angry-looking at the edges.

“Oh, love,” she said, leaving the candle on the bedside table and climbing back under the quilts next to him. “How do you feel?”

He exhaled noisily.

“Rather poorly, I'm afraid,” he said hoarsely. “I hope for your sake it's not catching.”

She squinted at the wristwatch she kept wrapped on the bedpost. It was half-past four.

“It's still early but there's the all-clear. Do you want to get rugged up in my bed upstairs or stay here.”

He folded the handkerchief and tucked it at his side, snuggling back down beside her.

“That answers that,” she said, tucking his head against her breast. She stroked his hair and planted a kiss there. “Try to get some more rest, darling. I'll take good care of you.”

#dustyfic #snzfic

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shachaai · 4 years ago

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Pls pls engport analysis, even though I’ve already read all your engport tags

I genuinely don’t have anything new here so I’m probably repeating myself a lot, but headcanons away:

For me, engport are friends first and foremost. They built everything else on top of that, and they were physically affectionate from the get-go (as they had some translation difficulties initially).

England fell in love with Portugal first, pretty much at their first meeting when England got lost on the way to the Holy Land. But what started out as a basic baby crush evolved into a serious sexual awakening when Portugal went off exploring(/’discovering’) the world and came back with wild tales, glorious treasures, and a tanned, muscled-up physique that probably led to a younger England having several conniptions in a row and then going off to scream inarticulately into a pillow. Attempting to confess this... Portugal didn’t get it.

Portugal fell for England a century or so later, when England was a little taller older and kicking up a great deal more fuss. Or at least, Portugal realised he liked England in a romantic light around then. Attempting to communicate this to England... England didn’t get it, as Portugal was being exactly as physically affectionate with England as he’d always been, and the two dumbasses didn’t realise that those interactions had been romance-coded for a long time.

A few decades later, Spain and France getting a few more kicks in the nuts later, they managed a mutual confession, and so managed about two centuries of a really soft, sappy love story. With. Y’know. Breaks for Dramatic Politics and Family Issues. England wrote Portugal poetry. Portugal tried - unsuccessfully - to get England to sit for a portrait.

England kind of went a little cuckoo during the Civil War and also parked a gunboat outside of Lisbon that led to an argument between the two of them, but the Restoration period kicked off a great deal of engport filth. So much filth. And then the rest of the 17th and 18th centuries pretty much saw Portugal in and out of England’s marriage bed as England married a string of other people and that was (mostly) fun too.

The power balance between the two of them began to shift sometime around England’s marriage to the Netherlands with England gradually assuming more pre-eminence than Portugal on the global stage, but English/British efforts abroad tended to compliment Portuguese ones rather than challenge them. Portuguese and English territories in India worked together for mutual benefit for some time, as did (in a similar but different way) Hong Kong and Macau.

Of course, everything went to hell in a handbasket during the late Victorian period, and the clash between British and Portuguese foreign policies in Africa during the incident now known as the British Ultimatum. Both their governments wanted the same piece of land, and British dominance forced the Portuguese to back down - leading to a massive loss of face internationally for Portugal, and triggering serious domestic issues with republicanism and other things at home.

The engport relationship dissolved with a screaming row, and a great deal of angsty bitter pining happened on both sides.

Occupied with imperial issues, domestic issues and war, they weren’t to properly talk again until the 1970s. A few cold polite letters exchanged during WW2, when the British remembered England and Portugal were still technically married by treaty and asked for use of one of their islands for an airbase. Just a dash of hate(?)/angstsex with punk!England and authoritarian!Port (possibly including a sexy photoshoot that France desperately wants the pictures of).

Eventually, they reconciled. Feeling older, creakier, achier, and lonelier, it felt a bit stupid to continue to be mad about a thing that no longer existed. They were both shedding off the coats of Empire; they were both emptying out their nests - or having them emptied, as others left them behind. There was comfort in old friends and old loves and familiar faces and - and there’s more to it, but they’re just two old men still trying to sort out who they are in a world that moves much faster than they do, but at least they have the company of each other whilst they figure it out.

#this is just a word-dump #a bit tongue-in-cheek and I've skipped so many details bc I've said the details before #so it's a brief(?) overview of soft idiots #engport #aph Portugal #Arthur Kirkland #hetalia #chiring-art

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

Text

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Friends, Falls, and Close Calls

Notice from the RAF: This letter has been scanned and sensitive information has been removed for the safety of our nation.

Mum and Dad,

The British, Americans, and Canadians are planning an offensive for next spring, and training has already started. After four years of war, it’s about time we start to actually push back. A few towns in the south of England have been evacuated for us to stay and I feel badly sleeping in someone else’s bed while they are forced out of their homes. However, I must admit that it’s much more comfortable than the bunks on base. Charlie and I have met a few American soldiers here as they came over for training too. Their officers feel much more intimidating, but I suppose that’s how the work gets done. After four years it’s not like I’m unfamiliar with harsh orders and demands. Charlie and I are still flying our same plane and it’s nice to have that consistency. Not that it’s a terribly big deal to keep flying the same plane but it makes us feel like better pilots!

Anyway, I have to go. We have a drill in a few minutes and they wait for no one! I love you both lots.

Your son,

Richie

April 30, 1925

“Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr- good weather for a flight today.”

“Very good weather, Pilot Charlie.”

The boys were in the Besson’s front lawn in the spring afternoon with their toy planes in hand, running around with them held up to recreate their path of flying. They were mimicking the sounds of engines with their lips as they ran in circles around the perimeter of the yard. At seven-years-old, pretending to be pilots was their way to escape their little hometown and let their imaginations truly soar. It was their favourite little game.

They tried to speak over each other as they dialogued back and forth, making up a story as to where they were flying and why. The adults sat on the front porch with their tea, talking amongst themselves while the kids played, unphased by the boys’ shouting and little engine noises as they ran in circles together.

However, the two seven-year-olds weren’t terribly coordinated or good at looking where they were going and they ended up running right into each other in the middle of the yard, smacking together hard and both toppling backwards onto the grass. The impact stunned them into silence and they stared at each other with wide eyes, Charlie’s only going wider as he saw the blood trickling down his best friend’s chin.

Neither of them spoke for a moment and Richie finally lifted his hand to his mouth, finding his front tooth knocked out and his gum bleeding down his lips and chin. The boys just stared at each other, unmoving, their seven-year-old brains too in shock to even know what the heck to do next.

“Are you boys alright?” Corbyn asked from the porch as the four adults looked over at their sudden silence.

The boys turned to their parents with wide eyes, Richie’s blood dripping onto his shirt and the adults gasped at the state of him.

“Richard!” Christine gasped and jumped up to tend to her injured son.

Richard only broke into a grin and shrieked with laughter, “That was so cool!”

Christine stopped at the edge of the porch as the boys literally rolled on the grass in fits of laughter, obviously unhurt by their crash. Corbyn stood beside his wife as they watched their son wipe his chin with his shirt before turning to the grass to look for his missing tooth. When he found it, he jumped up and ran over to his parents, holding it up to them.

“Look! My tooth fell out!”

“I think your best friend knocked it out.” Corbyn laughed, holding out his hand to take the tooth from Richie.

“I’m sorry.” Charlie mumbled from a few feet back.

“Accidents happen. It was going to come out eventually.” Corbyn assured him.

Charlie nodded and shuffled up the porch to his mother’s outstretched hand, a small pout on his lips while Richie was taken inside to clean himself up and get a new shirt. Elizabeth pulled Charlie onto her lap and pressed a kiss to his cheek as he leaned back against her and Daniel passed their son a little tea biscuit from the table. Charlie smiled softly at his father and munched the treat gladly as he waited for his friend to return.

Moments later, the front door burst open and Richie came running about outside in clean clothes and a washed face and jumped down the front steps of the porch, “Come on, Charlie!”

May 20, 1943

“Come on, Charlie! Pull up!” Richard shouted from behind him.

The empty bullets flying around them only rose their anxieties as Charlie tugged hard on the joystick, but the plane wasn’t responding.

“It won’t fucking budge!” Charlie swore loudly, slamming his hand down against the dashboard as if it would help. “Piece of shit fucking plane, go up.”

“Well bloody well do something! They’re coming up behind us!” Richie ordered, panic apparent in his voice.

They chose a sharp dive instead, ducking out of the way of the next round of empty shells. Eleven thousand metres above the earth and under training fire from their officers and their controls were malfunctioning. They could only thank God it wasn’t real enemy fire or they would be done for.

Even still, the skies were filled with other RAF pilots deep in their training for dogfights that were to be expected once Operation Overlord was sent into action the following year. There was a lot of be done. Training was pushing them harder than normal and running drills in the dead of night to keep them on high alert at all times. It seemed the lack of sleep had caught up to Charlie and he had forgotten about the routine check of the plane that morning, missing the obvious malfunction in the wing.

To say he was panicking was an understatement and his anxieties only made Richie worse too, the two of them struggling to dodge their officers’ training fire by weak seconds. They were honestly yelling at each other in the cockpit, speaking over each other and arguing over directions and orders and the fact that no matter what they did they couldn’t go up.

“Did you not check the wings, Charles?” Richard shouted angrily.

“No! I forgot! We were in a rush! We were already late because you-”

“I didn’t do shit! It’s your job to check the plane before training! Fuck! What the hell do we do now, huh?! We’re going to crash and it’s going to be all your fault!”

“Stop fucking screaming at me for a second!” Charlie yelled. “Let me think!”

Richard grumbled unpleasantries under his breath as he glanced around them to make them aware of their officers’ ‘enemy’ planes in relation to their location. A flick caught his eye and he turned to the left to see a small flame sparking on their wing.

“Oh…shit. Charlie, we’re on fire. We’re on fucking fire, mate!” Richard said quickly, literally reaching forward to tap his best friend’s shoulder.

Charlie looked out the left side window and his eyes went wide as the small spark easily caught into a larger flame, “Christ. Okay. We gotta fucking land, right now.”

Charlie flicked a few switches on the dashboard, and they pushed down into a dive. The wind whipping past them only seemed to make the fire larger and Charlie turned on their radio to alert their squadron of their emergency landing as they made their way back towards the training base. Richard watched with wide eyes as scraps of metal flicked off the plane as the fire was eating them bit by bit.

“Oh God.” Richard whimpered, looking down to the dashboard in front of him to check their location. His eyes caught on the photographed painting of Saturn taped to the side of the display and he bit hard at his bottom lip, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”

“I see the base. Unbuckle, Richie. We’re gonna have to run. This thing’s gonna fucking explode.” Charlie said, keeping one hand on the dash to steer while his other unclipped the straps keeping him in as well as his large parachute in order to get an easy exit.

The plane was nearly shuttering and the cockpit was getting hot as the fire grew bigger and they were almost sure the wheels were about to snap off with how hard they hit the field beside the town they were training in.

“Pull back!” Charlie shouted loudly and both of them yanked hard on the controls to screech the plane to a stop.

The moment they were still, they clamoured out of the cockpit – Richie nearly falling right off the opposite wing as he jumped out and made a run for the town to get as far away from the plane as possible. Charlie stopped and turned back.

“Charles! Get the fuck out of there!” Richie screamed after him as he watched his best friend run back to the plane. “Are you mad?!”

Charlie held his hand over his mouth behind the smell of burning gas as he reached into the cockpit and snatched the photograph of him and his father from where it was taped to the dash. He then ran after Richard, toppling right into him with a startle as the plane exploded seconds later into a huge burst of flames. The two best friends hit the ground together, hands over their heads in fear they were still too close but after a moment they looked up to their safety. A few crew men were rushing over to tend to the destroyed plane as it sat in the middle of the field and burned black smoke high into the bright blue sky.

Charlie rolled over onto his back, panting, and pushed himself into a sitting position. Richard followed, giving his friend a hard shove to the shoulder.

“Bastard. We could have fucking died…and not even honourably: in training, for Christ’s sake.”

Charlie let out a deep exhale and held his face in his hands for a moment, the sweat dripping from his hairline making a trail down his cheek and across his jaw, and he took a few breaths before looking down at the photograph he ran back for. He held it to his chest and looked up to the sky through his breathlessness. “I’m sorry, Richie. I should have checked the plane. I’m a fucking fool.”

Richard sighed and tucked his knees up towards his chest as they watched their plane burn, “Nah, you’re not. Accidents happen.”

Charlie sniffled and nodded lightly, glancing back down at the picture in his hand, “I didn’t grab your photograph.”

“That’s alright.” Richie assured him. “Real thing’s hanging in my bedroom back home anyway. One more second over there and they’d be pulling you out of that mess of flames.”

Charlie didn’t answer, just stared down at his picture.

“You didn’t grab any of Mary’s things.” Richard noted.

Charlie sniffled and shrugged, “This was the only thing I could even think of, truthfully.”

Richard smiled at his best friend and they looked back to their plane. There was a moment of silence as they sat on the grass together.

Richie spoke up first casually, “What was that Mary said about this being a ‘lucky plane’?”

Charlie cracked a small smile at his best friend’s teasing joke and nudged him playfully with his elbow. Richard draped his arm around him and they leaned together quietly, watching their once beloved plane destroy itself into flames.

Taglist: @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @hiya-its-amber @chanelwonders

#✉#why dont we #daniel seavey #corbyn besson #daniel seavey fanfic #corbyn besson fanfic

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scotianostra · 4 years ago

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On Sept. 27th 1938, Queen Elizabeth, the world's largest ocean liner was launched on the Clyde.

The Queen Elizabeth was the sister ship of the Queen Mary, which was christened four years earlier, I covered this yesterday.

Unfortunately, her role as a luxury liner was short-lived - with the outbreak of the Second World War the following year, the Queen Elizabeth entered service in February 1940 as a troopship and didn’t return to her original role until October 1946.

The Cunard line’s enormous luxury ocean-goer was built on the river Clyde to sail between Southampton and New York, named after the Queen Consort (later the Queen Mother).

Following the outbreak of World War II, the security of Queen Elizabeth became a major concern for Cunard-White Star and the British Government. It was not safe to keep the ship in Scotland, as it was well known that she was a tempting target for the Luftwaffe.

Queen Elizabeth was painted in military grey before departing Clydebank for what was rumoured to be a short journey to Southampton. However, once in open sea the ship’s course was altered – Queen Elizabeth’s maiden voyage was to New York!

Thus, the untested and untried ship – then the world’s largest ocean liner – made a secret dash across the Atlantic to the safety of America. She arrived unannounced in New York, surprising officials and New Yorkers alike. Queen Elizabeth berthed alongside Queen Mary, Normandie and Mauretania Queen Elizabeth was requisitioned for wartime service on 13 November 1940.

The ship sailed to Singapore where she was refurbished into the world’s largest troop carrier. During the works, defensive armaments and a degaussing coil (to protect against mines) were fitted.

On 11th February, Queen Elizabeth sailed from Singapore bound for Sydney, Australia, arriving ten days later. Here the conversion into troop ship was completed and Queen Elizabeth undertook her first trooping voyage to the Middle East, carrying troops to Suez.

Queen Elizabeth later sailed to Canada, and carried troops to Sydney, while in 1942 the Admiralty considered possible future uses for the Queens. Their trooping capacity meant they were the most valuable large troop transports in service. When the USA entered the war in December 1941, the future use of Queen Elizabeth along with Queen Mary changed. Ultimately, the ships were most valuable operating the trooping service on the North Atlantic, and following a major overhaul Queen Elizabeth commenced this service. She remained in Government requisition for the rest of the war.

At the end of the war, Queen Elizabeth was famous on both sides of the Atlantic. The ship, which had carried over 750,000 troops, now commenced work repatriating those troops as well as the war brides.

Queen Elizabeth was released from Admiralty service in 1946. Her post-war overhaul and refurbishment was carried out both on the Clyde and at Southampton. This overhaul saw luxury passenger interiors installed aboard Queen Elizabeth, in preparation for civilian transatlantic services. Additionally, ship was painted in Cunard livery, while the machinery was overhauled. Queen Elizabeth was given her full sea trials, and then officially accepted by Cunard. The ship made her maiden peacetime passenger voyage to New York on 16 October 1946.

Queen Elizabeth proved a popular ship and over the coming months the ship was well booked. On 17 April 1947, Queen Elizabeth ran aground near Brambles Bank as she made her approach to Southampton in thick fog. The ship was later successfully refloated.

In September 1951 Queen Elizabeth made her 100th peacetime transatlantic crossing. But as more passengers took to airline services, Cunard realised that they needed to upgrade Queen Elizabeth in order to keep her relevant in a changing world with a particular focus on longer duration cruising

As such, during a refurbishment in January 1952 the ship’s fuel capacity was increased allowing her to sail longer distances without refuelling. Additionally air-conditioning was fitted throughout, to allow the ship to undertake voyages into warm climates. Four years later, Queen Elizabeth was fitted with stabilisers, which greatly improved passenger comfort.

When Pan American World Airways flew the first Boeing 707 service across the Atlantic, the future for Queen Elizabeth was in doubt. By 1962 the decline in the number of passengers on the Atlantic shipping service (they had moved their business to airliners) led to an announcement that the ship would be used more and more for cruises.

Cunard gave Queen Elizabeth another major overhaul in Greenock, which involved an interior refurbishment and the creation of an outdoor swimming pool on Queen Elizabeth’s aft deck. This was combined with a new lido area which, it was hoped, would allow the ship to attract more cruise passengers.

Sadly, the 1966 Seaman’s Strike meant that the refreshed ship was laid up in Southampton for a number of weeks, which further impacted on Cunard’s financial viability. On 8 May 1967, Cunard announced the fates of the two Queens. Queen Mary was withdrawn from service later that year, while the Queen Elizabeth was to be retained until Autumn 1968, by which time it was hoped the QE2 would be ready as her replacement.

Queen Elizabeth was initially sold to a group of Philadelphian businessmen, who intended to turn her into a floating hotel in Florida. The ship made her final transatlantic crossing on 5 November 1968 before she was withdrawn from Cunard service.

Once in Florida, the ship was opened to the public, however this venture didn’t last and the ship was closed in late 1969. In 1970 the ship was auctioned and bought by C.Y.Tung, Hong Kong, who planned to convert the liner into the world’s largest Floating University.

Re-named Seawise University, the ship sailed for Hong Kong to be converted. The transformation was almost complete when a series of fires broke out aboard the ship, causing her to burn out and sink in the harbour, a sad end to a beautiful ship.

You can find more pics and info on the link below, including an 8 minute video. Among the pics you will see that although Queen Elizabeth was a luxury liner, it was not this way when it was in service during WW2, troops were crammed into every available space.

#Scotland #scottish #scottish shipbuilding #The Clyde #Glasgow #History #maritime history

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