#buddy roosevelt

[nientedal]

wish the megawhiners would stop tagging their fucking hate. go make a "megacritical" tag or some shit and stop being so boring and annoying in the megamind one, ugh.

time to go on a blocking spree lmao.

[dorothylarouge]

US Presidents as Dril Tweets

George Washington: another day volunteering at the betsy ross museum. everyone keeps asking me if they can fuck the flag. buddy, they wont even let me fuck it

John Adams: "ah boo hoo hoo i want to post Foul comments to content leaders" Fat Chance, Dimwit. I will annihilate you under bulwark of the Law and God.

Thomas Jefferson: Q: If your post was proven by a counsil of wise men to be racist, or bullshit, would you bar it from the record? A: I do not delete my posts

James Madison: (sniffing a crumpled up one dollar bill i found on the floor of a dog kennel) ah.. thats greenbacks baby

James Monroe: for decades i have traversed the unforgiving mountains and rivers of south america, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled "ass downloader"

John Quincy Adams: "This Whole Thing Smacks Of Gender," i holler as i overturn my uncle's barbeque grill and turn the 4th of July into the 4th of Shit

Andrew Jackson: handing Faves over to my enemies is FRAUD !! base, contemptible FRAUD!

Martin Van Buren: Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Candles $3,600

Utility $150

someone who is good at the economy please help me budget this. my family is dying

William Henry Harrison: (spends all of 7 seconds skimming some blog posts) yep. just as i knew all along. having pnuamonia is good

John Tyler: fuck "jokes". everything i tweet is real. raw insight without the horse shit. no, i will NOT follow trolls. twitter dot com. i live for this

James K. Polk: thhere is no such thing as charisma, and art is fake. the only metrics by which we must determine the worth of a man are Strength and Wisdom

Zachary Taylor: the doctor reveals my blood pressure is 420 over 69. i hoot & holler outta the building while a bunch of losers tell me that im dying

Millard Fillmore: trying to heal..... please donate to my go fund me... $10 will make me less racist... $100 will make me extremely less racist...thank you...

Franklin Pierce: blocked. blocked. blocked. youre all blocked. none of you are free of sin

James Buchanan: #NationalGirlfriendDay please cherish your gal's.. in honor of us, the single Boys who must sacrifice all companionship to #CarryTheBrand...

Abraham Lincoln: unloading an entire belt of ammo at me with a minigun or some such device will now get you "Blocked"

Andrew Johnson: who the fuck is scraeming "LOG OFF" at my house. show yourself, coward. i will never log off

Ulysses S. Grant: i regret being tasked the emotional burden of maintaining the final bastion of morality and Nice manners in this endless ocean of human SHIT

Rutherford B. Hayes: using the toilet when i hear Our national anthem start to play. i do what i must. i stand tall in complete agony; as shit runs down my leg,

James A. Garfield: too much truth in such little time. feeling the heat cominh down to silence me... signing off........ for now

Chester A. Arthur: i WILL wise the fuck up. i WILL super charge my content for 2017. i WILL get blue check mark

Grover Cleveland: the way i see it, people who come on here and submit content that is not up to par, could possibly be considered the "Villains" of this site

Benjamin Harrison: i help every body, im not racist, i keep myself nice, and when i ask for a single re-tweet in return i am told to fuck off, fuck myself, etc

William McKinley: boy oh boy do i love purchasing large amounnts of Fool's Gold. wait a minute... fools gold fucking sucks. this stuff is no good..!! Fuck !!!

Theodore Roosevelt: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL

William H. Taft: ah.. the perfect Souffle! cant wait to dig in to t(*EVERY PIPE IN MY HOUSE EXPLODES AT THE SAME TIME, COVERING ME IN SHIT AND BOILING WATER*

Woodrow Wilson: the conflicted supersoldier stares over the horizon as he smokes a cigarette. "war is the most fucked up thing ever." he takes a sip of beer

Warren G. Harding: somebody please Bribe me

Calvin Coolidge: aggressively joyless oaf hhere. painfully obnoxious respect demander checkign in. extremely dim witted frowning man looking for pals

Herbert Hoover: it is really quite astonishing that I have yet to win The Lottery, given how good I am at selecting six numbers and saying them out loud

Franklin D. Roosevelt: ive never heard of this “europe” but it sounds like a big bunch of shit to me

Harry Truman: everybody wants to be the guy to write the tweet that solves racism once and for all because it would look good as hell on a resume

Dwight D. Eisenhower: my "F*&k It!! Let's Go Golfin" t-shirt maintains a tenacious stranglehold on my life. after 1,125 days of Golf my body is twisted, deformed

John F. Kennedy: when you do sutuff like... shoot my jaw clean off of my face with a sniper rifle, it mostly reflects poorly on your self

Lyndon B. Johnson: incredibly handsome , charismatic famous boy credited with ending income inequality after saying that slumlords should be called "dumblords"

Richard Nixon: i attribute the complete failure of my brand to the actions of detractors, oor my “trolls”, as it were, as well as my own constant fuckups

Gerald Ford: shutting computer down until the shitty moods & attitudes can fuck off., if you need me ill be on my other computer, sititng 60° to my right

Jimmy Carter: i warnned you all that bad things would happen if you kept letting your wives wear jeans. AND NOW LOOK! the damn gas prices are up again

Ronald Reagan: spend a lot of time thinking about how sometimes even war criminals can be heroes sometimes... Dont like it? Click the unfollow buttobn

George H.W. Bush: just thought off an idea i believe to be bad ass. lets find the address of the leader of isis, and mail him/ her pieces of our SHIT

Bill Clinton: were at the point now, that when i offer to impregnate my girl followers, people assume my motives are sexual. disgusting, grow the fuck up,

George W. Bush: friday night gathering up together a big pile of things i like to respect (flags, crucifixes ,etc) and just roll around in it ,give kisses,

Barack Obama: my IQ has increased 10 points ever since i stopped tollerating people mucking about, on the time line

Donald Trump: THERAPIST: your problem is, that youre perfect, and everyone is jealous of your good posts, and that makes you rightfully upset.

ME: I agree

Joe Biden: I will shut the fuck up , IF , it will restore the Harmony. I will get on my knees like a dog and make that sacrifice, for the sake of Calm

[doortotomorrow]

Cooper Howard - "Roosevelt, I'm sorry you can't come, buddy...I'm heading into enemy territory."

[youcalledmebabe]

my favorite bits of web lore from parachute infantry:

he was a new deal democrat and voted for the first time during the war. “I had to walk almost 2 miles to cast my ballot, but I would have walked 10, if necessary, because this was my first vote—I was 22 in June—and I had always wanted to cast it for Roosevelt, the greatest president we had ever had, and the only one who ever gave the working man a break.”

he describes Doc Roe as having “a warm, brave heart.” has anybody ever considered webroe…? there’s about as much basis for it as webgott, historically speaking 💀

he seemed to have lone wolf tendencies. “Actually, I was quite happy to be on my own. Looking out for myself was something I always liked to do. It was the one thing I could do better than anybody else.” 

he was sooo dramatic. “I should have known better than to dream, for whatever dreams I might have had all ended when I was sixteen, and had run away to Gloucester to ship out on a fishing schooner. The schooners were diesel hulks, so I went back to school. That was the way my dreams always ended. The army was no different.”

noted fan of springtime. “It’s going to be an early spring, I thought, feeling a great relief. Maybe things will be better now; they are always better in the spring.”

believed in/was spooked by the stories of a ghost horse cart following them around the front. “It must be the ghost that’s followed us through Europe, I thought with a shiver, for the sound did not seem wholly real—who would have the nerve to walk a horse drawn wagon along the front in a city under such heavy artillery fire? …Some of the men used to speculate about it. They thought that it was the ghost of a supply cart that had gotten a direct hit, and that the driver was homesick for his old outfit. So every night he’d come back and visit his buddies on the line.” apparently Nixon also believed this… where my ghost story fics at?

allergic to change: “The essence of life is change, not stability, but I can’t get used to it; I want everything to stay the way it is.”

thinks the reason lieb is the way he is is because “he was from the far west.” he and joe actually have very little interaction at all and he doesn’t have much to say about him. Tom Hanks rpf is fine strikes again

was drunk on iced tea and gin all the time at the end of the war

gets so mad about doing a final parade when his points came through that he “was in a mood to bayonet babies and roast both colonels over small fires.” immediately after that says what he “planned for peacock was unprintable.” this is the final time peacock is mentioned… guess they never made up

he really hated the army and the Nazis in a way that I feel like the show dropped by the final episode. like I think the real web would’ve shot the guy on the mountain. but that’s a discussion I’d like to have later

anyway he was smart and funny and a good writer and so full of life and i’m very sad about what happened to him

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Pickfair was a sprawling estate in Beverly Hills, California purchased and further renovated in 1919 by silent film actress Mary Pickford and her husband Douglas Fairbanks, the "Queen and King of Hollywood." The 25-room mansion was named by combining parts of their last names ("Pick" + "fair").

Pickfair was considered one of the most celebrated private homes of America, and became a famous symbol of Hollywood glamour and excess in the 1920s/30s. It hosted iconic parties with famous guests like Charlie Chaplin, Albert Einstein, Amelia Earhart, Helen Keller, F. Scott Fitzgerald and presidents Coolidge and Roosevelt. Life magazine described it as “a gathering place only slightly less important than the White House… and much more fun.”

After divorcing Douglas Fairbanks in 1936, Mary Pickford married actor Charles "Buddy" Rogers and continued living in Pickfair until her death, in 1979. A new owner, actress Pia Zadora, eventually demolished the mansion in 1990, despite some outcry. Zadora later claimed the place was haunted: “You can deal with termites, and you can deal with plumbing issues, but you can’t deal with the supernatural.”

A new mansion stands on the site bearing no resemblance to the original Pickfair.

[whileurmine]

She looks him over and he blushes, all too easily. Cheeks going from pale to red without his consent. Noah tries a laugh. It still sounds just a little too awkward. "You are funny." That was meant to be a joke. Right? "How have you been lately? It's been a little while, you didn't, hm, you didn't answer. I think you didn't see my calls? Or maybe I saved the wrong number? I think." Noah chuckled.

Hartley sits, perched on a stool at the bar, with one long leg crossed over the other as she sips her drink. She hadn't really noticed the boy on his way over, but had definitely seen him trip, not even bothering to hide her smile. The fact that he knew her name was interesting, but not particularly significant. Lots of men knew her name, though she couldn't say the same for him. Very clearly, she gives him an up and down once over. "I'm not looking to entertain children tonight." Was he even old enough to be in here?

[itstheheebiejeebies]

A really great article about what the crew of the Just-a-Snappin' went through on the Bremen raid on October 8, 1943.

Transcript below Read More

Article found through this page on the 100th Bomb Group site

Article named: Uncommon valor

Subheading: Everett Blakely personified grace under pressure

By Dan Krieger Telegram-Tribune

Photos of the Just-a-Snappin' crashed into a tree, and one of Blakely smiling in uniform. The latter with the message "Everett 'Gopher' Blakely, right, lost his plne, 'Just-a-Snappin.' but saved his crew when he crash landed the B-17 bomber.

Pull quote in the article: 'For 3,000 feet Captain Blakely and Major Kidd fought to get that plane under control. It was only because of the superior construction of our bomber... plus the combination of two skilled pilots, that we ever even recovered from that dive. -Lt. Harry Crosby

Main article: Lt. Harry Crosby wrote to his wife, "Jean there are just two reasons why I am here today. One of them is because of Blake's superb piloting and the other is because of the skill of our gunners."

We often think of heroes as flamboyant people. More often than not, real heroes are quiet people who are doing what they believe is required of them.

Today Everett Blakely, a pilot trained in Santa Maria, says that he was "just doing what had to be done" in the war against Hitler. He was a quiet hero.

Allan G. Hancock College in Santa Maria has a long and colorful history. Long before it became a community college, the campus was known as the Hancock College of Aeronautics.

It was a private school, named after its energetic, versatile and creative founder and benefactor, Capt. Allan Hancock.

Well prior to American entry into the Second World War, Captain Hancock offered his school to the United States Army Air Corps as a flight instruction school. Between May 1939 and V-J Day, some 8,500 pilots and 1,500 aircraft mechanics were trained at Hancock College.

The commercial warehouse district just west of today's Hancock College campus includes the one-time hangers for the flight instruction aircraft. The Stearman PT-13 biplanes are gone, but the College of Aeronautics administration buildings still survive on campus.

Everett "Gopher" Blakely came to Santa Maria just out of the University of Washington at Seattle. He was convinced that America was going to get involved in the European war.

The Blitzkrieg over Poland in 1939, over Belgium and France in 1940, and the Battle of Britain had convinced Blakely that this was going to be a war where air power was essential. The United States was going to need pilots. "Gopher" Blakely had discovered his mission.

Blakely soon started flying the essentially First World War era Stearmans over the tranquil valleys of the Central Coast. He and his buddies from rainy Puget Sound loved the warm sunny climate. They thought Santa Maria was a friendly town and enjoyed a precious few weekend hours socializing at the Santa Maria Inn.

Within months, Blakely and his friends were on the damp fen lands of Norfolkshire in England's East Anglia. They had graduated from the tiny Stearmans to the "Queen of the Bombers," the four-engine, hundred-foot-winged Boeing B-17 "Flying Fortress."

On July 4, 1943, the first American pilots participated with Britain's Royal Air Force in bombing raids over Germany. But as late as January 1943, Winston Churchill, en route to meet with President Roosevelt at Casablanca, wrote a secret memo to his Secretary of State for Air.

In that memo, Churchill complained that "the Americans have not yet succeeded in dropping a single bomb on Germany." What Churchill meant was that no American bombers were able to penetrate German anti-aircraft fire a sufficient distance. This was because the Americans were trained for daylight missions only. The British had bomber Berlin early in the war by flying mainly night missions,

Churchill wanted the Americans to start flying night missions also. But Gen. Henry H. "Hap" Arnold was convinced that it would take too long to retrain air crews for night flying. That loss of time would allow the Germans to rebuild their military strength.

At Casablanca, the Americans won Churchill over to a doctrine of round-the-clock bombing which would "give Hitler no rest." The Americans would send increasingly larger waves of B-17s by day. The RAF would continue doing what it did best through nighttime assaults.

The decision at Casablanca was costly in terms of the lives of American aircrews. Daytime raids were decidedly more risky. Few of us realize that the losses to the Eight Air Force alone approach American losses in the Vietnam War.

Capt. "Gopher" Blakely became the pilot of "Just-a-Snappin," a B-17 in the 100th Bomb Group flying out of Thorpe Abbots in Norfolkshire. Blakelly and his crew were piloting their B-17s over the upper reaches of the Danube in the famous raids on Schweinfurt and Rogensburg.

On Oct. 8, 1943, the 10th Bomb Group participated in a raid on the shipbuilding and industrial center of Bremen and the nearby U-Boat building yards and pens at Vegesack.

Both of "Just-a-Snappin's" right wing engines were shot out in a running battle with German fighters over the Zuider Zee. Five of the crew were injured - Waist Giner Sgt. Lester Saunders fatally.

Lt. Harry Crosby, "Just-a-Snappin's" navigator, filed an astonishing report on the B-17's struggle to return to England:

"For 3,000 feet Captain Blakely and Major Kidd fought to get that plane under control. It was only because of the superior construction of our bomber, and its perfect maintenance, plus the combination of two skilled pilots, that we even recovered from that dive.

"If I were an expert on stress and strain analysis, or a mechanic, or even a pilot, I would dwell at length on the manner in which the plane was restored to normal flying attitude. As it is, the procedure defies my description. But I am certain it was a very great accomplishment."

Everett Blakely's description recalls, "You can lose altitude awfully fast when one engine goes sour and your controls are chewed to ribbons. We dropped for 3,000 feet before Major Kidd and I could regain control... Most of the crew were not strapped to their seats were thrown to the floor, shaken severely - but at last the ground was once more back where it ought to be, instead of standing up on one ear. Once more we were in level flight and, at least temporarily, safe."

Crosby's report states that:

"At 10,000 feet we were able to look out the windows (and) were temporarily assured to not that the ground was now in the right place. A hurried consultation was held over inter-phone to determine a plan for fighting our way back to England.

"The following facts had to be considered: We had lost all communication back of the top turret, so it was impossible to determine the extent of injury and damage. Our control wires were fraying as far back as the top turret operator could see. At least two of the crew had reported being hit immediately after we left the target.

"One engine was in such bad condition that bits and finally all of the cowling were blasted off. We were losing altitude so rapidly probably because of the condition of the elevator that any but the shortest way back was beyond contemplation. So we headed across the face of Germany for home."

Later, Harry Crosby wrote of Blakely and his co-pilot:

"The normal reaction on the part of our pilots should have been to think of their own personal safety, or in cases of extreme nobility of character perhaps they would have been thinking about the other members of the crew. But they did not, even in this crisis, forget for one minute they were the leaders of a great formation. Their first thought was of the crews behind them. In unison, as we fell into our dive, the words came over the interphone to our tail gunner, 'Signal the deputy leader to take over.'

"I can't help but to think as they fought for their lives they might have been excused for being too busy to think of their command, but such was not the case.

"By this signaling, the remainder of the formation was notified immediately that we had been hit and were aborting. This act would have prevented any planes being pulled even a few feet out of position into danger from the enemy aircraft buzzing about."

Despite the loss of the airplane's compass, Blakely and his amazing navigator, Lt. Harry Crosby, made it to landfall. They crash-landed at Ludham, Norfolk. The completely unmaneuverable aircraft, without any brakes, skidded into an ancient British oak tree.

Blakely remembers: "The tree crashed between Np. 2 engine and the pilot's compartment. That was lucky because another three inches to the right and it would have crushed the pilot and co-pilot. We had slowed to maybe 50 mph by then..."

Blakely's co-pilot for that mission, Major John B. Kidd, recalled that "someone counted over 800 separate holes in that aircraft."

"Just-a-Snappin" would never fly again.

The Bremen mission was typical of dozens of missions which penetrated deeper and deeper into German territory. Even before the Bremen raid, Blakely and his crew were piloting their B-17's over teh upper reaches of the Danube in the famous raids on Schweinfurt and Regensburg.

Today, Blakely is retired and lives with his wife, Marge, in San Luis Obispo. They are the parents of Supervisor David Blakely, who speaks with great pride of his father's contribution to the fight against Hitler.

-three stars end the article and separate a note about the author

Dan Krieger is a Cal Poly history professor and member of the County Historical Society.

-Along the bottom of the page the article is attributed to the San Luis Obispo (Calif.) Telegram-Tribune in the Saturday, February 16, 1991 edition on page 23.

[alliluyevas]

Overall, the bluest names with at least 5,000 major-party voters are Imani, Latoya and Tamika for women and Jermaine, Darnell and Malik for men. On the other side of the political divide, we find Brayden, Colton and Tanner for Republican men and Darla, Misty and — ironically for the party of Lincoln —Dixie for women. Incredibly, some names switch parties depending on whether you give them to a boy or a girl. Most women named Laverne are Democrats, while most male Lavernes register Republican. Tyler, Dylan and Toby see similar splits. Jean and Shelly swing in the opposite direction: A female Jean is more than twice as likely to register Republican as a male Jean would be. The politics of a name also depend on the era in which it was chosen. For older Democrats of both genders, Willie is one of the bluest names, as are Roosevelt (for men) and Hyacinth and Queen for women. For younger women, the equivalent names would be Imani and Ayanna. For younger men, they’re Malik and Jermaine.

For young Republican men, the most partisan names are Brock or Colton, while their retirement-age friends see a strong rightward lean when they meet a Galen or a Brent. For Republican women, young Gracie and Bailee give way to older Leann and Jolene. A select few names have also changed their political polarity over time. The most obvious? If you meet a woman named Reagan age 45 or older, when the name was rather rare, she’s probably a Democrat. If you meet a Reagan age 44 or younger — and therefore born after GOP phenomenon Ronald Reagan won the 1980 presidential election — she’s much more likely to register Republican. More often, though, the trend runs in the opposite direction: Older folks register Republican more often than their younger buddies with the very same name, presumably because younger voters lean left. We see old Republicans and young Democrats all named Terrell, Dwayne and Darrell — names that further analysis shows either belong to younger Black men or older White ones. We also see that pattern with women’s names that lost popularity among White people: Janet, Darlene and Karla have grown more Democratic as they’ve grown more Hispanic. Similarly, Joy has moved left as it has been adopted by more Black women, and Kathy followed suit as its popularity grew among their Asian and Hispanic friends. Among women, only Mattie and Gracie shift left among older voters. Further analysis shows both tend to belong either to older Black women or younger White ones. For men, we see the same trend in Old Testament favorites such as Levi and Seth. In perhaps related news, the most common surname for a Seth in his 5os or 60s, when they lean left, is “Cohen.” The top surname for a Seth in his 20s or 30s, when they lean right, is “Johnson.”

this is very interesting. I'm assuming that most female Jeans are old white women and male Jeans are likely Haitian or from French-speaking African countries. Hyacinth is also interesting as it's an extremely uncommon name in general and I don't think associated with any particular ethnic group.

[klausinamarink]

Easy Promises

rating: T | cw: cancer, mentioned child abuse | tags: pre-relationship, Steve has good parents, childhood friends, reunion, Theodore is Eddie’s full name agenda | wc: 956

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | Dec 14: Angst with happy ending

When Steve was eleven, he was told that he was going to die. Naturally, he burst into tears. His mother immediately pulled him to her chest, shushing him gently while his father yelled at their doctor.

“He’s just a child!”

“It’s important for your son to know that leukemia isn’t possible to survive-”

“Bullshit!”

Steve cried harder in his mother’s arms, even after they left the office.

Back home, his mother knelt down, looked Steve in the eye, and said, “You are going to live, baby. You are still going to grow up to be a smart, healthy man. You will fight that cancer and live.”

It was easy to make a promise. It was harder to follow through it.

After the urgent move to Indianapolis, Steve’s days fell into a blur of check-ups, medicine, throwing up, and exhaustion. He spent more days at the hospital than at his new school. He wasn’t sure which place was worse. The clinical words and smells with thin blankets and more sick children like him or the classrooms where apologetic teachers gave him too many lavish gifts while the other kids avoided him.

But there was one boy who declared himself as Steve’s buddy. Steve thought he would hate Theodore Munson, but he didn’t. Theodore (“Just Teddy! My full name makes me feel like I’m Roosevelt.”) never stared at Steve or asked about his leukemia or poked at his thin arms. Instead, Teddy always asked how his day went and listened to every word, even if it was a foggy repetition of hospital visits. If Steve said he was tired, Teddy never announced it to their teachers and just silently offered some cookies or juice under their desks. During recess and lunch, Teddy sat next to him and spoke excitedly about the new comics or movies Steve never had the chance to check himself.

It was always nice listening to Teddy talk. Way better than a doctor reading his statistics aloud like it was an eulogy.

When the chemotherapy inevitably snuck into his schedule, Steve cried and begged everyone to keep his hair. He was already The Kid With Cancer. He didn’t want his hair shaved off.

Nobody listened to him.

A couple days later, Steve wore a Reds cap. He refused to wear the knitted wool hat his Nana had made for him like he was five again. That would just push his classmates into bullying him for real.

He came to school late, not wanting to join the student crowd. He stopped when he saw Teddy sitting on the steps, his shaven head in his arms.

For a second, Steve thought that Teddy somehow knew and wanted to shave his hair in solidarity. And then Teddy looked up and he saw a nasty black eye. They stared at each other for a long time until both of their eyes welled up in tears.

“Your hair’s gone.” Teddy said wetly after they ran into each other for a hug.

“So ‘s yours.” Steve sniffs, daring himself to pat the buzzed scalp.

“My dad got mad last night.”

Teddy told him about his dad enough that his muffled words made Steve tighten his grip. “At least you’re not dying.”

Teddy barked out a wet laugh, “Just don’t leave me first.”

It was an easy promise to accept. Except it was already broken when Teddy never showed at school the next day. And then Steve was alone again.

—

I’m in remission. I still have a future. I’m going to live. Steve repeated that mantra to himself in his car, staring from afar at the ominous entrance of Hawkins High.

It had been a good year and a half since the doctors finally gave the good news. Steve was always a crier, but he’d only stared up at the ceiling in silent disbelief while his parents wept joyfully. The news never really hit him until two months later, when he touched an inch of new hair in the bathroom, and then sobbed and thanked God for letting him live.

Even if that little what if it comes back lingered in the back of his mind.

Now, he was thrown back to Hawkins, which included starting his sophomore year in person.

But old habits still stayed. Steve kept seated in his car and watched the other students walk inside while they laughed with healthy smiles. Even after the bell rang, he stayed. After a good five minutes, Steve’s courage returned and he stepped out.

He only took three steps when a van suddenly appeared, scaring the shit out of him with a blaring honk. Steve jumped back and flipped the driver off. “Watch it, asshole!” He stomped away, his mood broken further by the van’s door opening. Great, now he’s gonna be in a shouting match in front of the school-

“Steve?”

He froze. Turned around slowly.

Teddy, all dressed in some dark clothes with long hair. Teddy, who stared back at him with wide eyes. Teddy, Teddy, Teddy-

Steve wasn’t sure who ran towards the other first, but it was Steve who hugged the tightest and cried first.

“Holy shit,” Teddy laughed wetly in his ear, “Your hair-” He leaned away so his hands were placed on both sides of Steve’s head. They felt warm and oddly right. “You look so much healthier…”

Steve just smiled, a little blush in his cheeks as he said, “I got better.” He watched as the realization dropped on Teddy in real time. Then he was pulled into a more tighter and fiercer hug, already feeling a wet patch on his shoulder.

There were definitely lots of things they needed to catch up on. But Steve’s more contempt in sharing his warmth with his friend.

[octuscle]

I’ve always been a good person or at least I like to think of myself as one. Always worried and being considerate of others. Some times I wonder what life would be like if I wasn’t and didn’t care like some fuck boy. Is there anything the chronivac can do to help me experience this for a day?

Little Italy of all places! Couldn't his secretary have found anything worse? If your name is Gianni Lombardi and you stay in a hotel room in Little Italy, everyone must assume that you are Italian. Gianni's great-great-grandfather was his last ancestor who was born in Italy. His great-great-grandmother came from Germany. There was hardly a drop of Italian blood in his veins. And Gianni had often wondered why his parents, who were called Stephen and Kathrin, had given him an Italian first name.

And now he was standing in the lobby of this shabby hotel, which was called the Bowery Grand Hotel but was nothing like a grand hotel, and the Italian mamma at reception was talking to him in Italian. Fortunately, at some point a somewhat greasy older man arrived, who said something to the lady in Italian and then took Gianni to his room.

It was clean. Pretty clean, at least. But the tube TV was ancient and there was still a clock radio on the bedside table. The carpet didn't look like something you'd want to walk on barefoot. And the bathroom was in the hallway and was an orgy of rust and limescale. One night, Gianni thought to himself… It's only for one night. And he was tired. It had been a long journey.

The brand new radio alarm clock rang at 05:30. Gianni lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. It still smelled of the fresh paint, the room had only been finished last week. He lit a cigarette and was about to go to the bathroom when he heard his mum calling. Could he hurry up a bit, he had to go to the wholesale market. As if he had forgotten. Breakfast was at 06:30 and he had to be back by then. So he quickly washed up, got dressed and got into the van to get everything his guests would need today. He could also meet his fence there, to whom he could sell some of the things he had "found" with guests in the room. It was an advantage to look good. And some guests paid well for the fact that no one found out that the hotel's junior had shagged them.

It was 11:00 a.m. when Gianni was finally able to take a break. He walked two blocks to Sara D. Roosevelt Park and sat down in the sun. He had no more cigs. But in his experience, it wouldn't be long before his boys would hit this place up. And they owed him a lot more than just a cigarette.

Luigi, Luca and Andrea were good buddies. Stinking lazy ones, to be sure. And Gianni envied them for not having a mother with a whip behind them. But the three of them were always good for a laugh. And today there was a cigarette for Gianni, too. In return, however, he had to promise them that they could come to his mum's hotel for lunch. If he was lucky, the three of them would also help in the kitchen afterwards. And Gianni could let the sun shine on his Italian skin for the rest of the day.

[azazelblake]

Dogmeat is Cooper Howard's dog and you can't change my mind at first he was like you anit him Dogmeat to ok you may not be my dog Roosevelt but I keep you man's best friend all Dogmeat wants is love not to mention she's loyal which she and Cooper Howard are best buddies.

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part IV

Moonlight Becomes You

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: A quick historical note - President Roosevelt’s fireside chats are mentioned in this chapter. For those who may be unfamiliar with American history, the fireside chats were a series of radio addresses given by FDR between 1933 and 1944. They were designed to keep the American public updated about The Great Depression and the United States’ progress in World War II. If you’re interested, you can actually hear the audio of the fireside chat that Peach references in her letter.

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

The title for this chapter comes from the Bing Crosby song of the same name.

Dedication: This story continues to be dedicated to my sweet friend, @luminousnotmatter​. Her support has meant so much to me in writing this series!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to war and its impact, allusions to childhood death caused by the 1918 Influenza pandemic, references to illness, a lot of fluff.

August 7, 1942

Dear Peach,

It makes me real happy to hear that you like the nickname. I was surprised to learn that you’ve never had a nickname all your own, but I’m doubly happy to be able to give you your first. It’s a real honor, let me tell you. Not to mention the fact that you ARE special, so you certainly deserve to feel that way.

I think when we all get back, we’ll have to be very careful to keep Dottie, Tommy Boy, and Benny from conspiring, you and I. They do sound like they’re very much of one mind, your sister and my friends—though I’m sure Dottie is much lovelier than my lughead buddies. As I write this, in fact, Benny is snoring loud enough to wake the entire carrier. I’m not sure how any of the other fellas are managing to get any sleep. But at least as long as he’s snoring, I know he won’t be reading over my shoulder. We have to take our victories where we can, as we’re all quickly learning.

Now that I think about it, I do believe I made you a promise in my last letter, Peach. I promised I would try to be more organized, and I’m going to stick to that. I’m going to make a list, so that I’m sure to answer each and every part of your letter. I have to admit that I’ve read it five or six times already. The thought that you’d take such precious time out of your day to sit and write to me of all people still seems simply too good to be true, but so long as this dream is my reality, I’m going to make the most of it. I want you to know how much every word you write means to me.

First of all, trust me when I say that your words truly are sweeter than any dessert they could dream up for us here. Sweeter than honey, sweeter than ice cream, sweeter than pie—heck, even sweeter than a Georgia peach. Mail Call IS a wonderful day, and getting a letter from you makes it all the more wonderful.

I appreciate your belief in me, Peach, more than words could say. In all honesty, I’m probably not even a quarter as brave as you think I am. Maybe I shouldn’t admit that in writing. I’m sure the rest of the guys would tell me to play the part of the hero, but the truth is that I don’t feel like one most days. I only want to serve my country and do my part, but I’d be lying if I said there weren’t days when I felt downright terrified to be here. “War is hell” is right, no doubt about it. I hope you don’t think less of me for saying so. But somehow, I know you won’t. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I just know I can trust you with these sorts of things. The thought of getting to lay down my burdens with you, even if only for a moment, is such a gift. Thank you.

Paris, huh? That must have been some honeymoon. Since we’ve arrived, I’ve been able to see [REDACTED], but I’m sure it can’t compare to what your parents saw back then. One day, I hope you do get to make it here, Peach. I hope you get to see all the most beautiful parts of the world. I wouldn’t want you to be here now, not when everything feels the opposite of beautiful, but one day. We’ll make it safe here again so that it’s beautiful for you. I promise.

Listen, if you can convince your mama to hand over the peach tart recipe, I just might be able to convince my mama to share her apple cobbler recipe…

Speaking of which, it made me smile to hear about your Fourth of July. For the record, Paddy was right—getting to hear about the parades and the fireworks and the strawberry pound cake (I’m sorry about the sugar, by the way) made me feel like everything we’re doing over here is worth it. Some days are real hard. Some days, it feels like we’re not making any progress. But when I hear that you and your family are safe and happy back home, it makes me realize that what we’re doing over here every day does matter. So long as you’re all still able to celebrate Independence Day in peace, then we’re doing our job. Some of the other fellas got letters from their families, telling them about their Fourth of July parties and picnics, too. We all sat together and read them out loud, and it made us feel for a moment like we were there. We could taste the hot dogs and the watermelon and the Root Beer Floats. And it made us smile and laugh, Peach. I promise, nothing you could tell me about life back home would feel like salt in a wound. On the contrary, it’s like a balm for our spirits.

I’m sorry to hear about Frankie’s teeth. I hope the little guy is doing alright. I remember watching my brothers go through it growing up, and seeing Clara go through it just a couple years ago. Being her godfather, it felt extra hard to watch her suffer, so I know just how you feel watching your nephew. In her most recent letter, Natasha told Paul that Paul, Jr.’s been cutting some teeth as well, but he’s “soldiering on, just like his daddy.” It seems like such a small thing, but I could hear Paul crying in his bunk that night. I don’t think he’d mind me telling you that, Peach, considering how trustworthy you are. He misses Natasha and Clara and Paul, Jr. something fierce, and I know he can’t wait for the day when he gets to hold them in his arms again. Since your thoughts for us seem to be so powerful, maybe you could spare some for Paul? I know it’d mean a lot to him.

Paddy is a good man, Peach. A great man. I know you know that and you don’t need to be hearing it from me, but it’s true. If ever he’s feeling down about staying stateside, you let him know that none of us could be doing what we’re doing over here if it wasn’t for what he’s doing over there. He’s a smart guy, Paddy is, and we appreciate how hard he’s working. If anyone feels differently, well—quite frankly, their opinion just doesn’t matter.

It is a little tricky to have a conversation on paper, indeed. Oh, I wish more than anything that we could be talking face to face. I think of that night on King Street all the time. Can I be honest with you, Peach? I hope you won’t think this is too forward, but when the days here are long and hard, sometimes I just picture your pretty face and it makes things feel better. And I hope you know that your loveliness is so much more than just skin deep—your heart and your kindness are what make you so beautiful. I’m sorry for being so forthright—I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable—but I just wanted you to know that. Your friendship and your kindness to me that last night stateside mean so much to me, and they always will.

Speaking of friendship, I’m rather starting to think that my friends like you more than they like me. You should have seen Tommy Boy’s and Benny’s faces when I told them you said hello—they lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July and demanded to see your words for themselves. Evidently, my word wasn’t good enough. They say hello in return and want to thank you for all your well wishes. Paul says hello, too. He says of course he remembers you, and that he hopes you’re doing real well. He still hasn’t forgotten about getting Natasha a string of pearls just as pretty as yours.

I’m sorry the heat’s been so oppressive back in Charleston. We’ve had nothing but rain here for weeks, so we’ve been rather wet and miserable. But your letter was a bright spot amidst the clouds, and I’d be happy to take some of that southern sun off your hands  if you’d be willing to take some of our clouds and rain.

Now you’ve really given me something to look forward to, Peach, if you’re really serious about singing something at our next dance. I assure you that it’s easy to promise that I won’t laugh because I KNOW you won’t be terrible at it. Your voice, I know, is just as lovely as you and I can’t wait to hear it.

It’s funny you mention “Chattanooga Choo Choo” because that one just so happens to be one of my mother’s favorites. I think the two of you would get along just swell. I just had a letter from her the other day, and she assured me that all is well at home. It does my heart good to hear that from both her and you.

I do know “Blue Moon,” Peach. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear it the same way again without thinking of your beautiful words. As I write this letter right now, the moon is shining down, and I’m picturing it shining down on you, too. The last time I got to see you—well, I suppose the only time I got to see you—was in the moonlight, so I think it will always be special to me. And you’re right—when I think of the same moon shining down on you and me, and all my friends and family back home, it makes me think that maybe the world isn’t so big a place after all. Maybe we’re not all as far apart as it seems. Thank you for reminding me of that. I did tell Paul, and he wrote your words down to send to Natasha. So we all owe you a debt of gratitude.

Alright, have I rambled on enough? Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever written letters so long as the ones I write to you, Peach. But I suppose it’s because I want you to know me. It’s funny, I’ve always been happy to blend into the background. I’m not the sort of guy that most people take notice of—not like Paul and Tommy Boy—and that’s okay. I’ve always been fine with that. But with you—well, I want you to know me. I don’t want to blend into the background where you’re concerned. And I think that maybe you understand that? I felt it that night we met—that you understand. You understand so much, Peach, and I’m so grateful for that.

I won’t bore you with it now, but maybe sometime in the future, I could tell you stories about myself? Stories from when I was growing up, stories from Annapolis—stories that will help you get to know me? I would never want to pry, and you don’t have to tell me anything about yourself that you don’t want to, but I thought that maybe—well, I don’t know what I thought except for the fact that I’d really like to know you, the same as I’d like you to know me.

Okay, I think exhaustion is starting to addle my brain, and I should probably stop writing before I say something that makes me look even more foolish than I probably already have.

You’re in my thoughts, Peach, and I wish you nothing but the best. I hope this letter finds you happy and well.

Sincerely Yours,

Bobby

September 19, 1942

Dear Bobby,

I’m so, so sorry that it’s taken me so long to write you back. I felt that your beautifully heartfelt letter deserved all my attention, and I didn’t want to sit down to write a response until I was able to give it that.

We had a bit of a crisis here in the Sheridan household back in August, around the same time your letter arrived in the mail. We’re not sure how he possibly could have picked it up, but poor, sweet Frankie came down with influenza. He couldn’t keep anything down, and then he started burning up with a terrible fever. Dottie was absolutely frantic, and we rushed him to the hospital. When the doctors confirmed it was the flu, Dottie was beside herself. I know you’ve never met Frankie, but he’s normally such a happy baby, so full of life and joy—to see him so still and lethargic and quiet was quite terrifying. I was scared, too, but I tried to remind Dottie that her son was just as strong as his mother. Dottie was born in 1918, you see, during the Spanish Flu epidemic. She was one of the only babies who survived in the hospital where our mother delivered her. I think that’s all Dottie could picture—all those mothers and fathers who never got to bring their children home. She insisted on bringing Frankie home to care for him—she said she wasn’t going to run the risk of keeping him in the hospital.

Poor baby was terribly sick for over a week. I don’t think Dottie or Paddy slept a wink that whole time. I tried to convince them to take turns staying up with him, so that they could get some rest, but they just stayed by his side all night, every night. It really is quite something, isn’t it? The power of a mother and father’s love? I won’t lie, Bobby, there were some really scary moments when we weren’t sure he was going to pull through. I’ve never been so afraid or cried so many tears in all my life, I think. But then one day, his fever finally broke and we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve never seen my sister or brother-in-law look more happy or relieved. It felt like we had all been holding our breath without even realizing it, and we were finally able to breathe deeply again.

We’ve all been in recovery mode since then, and have been monitoring Frankie very carefully. Just as he started to get better, Dottie fell a little under the weather, so Paddy and I were taking care of them both. I’m very happy to report that both my sister and my nephew are back to their smiley, happy selves, which has been such a joy. I’ll be very glad to put this whole episode behind us.

I want to thank you for your last letter, Bobby, because it truly helped keep me sane when it felt like the whole world was spinning out of control. Though I didn’t feel able to write back until everyone was feeling better, I did read your letter every night before I went to sleep. You wrote that my stories from home were like a balm to your spirit, and I just want you to know that your words were a balm to mine. You are one of the kindest men I’ve ever known, Bobby. Thank you. Thank you so much.

You would think with so much time to plan this letter in my mind, I would have something brilliant to share, but I’m afraid that I’m still feeling a bit scatter-brained after everything. So here are the words that have been bouncing around in my head and my heart for the past few weeks, in response to yours:

You’ll always be a hero in my eyes, Bobby. The fact that you’re brave enough to admit that you’re terrified just further proves it to me. True heroes don’t think of themselves as heroes. They just do the job that needs being done—like you’re doing. And your country is so proud of you for it. I’m so proud of you for it.

I believe you when you promise that you’re going to make it safe there, wherever you are right now. I’m confident that the world will be a beautiful place again. Maybe one day you can show it to me.

I might just be able to convince my mama to share her peach tart recipe. We’ll see. You sweet talk your mama, and I’ll sweet talk mine.

Thank you for putting my mind at rest about telling you stories from home. If they really do lift your spirits, then I promise to tell you as many stories as you want to hear.

Poor Frankie really can’t catch a break, can he? Between his teeth and the flu, he’s had a rough go of it lately. But I’d say he’s “soldiering on,” same as Paul, Jr. I’m sorry to hear how hard the separation is for Paul. As his best friend, I’m sure it’s hard to watch him struggle with that. Of course I’ll be thinking of Paul and Natasha and the children. I include them in my prayers every night, and I’ll continue to do so until they’re all together again. I keep all of you in my prayers.

Thank you for your kind words about Paddy, Bobby. I didn’t share them with him, because I didn’t want him to be upset that I knew how he’d been feeling, but I have your words tucked away in my heart, and I’ll be sure to pass them onto him when the time is right. He is a good man, and I’m glad to know that other people see it in him, too.

You really are too kind to me, Bobby. I have a feeling you may be remembering me through rose-colored glasses, but I thank you for your sweetness all the same. Your friendship means a lot to me, too, and I’ll always be so thankful for that night we met. I’ll never forget it.

I find it impossible to believe that your friends could ever like me more than you. How could they, when you’re such a wonderful friend? Tell Tommy Boy and Benny that I say they have to take your word as golden because you’re extremely trustworthy. I don’t want to hear about any more of this doubting nonsense. And tell Paul that my family knows a couple jewelers who would be glad to help an American hero. Whenever he’s ready to find those pearls, he can just give a holler.

I’ll gladly give you some sunshine in exchange for some rain! With fall coming, it’s not quite as hot as it’s been, but we’d still gladly take fresh, clean rain to wash away the last of the sticky heat.

What song would you like to hear? I’ll start practicing now, so that by the time you come home, maybe it’ll be halfway as good as you seem to think it’s going to be.

From what you told me, your mother sounds just lovely. I’d love to listen to some Glenn Miller over a nice apple cobbler with her.

Oh, none of you owe me anything. I’m sure I’m not the first person to make such an observation about the moon, and I won’t be the last. But I am glad that it could bring you all a little bit of comfort. And when the moon comes up tonight, I’ll be thinking of you.

Bobby, you could never fade into the background, not to me. But I do understand what you mean. I’ve always felt the same. I’ve never been one that people take notice of. Dottie’s always been good with crowds. My friends Emily and Marilyn—they were volunteering with me that night at the dance—they’re always good at making conversation. I’ve never been that way. And I’ve always accepted that about myself, same as you. But it is nice to feel like someone really sees you, like they really know you. I have that with my family, but it’s good to know there’s someone else out there who understands me. Someone like you, Bobby. I want you to know me, too.

I’d like it if we could share stories with one another. I’d like that very much. I want to hear more about your farm in Iowa, and your family, and all the mischief that you and Paul and Natasha got into when you were growing up. I’m all ears, whatever you’d like to share.

Before I close my letter, I thought you might like to know that President Roosevelt gave one of his fireside chats a couple weeks ago. He hasn’t given one since April, so we were all very eager to hear what he had to say. He spoke a bit about inflation and the cost of things. He promised that he’s working with Congress to try to keep things as reasonable as possible, but we all understand that’s rather difficult with a war on. And we’re happy to make the sacrifices necessary to do our part for the war effort.

He also spoke a bit about the progress of the war. I admit that talk of battles and military strategy goes a bit over my head, but he did say something that stuck out to me and has been in my head ever since. He said—and forgive me if I paraphrase a bit—that battles and wars aren’t won by men who are concerned about themselves, about their own safety and comfort. And it made me think of you, Bobby, and all your friends. It made me think of what you’re sacrificing, especially your safety and comfort. We’re going to win this war. I know it. And it’s because of men like you. Don’t ever doubt that.

I hope that when this letter finds you, you’ve managed to carve out a little bit of safety and comfort for yourself. I hope that you’re doing well, and that you’ll be able to come home soon.

Please stay safe, Bobby.

All my best,

Peach

[artist-issues]

As much as I adore Lilo & Stitch: The Series and Kim Possible, I don't think my brain returns to any Saturday Cartoon Adventures more than:

Aladdin: The Series - Remember the one where the cat goddess is kidnapping children and turning them into monsters? Or the one where there's a prophecy that Aladdin will die? Or the one where Genie is being hunted by the last of a race of magic-vampires? Or the one where Aladdin is being possessed by the vanquished sorcerer Mozenrath's (what a name) spirit through his magic glove? Or the one where Aladdin literally crosses over with Hercules?

The Little Mermaid: The Series - I think about that episode where she gets sucked down into the trippy, surreal Wonderland trench and can't escape probably every week. Go to Disney Plus and find that episode, it's called "Charmed," it's worth it.

The Legend of Tarzan - Like every episode is burned in my brain forever. The Opar episodes where he'd rather die than choose anybody but Jane, even after he thinks she's dead. The one with the Mad Elephant where Tantor thinks he's contracted the same illness. The one with DINOSAURS. The one where the new radio tower makes every animal go insane and try to kill Tarzan and Jane. The one where a different ape challenges Tarzan for leadership and WINS. The one where Jane's friends come to the jungle to rescue her. The one where Tarzan gets locked in like a prison camp with Teddy Roosevelt?! The one with a magical healing albino gorilla?! The one with Kerchak's old rival Tublat coming to try and take over the gorilla family in a series of traps? ! The one with the giant snake?! The one where Tarzan gets bit by a spider and almost DIES?! The one where Clayton's sister comes and forces Tarzan to choose between saving himself from poison or saving all of his loved ones from several death traps in time?! The one where the African tribes from the Tarzan books help Tarzan find a cure for a deadly disease in special two-part episodes?! The one with a WWII spy coming and trying to steal Jane's affections while simultaneously looking for war information he left in a music box he sent to her?! WHY IS THIS NOT ON DISNEY+?!

Buzz Lightyear of Star Command - Skilled. Courageous. And ever-vigilant. Leaping into action, it's BUZZ LIGHTYEAR, of STAR! COMMAND! I'm tired of having to dig around the Internet to watch episodes like The Wirewolf where an old Space Ranger buddy gets turned into a machine-mauling cybernetic wolf monster by the light of a radioactive moon, or the one where an "energy vampire" named N0S4-A2 tries to eat Buzz's robot friend.

Come on. We got The Little Mermaid: The Series. That Tarzan & Jane movie isn't enough! WHERE ARE THE REST OF THEM, DISNEY

[manorpunk]

Are you writing a book? Or which story format are you aiming to publish your story with?

WELL WELL WELL FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK

I’ve spent this year bouncing several different ideas in my head (Manorpunk: The Rock Opera?) but lately I've been focusing on an outline for a novel, mostly because once the central idea got in my head it wouldn’t leave, and the ideas around it and related to it have been cohering well and I like how it’s developing. Let’s start with the one-sentence pitch! 

Manorpunk: To Seize and Hold - In a balkanized future-America, a small-town gay kid (in the adult sense) catches the affections of an eccentric military commander and becomes a pawn of the vtuber-president’s political schemes.

The Kid is Liam Hessian - Having suffered the thousand cuts of growing up gay in a conservative small town, Liam has become withdrawn and disaffected, retreating into a rich inner life where he may or may not be haunted by an wealthy ancient Roman woman named Leona. Beneath his aloof and disaffected shell, he struggles to maintain a sense of compassion and justice in a world that seems so cruel and nonsensical.

The eccentric military commander is Jacob Martin Rider - after leading a ragtag army to victory during the Quebec War, Jacob retired to a life of luxury, larping as a vainglorious Victorian dandy and living in a mansion full of strapping young men dressed as maids. His relentless charm and confidence hides a cruel, selfish, and cunning side - the sort of person with a smile so bright it makes you forget that he’s killed people. He takes a liking to Liam and sweeps him out of his small town and into a life of delirious indulgence.

And the vtuber-president is, of course, Sunny Roosevelt - the president of Usonia, who has cultivated an image as something of a tutelary deity, a ‘nationsona’ if you will, a bubbly cloth mother in public and a bratty child-empress in private. She has access to all manner of methods for hijacking electronic devices, appearing on people’s screens at a whim. She contacts Liam in private and ‘asks’ him to keep an eye on Jacob for her, to make sure he isn’t doing anything too irresponsible, given his reputation and previous experience.

I like this trio, not just because they’re my OCs and therefore they are my evil stupid babies but also because (I hope) they are thematically rich - each of them are a different take on the theme of one’s public vs. private persona, and each has a sort of historical resonance - Liam has his ancient Roman ghost-buddy, Jacob has his 18th century dress and demeanor, and Sunny’s avatar is a piece of future tech which also hearkening back to an age of patron saints and town protector-spirits (and Sunny is naturally quite happy to be perceived by her fans as something like a demigod).

It also (again, I hope) gives the story a sturdy backbone to build off of. “Oh no, I like you but also I’m supposed to spy on you (and also I’m not sure if I actually like you)” gives the story some stakes to support all the pondering about the fall of American exceptionalism, the goofy Pynchonesque names, and the yaoi.

Right, I haven’t even mentioned Webersberg yet! That’s another big plot thread. Actually, that’s a handy way to transition into an overall plot summary. 

We open on Liam Hessian in his hometown of Webersberg, in the year 206X. 

Back during the Polycrisis - the period in the 2030s when the US federal government collapsed - Webersberg was a mall-fort run by a local gang of bandits, but now it’s an isolated little farming town (the joke here being that bandits are the larval stage of landowners). The initial exposition is justified by having Liam sit up too fast after getting too high, based on personal experience. Liam works at the local Denny’s managed by his father, Roy Hessian, where he waits tables for a handful of bit-characters who help flesh out the setting: local schoolteacher and wine mom Aubergine Poot, affable black-market goons Liquor & Gusto, and the Tractor Samurai, the fourth-best tractor salesman in Manistee, none of whom are deserving of bold text.

We are also introduced to Remington Weber, the boss of Webersberg - calling him a governor in any capacity would be giving him too much credit, he’s in charge by virtue of having a cadre of large adult sons and a monster truck with a gun rack; we also meet Liam’s friend and pseudo-intellectual stoner Solomon van Gekkenhuis.

But, as tends to happen to small towns in the beginning of stories, everything is about to change. All the internet-connected screens in Webersberg are suddenly hijacked to announce the inauguration of president Sunny Roosevelt, who’s here to put America back together again in the form of Usonia, an EU-esque union of independent states There’s a 25% off sale in her merch store to celebrate. The unanimous response to this news is “wait, there was an election?”

Yes, there was an election, but Webersberg was never officially incorporated into the Great Lakes Republic, despite selling their produce all over the state. (I once heard that fascism is ‘the frontier coming home,’ taking techniques of colonial governance and applying them to the imperial core, and I’ve been chewing on the idea ever since. Unrelated, but also there’s an annual fee for ‘citizenship subscriptions,’ and if you have a Platinum tier subscription or higher you get one free hit-and-run a year.) Thus begins a spree to finish centralizing and consolidating the territory within Usonia, which brings us to Bogdan Comprendo, governor of the Great Lakes Republic. Bogdan meets with Remington to discuss the options for town’s future, and the big catalyst ‘things are happening’ scene is their meeting in the Denny’s, which includes this exchange that I’m rather proud of:

“Are you at all familiar with how the construction sector operates, Mister Weber?” Bogdan said, precise and punctilious with a hiss of the s and a click of the t, “the construction sector employs millions of people across every economic stratum, from day laborers to architects to investment bankers, and consumes vast quantities of steel, timber, concrete, rubber, copper, glass, and aluminum. This hunger for raw material creates entire industries which exist just to fill its needs - scores of miners, loggers, refiners, manufacturers, purchasers, and distributors, each industry employing more and more millions of people. If construction were to stop, not only would those construction workers be out of a job, but the demand for all of those raw materials would plummet, causing the price of those materials to plummet as well, ruining the profit margins of those industries which depend on the construction sector's demand. Businesses would go bankrupt. Unemployment would skyrocket. The economy would collapse. There would be chaos and riots. Construction must continue… but there is only so much land to build on. Do you know the best way to ensure continued employment in the construction sector, Mister Weber?”

Bogdan folded his hands and rested them on the table. Remington leaned back and folded his arms and smiled, looking rather satisfied with himself, like a mouse who was so excited to find an unguarded piece of cheese that he hadn’t noticed the cage hovering right above his head.

“By getting my permission to build some shiny new development here, isn’t that right?” he said.

Bogdan flashed a thin, poison-tipped barb of a smile.

“No. The best way to ensure continued employment in the construction sector is to find some shithole, bomb it to the ground, and rebuild it from scratch. That is option A. We are here to discuss option B, Mister Weber.”

Needless to say the construction begins shortly afterwards, giving Liam a glimpse into the new amenities of 206X, first in the form of the NomBox: a vending machine which dispenses fully-cooked meals in conveniently edible box shapes, like a naan cube stuffed with butter chicken or a spaghetti cube stuffed with bolognese sauce. Also, it won’t dispense your food until you say “baby wants a treat.”

On a slightly less whimsical note, Webersberg also gets an Aivrcade cafe - it’s the future, so VR is finally good now, finally, and Liam immediately gets sucked into playing Eternal Frontier, the massively popular fantasy VR MMO. Liam has finally escaped into a comfortable but stagnant routine of working at Denny’s, playing Aivrcade, and sleeping, but Bogdan’s gunboat diplomacy has wounded Remington’s ego, and he won’t take it lying down.

+++++

Whew, that’s a lot, and Jacob Martin Rider hasn’t even shown up yet. Felt good to get this all out, I’ve been rotating these shapes in my head for months and now I get to see it all pay off. Stay tuned for act 2!

[bufomancer]

3 rats confirmed for adoption. 4 rats have a good application, I am hoping it’ll work out and then that entire group will have homes!

I am transferring Lulu and Roxy the chinchillas to a new foster home

Roosevelt the solo male chin has a lead on a potential adopter who has a buddy for him, so fingers crossed! He has been depressed since losing his friend. He’s on gabapentin but really he needs another chinchilla.

I have 4 rats coming in- 1 rat who is part of a group I already have but he escaped just before pickup. Then 3 rats that consist of 2 adoption returns and the rat they were adopted to befriend. Sadly housing issues came up and the owner can’t keep them despite loving them very much.

I don’t think I’m going to be able to intake anything until I can get down to 50 or fewer animals at my house. I’m getting really burnt out.

[blindmagdalena]

Ok that last anon brings up a good point, what are homelanders historical blorbos? Have you ever seen cardi b's episode of hot ones, she is a history girlie and she is a big fan of Eleanor Roosevelt & FDR, what if that's one of homies blorbos AND cardi is in the Boys universe and they become little history nerd buddies?

i wish i knew more about american history because "homelander's historical blorbos" is hands down one of my favorite terms to come out of history nerd homelander. i need you americans to tell me who in american history homelander would kin.

also i did not know this about cardi b, and you're absolutely KILLING me with the image of them being history buff besties. like they interviewed together and stumbled across this common interest 😭 it's giving the same energy as nicki minaj's interview with stephen colbert 😂