#he's worse than actor by miles

[forget-mad-not]

Unpopular opinion: you write the God of Night well when you want to kick him in the face, hands down

So I'm working on a new Soline fic (Celine the Seer from WKM/God of Day from KOllOK, the wonderful ship name is from @zulzinho ✨) and it will, unlike deny your god, feature the God of Night.

And... You know what, I'll just say it: Night is a bastard. Stupid idiot motherfucking Night. Biggest clown in the circus, laughed out of town cowboy God of Night.

I understand why many people worship him, but I refuse to accept it.

In fact, no. I don't really get it.

This man is the worst, if only he were written in character. (I'm trying.)

I want to drown him in a spoonful of hydrochloric acid. (So I think I'm succeeding.)

[ If I survive the exam period, you'll get this story, don't worry. ]

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

[ayumip]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭…

streamer!scaramouche x streamer!reader; modern au

word count: 0.6k

scaramouche and you were famous streamers, and decided to hop onto the “hear me out” cake trend. *gone wrong?* *not clickbait!*

“scara! let’s do this trend!” you called out to him, showing him a video of a couple doing the hear me out cake trend.

“hell no.” he scowled, going back to his game.

“please~”

“no”

“why not! you’re not fun…” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

however, under your persistent persuasion, he reluctantly agreed to do it on stream with you, under the condition that he wouldn’t need to prepare any crazy hear me outs, which of course, you thought it was boring, but whatever!

setting up the camera on your kitchen counter, you greet your chat:

"hi chat! i'm joined with scara today. say hi!" you ushered him, which he reluctantly gave a monotone greeting.

"oh, what's the cake for? we're doing a hear me out cake!" you replied, looking over at the chat, which is going miles per hour as you usually don't do collab streams...well, scara's the exception.

"anyways, lets begin!"

the both of you prepared your sticks, with your respective hear me outs stuck on them. "ill go first! so first, i have omen from valorant, which i think is pretty self explanatory...the girlies that get me, get me" you said, showing the camera before you put it down on the cake. scaramouche gave you a side eye, before retorting with:

"the only thing hot about him is his voice"

"does that mean you admit he's hot-"

"shut up! okay me next." he cut you off with a scoff, which you just giggled at.

"um..." he fiddled around with his sticks in his hand "i have you" he said as he showed the camera, the chat filling with "lmfaos" and "no ways" as he stuck the stick into the cake

"that's just me! why am i a hear me out!" you exclaimed, which he replied with a smirk

"no one can handle you; you're a gremlin"

"but you still love me"

"...its your turn just go!" he said bashfully, looking away from the camera with a slight blush on his cheeks

"okay fine- next i have nico from rio..."

"thats a bird!"

"and?"

"you're weird..." he mumbled, giving you a faux look of disgust.

suddenly, a comment from chat caught your eye: "nico lowkey looks like scara"

"...no because yeah kind of" you mumbled, conversing with chat about how scara resembles nico. scaramouche, looking from afar, was just admiring your animated expressions, your pondering face (which he thought was absolutely adorable, but he would rather die than to admit to your face), and your soft laughs until he was snapped out of his thoughts with you urging him to go next.

"next i have...you, but when you're sleeping"

"...why is it all just me- and besides, when did you even get that photo of me! i look horrendous!"

"exactly why that's a hear me out" he mumbled under his breath.

"hey!" you huffed out, as he let out a small laugh. you looked over at the sticks he prepared, realising most of them are just you, but doing different things, you let out an exasperated sigh.

"you really are obsessed with me aren't you" you giggled.

the both of you continued populating the cake with different characters from different cartoons, game, and actors. before you knew it, you only had one more hear me out left.

"okay...don't get mad at me or anything" you warned

"who can be worse than gill. the fish." he rolled his eyes playfully, slightly amused at who on earth your last hear me out was.

biting back your laughter, you showed the camera and chat who your last hear me out was:

"the last one i have is...um...dottore"

"..." when it finally hit scaramouche who you put on the cake, his mouth was agape; he was shook.

"...that's my UNCLE?"

authors note: i think you guys know which reel i based this on but like lowkey i didnt know what i was writing throughout this whole fic LMFAO i didn't expect it to be this dialogue heavy

[bluecollarmcandtf]

M O O N L I G H T ™

Pulling into the lonely gas station, my eyes quickly find what I'm looking for, a pair of blue lights emanating in the darkness. The glow is coming from the gas attendant's skull: clear indication that he's a Moonlight™ employee.

"Good evening, sir," he says with the overly-endearing tone of a gracious host, "How may I be of service tonight?

I don't hide my distaste for the pathetic menial worker, leaning on his mop and waiting for my reply like he's got the best job in the world. He doesn't actually believe that. He doesn't even know what he's saying, let alone doing!

"Just fill her up," I grunt.

"You got it, sir!" he beams, tending to my car with a pep that's out of place for the late hour.

Moonlight™ was the app that revolutionized working culture forever. It allows the user to sign up for a job while they sleep. All they have to do is doze off and some insufferable AI from Moonlight™ will resume control of the body via remote connection. People like it because they get paid work without experiencing all the boring hours and insincere customer interactions. Subsequently, they always get the same unbearably eager personalities stuffed in their bodies. Even without the glowing eyes, their idiotic grins would make them stand out a mile away!

"How has your day been, sir?" he contines mopping as the gas slowly pumps.

"Don't try to chat," I snap.

"Of course, sir," he doesn't miss a beat, smiling as he returns his neon gaze to the sidewalk he's swabbing.

I just roll my eyes and wander inside. The app doesn't record memories while it's in control, so this guy has no idea how humiliated he should feel. No one should have a shit-eating grin on their face working the night shift as a gas station janitor! I'd die before I gave up my dignity to Moonlight™ like this fucking loser!

On the TV behind the register, an ad plays...

The costumed man on the left steps forward and announces, "Join the revolution. There are over forty-two-million Moonlighter's taking advantage of their sleep! That could be you!"

The statistic makes me cringe. It's nearly doubled since the last time I checked...

The man on the far right of the screen happily taps in, adding, "We're constantly expanding our scope, so check with your employer! If your job doesn't already have a Moonlight™ option, then ask your boss to give you one!"

God, they're pressuring people now? Some jobs should not be done by an AI puppeteered Moonlighter...

Finally, the man in the center steps forward to deliver his lines, "Remember, Moonlighting is a safe and healthy way to not only make money but also get a good night's rest! Why work all day, when you can do it in your sleep!" his head turns, making it seem like he's smiling at either of his coworkers, "After all, we are!"

The three men laugh in unison, like true colleagues chumming up at work, but I know the truth. These three are worse than actors, they're empty marionettes for the Moonlight™ corporation. I doubt they'd ever even met each other in real life...

"Shut up!" I groan, smashing the power button to turn it off.

This world is going to shit. Moonlight™ has grown too large over the past year for there not to be some conspiracy or ulterior motive. I don't know what it is: the elite keeping the working class in their place, our government influencing our decisions, a foreign country converting us into their slaves! It all sounds crazy, but I don't think a single theory is impossible with an app like Moonlight™.

I'm the only one probing into this mess. I may have only worked as a detective for a few years, but I never did any of it fucking asleep!

A few days later, I track down my first lead...

"Good morning, sir," the garbage man says in that unnaturally smooth cadence they all have, "Is there any trash you need collected?"

"I just have some questions," I snort.

One hand pulls the hem of my shirt over my nose while the other swats at the flies. These garbage trucks are absolutely filthy. I doubt the garbage companies even bother washing them out anymore, but why should they if their workers are soulless husks without the ability to care? The man in front of me seems completely oblivious to the mixture of rotting smells and accompanying bugs. His glowing eyes don't even blink as a fly lands on his face, crawling through the hairs of his beard. He's probably lucky that he goes home with no memory of this downright awful job.

"Are you looking for employment with Moonlight™ incorporated?" his smiling lips stir the bug on his face, but it quickly buzzes into the moist retreat of the man's dark armpit, "I'd love to help you install the app and-"

"No," I cut, "Just open the truck. I accidentally threw out something I shouldn't have."

I study the man's frozen grin for anything. It's a test. The Moonlight™ AI is designed to accept demands from free-willed customers, but I have a suspicion that the building nearby is an undocumented base for the company. If I'm right, the company would hate for anyone to root through the garbage of their secret lab...

"...I apologize, sir, but the garbage has already been compacted, and it is unsafe for non-employees to look inside. Please let me know what it is you are looking for and I will search for you."

His artificial glee didn't wane, but the blue light in his eyes did flicker just barely. This guy might be asleep, walked around by remote AI tech, but I could still tell he was lying. I'd like to see one of the Moonlight™ detectives figure that out. As I said, some things are better done the old-fashioned way...

"Well, thanks anyway," I snark, planting a slap on his sweat-soaked back. He says something about it being his pleasure as he resumes handling the garbage, flies eternally buzzing around his smiling head and glowing eyes.

Continuing my investigation, I pop down in the sewer, looking for an underground entrance to Moonlight™'s secret lab...

"Are you lost, sir? Let me help you."

I've had to breathe through a mask to put up with the heavy cloud of steaming sewage, but the Moonlight™ septic worker seems fine, smiling with an open mouth, specks of God-knows-what dried on his teeth.

"No, I'm where I should be," I dismiss him and march past.

Suddenly a muddy glove sticks out and holds my chest. "I'm afraid you cannot pass, sir," his smile is as strong as ever, but the trademark glow of his eyes intensifies.

I've never felt more sure about my suspicions. This mind controlled worker seems ready to fight rather than let me pass. I wonder if this poor soul knows he's being used as a guard as well as being a Moonlight™ sewage worker.

"Why don't you show me the way out then," I relent.

"Of course, sir," his hand removes itself from my chest, leaving a dirty print, "The sewer is a dangerous place for civilians."

I follow as he marches me out of the sewer. It's better to leave and come back later with a plan. Today, I confirmed my suspicions, but tomorrow, I'll finally see what secrets they're cooking up in that lab. I return home and end the day with the satisfaction of being close to a major discovery. Sleep finds me quickly...

Waking up in my bed, I check my phone and find an unsettling message waiting for me...

"Congratulations on finishing your first shift with Moonlight™!" the text reads, "Here is a photo of you hard at work last night!"

"What the FUCK!"

I jump out of bed, but instantly everything feels off. My back aches and my legs are more tired than they were last night! My pajamas are uncomfortable, pinching in areas like someone else dressed me in them! My mind is racing with confusion, and an overwhelming sense of self-consciousness rushes over me. My face burns from the violation, but most of my fear is focused on the strange feeling lingering in the back of my private area.

"What did they do to me?" I try to be pissed, but all I can do is whimper.

Suddenly my phone rings...

"Hello," I growl.

"Good morning, sir," a familiarly gracious man's voice rolls through the call.

"Tell me who the fuck this is!"

"Someone who noticed you snooping the other day, sir," his voice sounds like it's smiling.

Suddenly it clicks. Whoever's calling me from Moonlight™ would never use their own phone and voice. They must be using some poor schmuck that thinks he's working an honest job right now. How am I ever supposed to find who's behind all these layers of lies?

"You can hind behind your brainless puppets," I sneer, "But I will not stop looking into this fucked up company!"

"But now you're one of our puppets, sir. I'm not sure how much credibility a detective has if he spends his nights working the room at the dirtiest club in town..."

"That's sick..." I whisper, thinking about the picture on my phone. The idea of me gleefully stripping for a room of disgusting old men makes me shiver.

"Good luck with your investigation, sir," the voice continues, "But just understand that every time you sleep, your body will get up and report to that club. I have to admit that you're hiding a rather tight body under that trench coat of yours."

"You were there?" I mutter.

"Oh I had to meet the man poking his nose where it didn't belong, sir. I got very familiar with you. You were very friendly last night, so I poked something of mine where it didn't belong."

The voice on the other line laughs, and all I feel is utter humiliation. I hang up the call and stare at the photo he'd sent. It was me alright, smiling like a maniac in the gayest outfit I've ever seen. I didn't like my body being dressed like that. I hate that I was happily busting my ass for the enemy. He had to have been getting off at my humiliation last night. I'm sure he relished every second of what he did to me. I don't even want to think about the sensation left in my ass.

I need to push this investigation faster.

Because tonight, when I go to sleep, I'll be helpless to prevent this from happening again.

[romanceyourdemons]

fanfiction where a young actor gets a bullet through his calf as he flees zhenjiang, and even though the musketball passed cleanly through and even though he somehow managed to avoid infection, he has to walk the whole way to his family home in the country on his own two feet, and by the time he gets there the leg has healed wrong. he had had a promising career—he was called the best dan actor in the city—but it hardly matters that he will never be able to walk onstage again. who has time for opera with british soldiers crawling around everywhere like flies? this is what he tells himself as he endures his aching leg and calluses his hands working on his family’s tea farm: picking the leaves, bruising them, roasting them, packing them into cakes, stacking the cakes carefully in wagons to take to the merchant. but the merchant tells the family he cannot pay them for their harvest right now. with all this chaos, who’s buying? he’s acting with compassion to take these wares off their hands at all. all right, very well, for the sake of their poor sick grandfather he can spare ten strings of cash—but that’s coming straight out of the mouths of his children. and it is true that he has been operating in the red for years, but not because he cannot sell his tea. his mother has been addicted to opium for years, and he cannot bear seeing her in withdrawal pains, and he has a small addiction himself it’s not important, and in any case every copper coin he gets from the east india company is not quite enough to cover what the dapper opium smuggler demands. so he sends off the load of tea cakes in exchange for a box of opium, and the tea gets loaded onto a ship by an old man who speaks english well enough but has never yet dreamed in it, because all his dreams are of his vanished childhood in mumbai. it’s loaded off of the ship by a coughing teenager who does not even remember what galway looks like, and it’s stored in a warehouse that an eight-fingered sex worker likes to work near, because after ten years in the mill she can’t hear nothing but ringing and her eyesight grows worse by the day, and nice smells are the only beautiful thing she can have anymore. and hundreds of miles away more money than any of these people will ever know changes hands, and the tea cakes get loaded into another ship where they sit for years as generations of rats live out quiet lives and conscripts share what warmth they can amid the dusty fragrance, and then they’re dragged out into the polar sunlight and captain james fitzjames, who does not even know he ruined that young actor’s leg all those years ago, orders them abandoned on the ice

[television-bodies]

what's your favorite set design for les mis? alternatively, how would you stage it yourself?

oh anon, you have provided me with the dream question! this is about to be a very long answer.

i fell in love with les mis via the west end production in 2014 and have not been normal about it since. i was lucky enough to see said production, with that staging, quite a few times before the theatre was renovated in 2019 (this was when the revolve was removed and the production was updated to have the same staging as (i believe) every other global production of the show). since lockdowns etc ended i have seen the updated production on the west end a few times now too, and let me scream this from the rooftops: I MISS THE OLD ONE EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE

(i never like to assume people’s knowledge so i will continue here as if you’re not familiar with the key changes, and i apologise if i’m telling you things you already know!)

something that i loved about the original production is that there were almost no set pieces. there were always props, and the odd piece of set as in a wall or something e.g. the gate at rue plumet, but the majority of the settings were created through LIGHTING. examples, i hear you cry! i shall provide. my favourite example of this was in the sewers. when valjean is carrying marius, time was shown to pass as they walked around the revolve with a spotlight illuminating them every few seconds. the actors would change carrying positions in the dark gaps between these lights, so that it acted like a time jump. none of this animated scrolling backdrop screen nonsense they do now. if you haven’t already clocked it yes i am salty about this

lighting also played a bigger part in javert’s death — another point in the show at which they now have a backdrop to act sort of in place of this — the swirling water that he falls into used to be created solely through lighting effects and it was MARVELLOUS. real take your breath away type shit.

the other big point to make is about the revolve, my beloved. it was such a central part of the production but the most important use of it (and one that i see the masses on here mourn fairly often) was that at the end of the final battle, the barricade would slowly turn around to show all of the students dead across it. it was heartbreaking and beautiful and the way they have to literally wheel enjolras’ dead body onto the stage in the current production just does not have anything close to the emotional gutpunch of how it used to be staged. :’(

all in all the original production was much more stripped back visually than the show is now, and i think this served to amplify the power of the acting and singing and the PLOT whereas now it gets me down, because as much as i hate to say this, the current production sort of just looks like everything else. les mis used to be the best thing on the west end by a fucking mile, and it seems (to me) that they have lessened that gap. i understand why other productions of the show — particularly touring ones — would have to go without the revolve, but for the one on the west end, which has been in the same theatre for twenty years, i simply do not see why they thought to change it. change it for, in my clearly strong opinion, the worse.

(i will say here — as vaguely as i can — that i do have a modicum of insider knowledge, and that i can blame this change on cameron mackintosh. but that’s hardly a surprise)

this may all be coming off as very ‘old man shouts at cloud’ of me so i feel the need to say that i do still enjoy the new production — if i didn’t, i wouldn’t have been to see it multiple times. at the end of the day (ha) it is still les mis, and les mis is les mis. it’s always brilliant. i just think it used to be more, and it makes me sad that there’s nowhere to see that original staging anymore. i mean, sure, there are bootlegs. but no proshot? *breaks skateboard* alas, we seem doomed to concert versions until the end of time

thank you so much for the ask! i’m sure you can tell that you hit a nerve with this one lmao but i greatly enjoyed answering it

[masterj]

i'm kinda new to the chuggington fandom. i used to own the episodes on dvd but idk where they went. anyway! I figured it'd be cool to hear the thoughts of someone invested in the show, to get a new perspective on it, so i myself could become more invested! do you have any thoughts you'd share to an amateur train appreciator??

OMGOSH 👀 👀 👀 👀 👀WELCOME ABOARD!!!!! 🚅🚄🚈🚃🚂🚂🚂😄😄😄

I've been into the show since 2011-2012 I think... pretty sure before Cars 2 came out- or maybe after... memory's a bit rough in that area. I was first exposed to the show by my younger cousin who watched it on Disney Junior, or at the time, Playhouse Disney, and also had the DVD Let's Ride The Rails, which I now own, playing in my auntie's van one morning on our way to school. I would later track down Disney Junior myself to find the show.

It was pretty much the main reason I've hung around Disney Junior. As a kid who loved trains because of already being a Thomas The Tank Engine fan, it just to captured my interest so quickly and I was hooked.

I'd say the characters and designs are mostly what I love about Chuggington. While there aren't really antagonists in the show they all have their own quirks and distinction from each other which balances it out well.

Wilson is both my favorite to draw and favorite overall. While I haven't gotten to making my own scripts for my planned fanseries yet, his ADHD personality is just pure spirit animal energy when I look at how he's characterized by the show and by myself. I also relate to him to an extent in some areas. He's practically my son lol

The episodes are mostly well written, and miles better than Thomas was at the time... (*COUGH* SHARON MILLER *COUGH*)

Chris McHale's music for the show some of the most unique I've ever heard and the fact we don't have more of the show's score available in high quality than we do is a crime.

Production slowly went to hell since Season 3 onwards, due to investors pulling out for unknown reasons, resulting in S3 being cut from 26 to 14 episodes, Season 4 being rushed and strictly formulated towards the advanced training agenda, (but the episodes were not by any means terrible) and S5, while better than S4, was entirely funded by TOMY resulting in only 10 episodes. After that, Ludorum Entertainment was on the verge of bankruptcy resulting in the show being on hiatus for five years until Herschend Entertainment purchased them, but things weren't that much better.

Season 6 or Tales From The Rails is sadly where Chuggington truly dropped in quality due to Herschend's low budget and their inexperience with the show. Many characters and locations were written off and a number of the voice actor recasts were not too great. Not to mention occasional mischaracterization (mostly Brewster), continuity errors and overall rather shifty writing quality. The merchandise also plummeted in quality and the pandemic caused several delays, and this whole disaster ultimately led to Season 7 being cancelled as of November last year... 😔

While Season 6 was a failed comeback and is NOT fit to be regarded as canon to the first 5 seasons, it still has a decent number of episodes that are good to okay enough at best, and I do plan on rewriting the misfires of season 6 at some point.

Despite all the hardship this show faced, production, performance, and reception-wise, Chuggington is still very much an enjoyable and mostly solid series. I commend both Ludorum and Herschend for not going down without a fair fight and I've very much grown to love the show just as much as Thomas.

To the point where Thomas content is not my top priority anymore and hasn't been for some time now, seeing as thousands of people do Thomas content already while Chuggington content is very scarce and slow going, even with more people finally appreciating and warming up to it, since there's far worse out there nowadays... media ain't what it used to be so good f---ing luck... 😑

With all the moping and mourning aside, thank you so much for joining us, you don't know how much it means to me to have another person hyperfixating on this underated and criminally disregarded series, but it's important to remember that you don't choose the hyperfixation. The hyperfixation chooses you >:3

I am an artist, editor and headcanon writer, and slowly pushing to write up my own fanseries which takes place after S5, and I even have my own roster of original characters and locations in progress, one OC I've already revealed, and another that was actually created by a Tumblr buddy of mine, @lomotunes2008.

So make sure you follow my art account, @masterjarthub - with notifications on, cuz I may pump out surprises over there!

But for until then, welcome to The Chugger Cult! 🚂🚄🚅🚈😄😄😎😎

Enjoy your stay. 😊

[buckevantommy]

Arranged marriage and online friends au! 😊

Buck realises after two months of emailing back and forth that he doesn't actually know what Tommy looks like. And it's bugging him.

It's not like he wasn't aware of it before; Tommy has been a faceless presence across the digital void, features interchangeable with B-role actors and strangers on the street until Buck had given up trying to put someone else's likeness to someone unlike anyone he's ever met. Still technically hasn't.

After this long, he considers Tommy a friend. Buck just wishes he could put a face to the words.

There have been context clues helping piece together an image of what he might look like - brown hair (at least no one noticed the mud in my hair. I'll have to make sure to schedule time for a shower next time I want to take Annie for a jog in the park before a work event), defined muscles (not that lugging around spare car parts isn't its own workout, but I do have a standing appointment with my trainer to get to. I'm sorry I have to cut this short), tall (Granted, it's easier to get a good look at an engine when you have the height to bend over and not lose your footing) - but no descriptions and definitely no photos (unless you count the pics of his rescue dog Annie and a cameo appearance of his sneakers, which Buck wants to but they don't exactly fill in the blanks).

It probably doesn't matter. It's not like they're ever going to meet in person - Buck is on the west coast and Tommy's on eastern time. They can't just casually meet up for coffee when there's a dozen states between them.

He's not sure Tommy would even want to. Because while Tommy has tossed a few crumbs of his appearance Buck's way over the past eight and a half weeks, Tommy doesn't have to wonder about Buck in return. Because Buck had linked his insta account in his second email. It was the quickest way to show Tommy the state of his beloved Wrangler Renegade given he was at work and it was currently taking up space in Eddie's yard. Tommy sure knows his engines, even from photos that likely didn't show the whole story. With Bobby and Eddie's help (and with Chris being more help than Eddie) they managed to pinpoint the problem thanks to Tommy - something multiple mechanics couldn't nail down let alone fix, instead giving Buck the same excuse of how an old engine with that many miles was bound to give up the ghost sooner or later.

Buck took the jeep up the coast for the first time on his recent 48 off - the first time since his cross-country tour led him to the 118 and a few weeks in she'd stalled out and hadn't been the same since. But there was no sputtering, no chugging fits, no weird noises. Just miles of highway being eaten up under her wheels.

And he couldn't even picture the face of the person he wanted to thank. Maybe it was silly, or petty, but Buck couldn't shake his annoyance at Tommy having never sent him a photo of himself. He totally gets the anonymity of the internet, especially with forums, but he really thought they were becoming friends. Thought they'd keep emailing even if they managed to fix the Renegade.

He also hadn't heard from Tommy in over a week, so maybe that was adding to his irritation. And worry. As soon as they got her running smoothly, Buck posted a video of the jeep to insta and sent Tommy the link. He posted a few more pics of her on the road north and thanked him in the caption:

couldn't have done it without your help T 🌅🚙💻🛠️

Tommy knows how much this jeep means to him, and the more Buck thinks about it the more certain he is that the radio silence isn't like Tommy. He was looking forward to an update! It was the last thing he wrote: Keep me updated!, exclamation mark and all. Maybe he had to go away suddenly for work. Or his computer died. Or his email got hacked. Maybe something happened to him - he could be hurt, or sick, or worse. Maybe he read your emails and saw your posts and knows he fixed the problem so now he's done with you.

Buck stews in that thought longer than he should. It's not impossible, it just. Hurts. He likes Tommy. And screw distance - he wants to keep emailing and getting to know each other. Maybe Buck will get called out east for a nautral disaster (okay, not a great reason) or some kind of specialty training program. Or Tommy will travel out west for work.

Work which he's been pretty vague about, come to think of it. Buck doesn't actually know what he does - some kind of office-type job, going by the mentions of suits and gladhanding. Tommy knows Buck is a firefighter in L.A., but the nature of Tommy's work has been left mostly up to Buck's imagination. Maybe he's a special agent. Or a criminal. Or in witness protection. Or maybe the thought of a secretive existence helps soothe the ache of his abandonment issues; Tommy would reach out if he could but extenuating cirumstances are stopping him.

It happens to be a q-word shift which means no calls to distract him. Pocketing his phone, Buck sinks into the couch and turns on the tv desperate for something to take his mind off Tommy. Taylor Kelly is reporting from the studio these days, no longer chasing stories with a cameraman in a shady white van.

"..And now to political news. Vice President Kinard today announced the long-awaited engagement of his son to the eldest daughter of prominent Senator Olivia Ortiz. Thomas Kinard is the Vice President's only child, and the union is expected to strengthen ties.."

As Taylor talks, photos overlay on-screen: a professional family portrait complete with closed-mouth smiles; a young man - Thomas Kinard - in a khaki flightsuit standing in front of a military chopper; a college graduation gown.

"..Thomas Kinard minored in Mechanical Engineering.."

Another image: tall and broad and now with a mop of brown curls competing in a marathon and helping someone cross the finish line with their arm slung over his shoulders.

It's a minor detail. He doesn't even know why he notices. But Buck's eyes are drawn to his sneakers: Thomas is wearing a black pair with white half-trim and a reflective trapezoid on the heel. Not anything unusual, except that the guy he's helping is wearing a neon yellow pair that somehow didn't catch Buck's attention.

The next image shows an animal shelter and a small crowd of volunteers in candid and posed photos. In one of the candid shots, Thomas can be seen crouching to pet a familiar looking dog.. Annie.

No fucking way.

"..Tommy?"

doing this thing

[croziers-compass]

Summary Notes of Terror Camp 2023 (9.12.23)

(A small summary of notes and references I took during Terror Camp Day One)

Erasure of Sailors of Colour in Arctic Exploration!!! Needs to be explored much more. JEAMS Fitz-James Fitzjames - w'ont put his apostrophes in the back of words. Capitalising Letters where you would Not usually capitalise them is like Italics. it is Emphasis in speech when written.

These jokes are getting Auld. (If you know you know)

Most things were phonetically written.

WOAHOO!!! - James Thompson

Relic? Or Artefact?

Semiophore - Objects regarded in a given community as carries of meaning.

Walpole is a little fucked in opinion. (imo)

Dundy was awful at spelling. Worse than Goodsir.

Capitalists should really look into Thomas Holloway

Everyone knows and loves Snarfin' On Them Ribs Saturday Man Proposes, God Disposes

Lady Jane was offended.

Hudson Bay Speedrun - Let Curiosity be your Compass

James Knight does not girlboss but he thinks he does.

A Ship Called The Whalebone Roald was both an asshole but good at what he did.

The Raft of the Medusa - We knew where that was going.

Johnathan Miles is a Horse Girl

Foreshadowing of the Cannibalism and Mutiny

HOOSH

History is a Panopticon They were just people... (Also a Note. I am worried that a lot of the fandom thinks that the concept of a Panopticon originates from TMA and that it was a TMA reference. It was not. I am wondering now if the TMA listeners know who Jeremy Bentham is.)

Cultural Understandings

IceBound Not Down - I did not take a lot of notes on Professor Hester Blum's panel. I was far too invested to write and when it was over I realised I had not made any notes. She was incredible. I loved her narratives very much. I would love to get her book. It is on my list! You would have had to have been there. It was wonderful. Not News: Dan Simmons is a wee fuckboy. We have established this a lot. He also establishes this for us. (?) Umlaqtalik - There is a boat there.

Imperialism is a disease.

How to read Ethically!

Some of my Notes from the Panel with Paul Ready and Nive Nielsen:

"You can hear a smile in a recording" - Nive Nielsen

Paul "I am not an expert on Anything" Ready

He is so very attached to Goodsir. Goodsir is very much a part of him. Hearing him talk about how integrated Goodsir is to himself was wonderful.

"I think we need more Goodsirs in the world."

Nive and her impressive education on the importance of indigenous representation and how that impacted her. How her voice as not only an actor but an Indigenous Actor was taken with such respect and was given the space to allow for respectful and creative extrapolation on the Set.

A small Note in my book that says: Oh goodness me he is hideously beautiful. I cannot stand how beautiful he really is. Oh my goodness.

"Nothing is good or bad. Just the potential to be." - Nive Nielsen - Terror Camp 2023

Nive: All Humans are good at picking up sincerity.

Goodsir would have hated Hickey.

"Ah. Would you look at that. Dead with my ass carved up." - Paul Ready

Nive: You cannot kill people or let people die because everything is connected and you do not know how that will effect your future. You have to depend on each other. So when there was conflict you had to solve it with as little violence as possible.

A very Important Book Nive Nielsen had spoken about!

You can get a copy on Thriftbooks of "Give Me My Father's Body" by Kenn Harper Here

I had an incredible amount of fun during this event. I am so excited for tomorrow. What notes you are seeing here are just references to part of the panels and some side comments I had made between all of my other more detailed notes. There was so much to be had and so much that we saw and heard. The speakers were incredible and each individual was incredibly dedicated to their impressive Art and Passion. It truly showed. As Nive said: You can hear a smile in a recording". I feel as if this applies to every one of the speakers and all of the panels we had the pleasure to enjoy today.

I have more detailed notes in my journal which, of course, you can see I scrawled a lot in. I had amassed about seven whole pages worth in that time. So to type them all would be just simple a task I cannot do. But I am open to discussions regarding how everything was if you did not get to attend it! Also Terror Camp has a wonderful setup available for you to explore the other avenues that they have presented on their website. So please do go check that you if you are interested! I cannot wait to do this tomorrow with my fellow Shipmates. Thank you so much for everyone that put together @terrorcamp. I am quite excited for tomorrow!

With much love and saltwater kisses,

Second Leftenant in heart and spirit,

-Wilbur E. F. C.

[chaos0pikachu]

I am here actually to appreciate your post. I saw a blogger’s post saying The sign would have been ‘successful’ had it got filled with fantasy and romance and limit action to 10%. I wondered why that person, who says BL is all about romance, watched a show whose genre is action. Then I saw your post about people watching many shows to stay in fandom and I agree. Also you are right about dramas with a complex story receiving heavy criticism. Everything (even lack of proper plot or conflict) is exempted in a romance drama. No wonder most BLs are confined to ‘2 boys and their jealous & crying moments, routine conflicts enhanced by Escola or leads explaining how important Nikon printer is for their relationship’

Well damn hit me in the feels with this appreciation I'ma get all shy and shit.

I always wonder if by "successful" people mean in terms of critical acclaim, story telling, or monetarily. When it comes to Thai shows - and some please correct me if I'm wrong - it's difficult to tell how "successful" they are terms of audience reach/monetarily because there's no easily verifiable information. Like, there's Youtube numbers sure, but The Sign as an example, aired on Channel 3 what were it's ratings total on that channel? Idk, does anyone know that? Sincerely asking lol

Personally the way I like to judge a piece of media is what I call the Roger Ebert method; he often judged films based not solely on whether they were "good" or "bad but by how successfully they accomplished their goals.

If you read his review of Space Jam while it's clear Ebert doesn't think the movie is high art, "You can watch the movie on the sports and cartoon levels, and also appreciate the corporate strategy that's involved. [...] It is difficult for an actor to work in movies that combine live action with animation, because much of the time he cannot see the other characters in a scene with him. But Jordan has a natural ease and humor, an unforced charisma, that makes a good fit with the cartoon universe."

Ebert praises that the film, while filled with obvious product placement and banking on both nostalgia for the toons & star power of Jordan, accomplishes it's goal of being a family for that can be enjoyed by adults and children, and also the ability to blend techniques of live action, animation and 3D rendering.

I bring this up specifically b/c when I see "reviews" of shows in BL - the most common form of meta I see in BL fandom as a whole and that's not a knock just an observation - it's usually always about the narrative. Nothing about the filmmaking. And if there is discussion about he filmmaking it's usually misinformed or worse misinforming - no that's not what aperture means, yaoi framing isn't really a thing in film, the t-shirt is really just a t-shirt, etc, etc.

And like I get why. Fandom is more about story, what the words on a page or what the characters on screen are doing and saying. It's easier to talk about the amazing communication two characters have b/c you don't really need a film knowledge to discuss that. Which is a factor in why I think shows with lower stakes, more streamlined and straightforward plots get praised at a higher, less diligent and harsh level, than shows that are a bit more daring. They're less challenging in structure, they take less risks, so there's less to critique, and there's less room for a show to disappoint.

There comfort food, rather than trying something new at the restaurant. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, again, this is just a general observation.

To me, The Sign is miles better than Cooking Crush on a simple technical level. I only watched one episode of Cooking Crush and I found it pretty mediocre at best from all technical points: acting, editing, cinematography, directing, storytelling.

This isn't to say Cooking Crush is "bad" or that even if Cooking Crush was "bad" people shouldn't like it. I don't give a fuck if people like it, good for you chase the things that spark joy! I like lots of "bad" media, have y'all ever watched Jason Takes Manhattan?

For me, The Sign, like Space Jam, accomplishes it's goals and those were ambitious goals. An action fantasy BL that actually lives up to that premise and looks good?? The fight choreography looks great considering the obviously budget??

Like one of my issues with Laws of Attraction - aside from how painfully disinterested those kisses looked - was the fight choreography was bad.

The characters very rarely land hits in a way that looks real, or even marginally real. I can only speculate they didn't hire a stunt coordinator and/or couldn't hire stunt doubles so there was a worry of injury on set (for both reasons).

This isn't a disparagement on the actor(s) either, like stunt work is difficult and it's important to have professionals on set who can walk an actor through the steps so both them and others don't get hurt. Jackie Chan is probably one of the best known actors alive for stunt work, but watch how many times he fumbles and potentially hurts himself to the point where other actors are actively worried for him:

So yeah I'm going to give The Sign it's fucking gold star stickers b/c aside from some missteps in the gun handling - to many one handed gun fights but even then it wasn't all the time and bullets ran out of ammo! Y'all don't know how exciting for me that was to see - the fight scenes look damn good.

I understand the work that went into them, I understand the pre-production time that it took for the crew and cast to learn that and filming them well is another beast too.

There's a couple scenes with shaky cam that I dislike, but god do I love that first long take in The Sign. I love how good the CGI looks overall again, considering what is probably less budget than Black Christmas (2019).

I'm admittedly, fucking picky about what I watch b/c I'm really lazy and prefer watching films in general. I don't really like TV all that much, but if I am watching a tv show I wanna be impressed with more than just the characters talking to each other. Especially if said show is 12 hours or more.

When I'm looking at a piece of media - a comic, a novel, a film, a tv show - I'm thinking about stuff like "what were it's goals, and did it accomplish them? How was the filmmaking? How was the narrative structure? What is the time/place/culture this was made in?"

I'm not sure if people are arguing if The Sign was "successful" in terms of narratively, monetarily, or critically.

In reality we can only really speculate on how successful a Thai BL is based on data that's not not entirely accurate - social media, youtube stats, awards, etc - and even then most of that is based off international audience.

I can glean that 2gether was successful for gmmtv b/c it got a second season and a film, pretty much skyrocketed Bright and Win's individual careers but again, and created a cross country alliance for activism. But even all that is still speculation not facts (except the alliance that's a real thing that happened lol).

[This is all regardless of my own feelings regarding the show which is not kind. But feelings have nothing to do with individual discussion about how monetarily successful or accomplished a show is or isn't.]

Like it might be valid speculation on both shows but it should always come with a disclaimer of - these are not facts. Also, what is "popular" or "successful" can and will be dependent on individual countries too.

Take Cutie Pie for example, I would argue that it wasn't super "successful" here with American fans, but given how overwhelmingly popular Zee and NuNew are in both Thailand and Korea, I would then argue that the show was a success in Thailand and Korea. So was Cutie Pie "successful" or not? I would say yes!

Because "success" isn't and shouldn't be measured only by how western fans receive a piece of media.

In regards to The Sign, I'd argue it appears to be very successful with only the partial data I have at hand - social media which includes places like twitter, facebook, tumblr, the success of their sold out showing for the finale, a special episode, etc. If people argue it was unsuccessful in terms of narrative, well that's debatable and I have no interest in debating why the show is good except in terms of technical filmmaking and storytelling.

And even then it's a pointless debate like or dislike whatever just don't lie or mislead people regarding film terminology and techniques or harass people because they did like A Thing or clog up the tags with annoying posts about how you didn't like said Thing.

Overall, I don't give "reviews" on things I watch either positive or negative cause, well, I'm lazy lol, I don't believe putting how much I hate a show in it's tags and a thorough rating system would be to much work. I actually like how My Drama List rating system works, I just find most reviews on it to be Annoying lmao. Like giving Kinnporsche a 5 or below is absolutely bonkers to me but whatever es lo que es. But I also don't think my thoughts and opinions on shows are that valuable in terms of discussion.

These are mostly my general thoughts on fandom at large and it's not directly at any particular people its just observations at large across various social media platforms.

I think if you like more squeecore shows that's totally gucci, I just wish didn't proposite that 1) those are the only valid shows in terms of BL/queer media and 2) didn't overhype them to such sky high levels

[eurodyning]

Six Song Soundtrack - Tyrell "Orion" Cormier

Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following:

An event that defines your character’s past: Father - The Front Bottoms

I believe that, yeah, Dad, maybe no one is perfect But I believe that you were pushing your luck It just sucks it played out like this A terrible movie and you can tell none of the actors even give a fuck

The Father Complex - Many Rooms

I bet you're looking for a "sorry" I'm looking for one too What goes on inside your heart? What makes you do the things you do? Do you really talk to God? Man, I wonder what he tells you Maybe he has given up The way that I gave up too Well, I hope that you're happy Without me

How to Never Stop Being Sad - dandelion hands

My life is shit because I deserve it, right? You must have done something real bad

Allow yourself to lose interest in the things you love Watch as you begin to take a backseat to the world around you, don't fight it Become a secondary character in your own motion picture But most importantly Drown every single one of your feelings in old stolen rum Learn to love the taste of it dripping down your throat Find comfort in the warmth coming from your stomach You're drinking bottled love now You don't need other people to drive away your loneliness

How your character sees themselves: Toxic Thoughts - Faith Marie

If this isn't right Then does that mean I failed? Will my melodies ever live up? Will my metaphors be profound enough? Will I ever outdo myself? The ceiling gets higher and higher It's harder and harder to shatter And when I fall I fall worse than I ever did before

How others view them: Art Hoe - Call Me Karizma

5'4", black hair, never had her dad there Kissed a lot of boys but Never seems to have care She just wants vodka and cigarettes Has the dealer on speed-dial when she gets stressed

Wakes up at noon Gets up when she has to Makeup on her nightstand Cocaine in her bathroom She just wants love that she never gets Has my number on speed-dial when she needs sex

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic): Young American -The Vaccines

Hold me in the grips of your jaw So you can show me what my mouth is for Suffocate me in between your thighs And take me swimming, naked, in your eyes

Pull me into orbit with your hands Then show me where you wanted me to land

Heavy and aggressive, I'm your thug So easy and obsessive, I'm your drug

A major fight scene: Move Like U Stole It (Remix) - Z Ward, Paul Oakenfold

Can't wait another mile The world ain't ending but it might as well be I'll rock you like the sea Buildings ain't crumbling but they might as well be So let's not think and just Move like you stole it Move, hurry Move like you stole it Make your move on me

End Credits: In the Modern World - Fontaines D.C.

In the modern world I don't feel anything in the modern world I don't feel bad Kissing on the corner Wait for just a minute I don't feel bad I feel alive in the city you despise

tagged by @aztarion thank you jez! ❤️

a toreador (🚩) with substance abuse and father issues? well i never. as expected i couldn't stick to the six song limit. have a sunny crossover meme i threw together in a minute

i've never talked about my boy tyrell on here before but maybe i will post more about my ocs in time. tagging: @psych0ruinz and anybody else who would like to play!!

dividers by @diableriedoll !!

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 27 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Oh guys this is a hard read for my first post in a hot second. I have been slow at writing this, cause this is super important and I don't want to have it be bad, or tacky. This is obviously horrible what happened to these people, and sometimes that horrific a of an event is hard to put into words. This is in means no way to offend anyone.

Disclaimer: End part of episode 9, if you are not comfortable with this please don't read.

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, not hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, anyone else please let me know.

We again piled into the trucks, we were making good time, but it still felt like years being in the back of the vehicle. Babe had kept my secret from everyone like I had asked, but I caught him sending me looks throughout the night. The sadness still lingering in his eyes from the conversation we had had previously. All I could do was send him small smiles. 

We passed through the green countryside, chatting amongst ourselves. The rolling plains seemed endless, as they stretched out for miles, further than the eye could see. 

The trucks passed through the outskirts of the small rural town, a decrepit barn sat on the side of the road. Even from over the roar of the engines from all of the vehicles driving by, I could still hear the yells of men. I look to the barn curious about the commotion, everyone else also peering over. The barn door swung open as soldiers tossed men onto the ground, I could see from here the men were wearing German uniforms. I couldn’t look away fast enough as the soldier’s standing behind the men raised their guns, shooting them in the back of the head. I turned my eyes away from the scene, not wanting to witness the brutal killings. 

The other men seemed unfazed.

Except for O’Keefe, who looked around to his fellow comrades with shock on his face. They didn’t return the sorrow that etched his features, only shrugging their shoulders, or smiling at the man for looking so distraught by what he had seen. 

His eyes finally landed on mine. I returned the look of sadness and horror, but mine was worn with memories behind it. O’Keefe eyes shone with new fear and sadness, whereas mine was tattered and old. O’Keefe had not yet known the horrors of war, I guess that’s why the men didn’t reciprocate his concern. We all had seen much worse than a few men being shot in the head. 

What an odd statement to make. To realise. 

O’Keefe’s reaction was only natural, but for us it wasn’t out of the ordinary. It was a sad reality to think we were accustomed to the horrors we had seen.    

We finally pulled into the little town. The men quickly departed the trucks, getting orders from the Lieutenants. We weren’t staying the night, just stopping for a break, before continuing on in our journey. 

“I have to go on a patrol through the woods.” Don said as he approached me. I nodded my head, giving him a smile. There wasn’t much for me to do here, we weren’t unpacking, so I hung around the officers in case they needed me for something.   

“Ok, be safe.” I placed a kiss on his cheek. I watched as he walked away joining the rest of the men he was going with. 

—----------------------------------------------

“Emily! Guys! Hey, have you seen any of the officers?” Frank yelled from behind us. I turned to face Perconte, his normal playful expression filled with urgency. 

“No.” Babe, Lieb and I all stated. 

“Is everything ok, Frank?” I asked the man, my face changing to concern for my friend. He had been on one of the patrols. Everyone else had come back from theirs except for their group. But Frank was by himself, where were the other men? Even Don had come and gone, saying they hadn’t found anything. Frank didn’t answer me though, sprinting from one soldier to the next, asking the same questions. 

I watched him, my brows furrowed and lip caught between my teeth. Babe and Lieb seemed to have brushed off the odd interaction going back to the conversation they were having. 

“Ain’t that right, Em?” Babe nudged me, but my gaze was still fixed on Frank running around frantically. 

“Em?” Lieb asked, clicking his fingers in front of my face. 

“I think something’s wrong.” I told them, my stomach churning. I felt unsettled, something not sitting right in my gut. 

“He’s probably fine.” Lieb said, lighting his smoke, taking a deep drag from the cigarette. “Don’t look so worried, Emmy.” He tried to reassure me, stroking his hand down my back. But I shook my head. I set off after Frank as he ran into one of the buildings. 

“Em, where are ya going?” Babe called after me. But I didn’t turn to explain. I ran after Frank, gaining on him as I sprinted, dodging my way through the crowd.   

Frank found Winters first. The red haired man walked out of the building they had been temporarily occupying. I hung back not wanting to interrupt them, but I was desperate to know why Perco was so frantic. 

“Major Winters, Sir.” Frank started chasing after the officer who walked briskly towards where I stood. 

“Uhh, we found something.” Perco didn’t seem to know how to phrase his words. The pair passed in front of me, I followed behind them closely, eavesdropping in on their conversation. 

“We’re out on patrol and we came across this…” Frank stopped trying to find the right way to describe what he had seen.

“What, what, what, what?” Major Winters prompted Perco trying to get him to spit out what he wanted to say. 

“Frank, Frank, what is it?” Winters seemed just as concerned as I did. Perco stood in front of Dick, mouth agape, trying to think of how he wanted to explain himself. 

“I don’t know, sir.” He uttered, shaking his head. 

At that moment my stomach dropped. I didn’t know why, but something about how flustered, confused and scared Perco looked set me on edge. 

This war wasn’t pretty, hell no war was. But there were horrific things done, so many lives lost. There were a number of explanations as to what their patrol found, each one just as dreadful as the next.  

Winters saw that too. He loaded a couple groups of men into the back of the trucks, myself included. With Frank in the front car with the rest of the officers, he gave directions back to where the patrol waited.

I sat between Don and Lieb, no one seemed to take Frank’s worries seriously. The men in the bed talked and chatted casually to each other. I sat elbows on my knees and head in my hands, I couldn’t stop my leg from jittering and my stomach churning. 

We drove into the dense forest, following the dirt roads and Frank’s directions. I watched as Perco lifted his arm pointing left, my eyes followed. 

My heart dropped as my eyes landed on the gruesome sight. 

There in the thick of the trees, was a clearing. 

Within the open space was a fence, lined with barbed wire. The tall barrier loomed over a muddy field. In the middle sat wooden huts and a bigger building sitting at the edge. Outside of the fence was a tall watch house. 

I knew from the first glance what this was. 

No, I knew from the smell. 

That was the first thing to hit me. The stench of sweet rotting flesh filled my senses, it felt as if it clung to everything, there was no way to escape it. The men around me screwed up their noses and flinched away from the foul scent, their attention finally captured. 

The chatter had died as soon as the camp came into view. From a glance around the bed I could tell a lot of the men were confused, unsure of what they were looking at. Just like Frank; they were unable to put into words exactly what they were seeing.       

Within the confines of the barrier stood people. Well, they didn’t look exactly like people. I could see, even from a distance, their bodies were unfed and unwashed. 

The trucks stopped, the men slowly disembarking. It was silent, as they all tried to understand what exactly they were looking at. 

I jumped out immediately walking closer to the barrier. There were two fences. A perimeter between the two, enough for people to walk in. A body lay between the two barriers, gaunt and lifeless. 

The men inside the gate all wore the same sets of clothes, blue striped pyjamas. I swallowed the lump in my throat, tears already brimming in my eyes. 

It was one thing to learn about in school, but another to see it in real life. It all but consumed me. 

Everyone else still had no idea what this really was. Eyes all filled with questions and horror. 

Winters slowly approached the gate. The men inside stood waiting. I wonder if they knew if we were good or bad, but they didn’t run. They gathered around looking back at us as we looked in on them. 

There were no women, no children, only men inside. But they didn’t look like it. They all appeared pale and lifeless, only skin and bone, barely moving. 

The men opened the gate as everyone gathered in front of the opening. 

“Major, sir?” Christenson questioned, asking if he should proceed in opening the next gate. The gate that would allow these people to be free of their confines, and allow us to enter their decimated prison. 

“Open it up.” Winters commanded. The men nodded their heads, cutting off the chain that secured the compound closed.   

“Stand back, back it up, back, back.” Christenson commanded the prisoners as he tried to swing open the gate. 

They stepped back revealing smoking huts and even more men, ones who didn’t seem strong enough to approach the barrier. 

I couldn’t hold back my tears as they slipped down my face. I looked from person to person I could see the torture they had endured etched into their features, but I’m sure that was only a second. Only a small glimpse into the years of horror they had to live through. 

How many people did they have to watch die, family, friends, peers. Wondering if they were next or secretly praying that someone would just end their pain.

I wonder how long they were kept in these cages like animals waiting for their slaughter? 

How could people be so cruel to their own kind? 

We moved forward slowly as a group, the prisoners watched us, they looked apprehensive for a moment before they all seemed to realise we were not the enemy. 

They moved forwards, hands reaching out grabbing at the soldiers who walked in. I felt the sleeves of my shirt being tugged glancing to the side to find the men holding tightly onto me. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all I could manage, they didn’t even understand what I was saying but I just wanted them to know how awful I felt. 

A man reached for me embracing me in his arms, I held him back. I could feel under the material of his clothes, his thin frame, I could feel every rib and bone as I hugged him. 

He sobbed into my shoulder whispering in German, I didn’t understand what exactly he was saying but it sounded like he was thanking us. 

“Liebgott, Liebgott!” Winters called from the front of the group. My heart stopped. Lieb, my best friend, my rock. He had no idea his own people were one of the main targets in Hitlers regime.

I watched Lipton move back through the crowd yelling Lieb’s name. Joe and Don stood guard just outside the gate, guns in hand. 

Lipton brought him back through the crowd. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, he glanced over to find my gaze. 

Joe tilted his head, without words he was asking me if I was alright. I weakly nodded my head still wrapping my arms around the German man who wept into my shoulder. 

There was no way I could stop Lieb from finding out, and it would break him. All I could do was be there for my friend. 

Lipton spurred the men into action, instructing the men to give these people rations, blankets, food and water anything we could spare. 

The man holding me stepped back collapsing to the floor, I glanced around looking for water. 

“Water, can I get some water over here!” I yelled, Babe moved quickly holding out a canteen for me to take. 

I unscrewed the lid, pouring water into the man’s mouth. He was exhausted, as if he was holding on to the last of his strength until help came. When he knew he was safe he finally let go. 

I moved from person to person, tending to their ailments. But most of them I couldn't do much for, it wasn’t like they were actively bleeding out like all the other injuries I had become adjusted to. They were sick and starving. 

The only thing I could do was offer food and water. But each time I lifted my head the numbers grew, the more that gathered, the more ill they looked.  

A man approached me holding another in his arms. The man in his arms looked so weak, nothing to him but skin and bone, so pale he was almost translucent. 

The prisoner holding the man spoke quickly in German, his eyes pleading with me to help. I held out my arms as he passed over the very ill man. 

I let out a gasp as he was placed in my arms, he weighed almost nothing, I could feel every piece of him under my fingertips. 

I knelt to the ground holding the German man in my lap, trying to figure out what I could do to help him.  

“How can I help you?” I muttered under my breath. 

“Sing bitte für mich.” The man that lay in my arms said. I tilted my head listening to his whispered words. 

“Lieb!” I called, he rushed over kneeling next to me. 

“Sing bitte für mich.” The man repeated himself. 

“He wants you to sing for him.” Lieb said softly. I nodded at the man, if that's what he wanted I would do anything. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey.” I sang quietly to the dying man, the song my mother used to sing as a lullaby to me. 

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.” The man reached his hand up cupping my face as I sang for him. A tear slipped down my cheek. Lieb sat close and watched us. His own eyes glistened. 

“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms.” The man smiled at me, more tears falling down my cheeks as I held him in my arms. 

“When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and cried.” The man brushed away my tears, as his hand fell back down to his side. His breathing faded. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” A sob left me as the man stared up at the sky. 

I let go of his hand, resting it by his side. I moved from underneath him, lying him gently on the floor. 

Joe encased me in his arms as I sobbed into his chest. He pulled away, I looked up to find Don standing over us. He opened his arms for me, I stood from my position on the floor and moved into his embrace. His hand ran down my back as I cried. 

We pulled apart, Lieb had gone and gotten a blanket. He gave it to me to lay over the man. I bent down, closing his eyes to make him at peace and gently placed the blanket over his body. 

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered as I stood again. I wiped my tears away.  

Lieb was called away to translate, as Don and I moved around the camp, trying our best to help the men who came to us. 

We stuck close to each other not wanting to stray from the other’s side. 

I kept glancing over my shoulder to find Lieb with the officers and one of the German men. He was translating for them. I was just waiting for the bomb to be dropped, the truth to be revealed. 

“Everything ok?” Don asked, I shook my head. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, coming closer. 

“Don, this camp. These aren’t prisoners of war.” I started, unsure of how I was going to explain this to him. His brows furrowed as he listened. 

“These people are innocent. They were dragged from their homes, away from their families. The only thing they have in common is that they are different.” There were so many groups here, but anyone who was ‘imperfect’ or ‘different’ was casted out. 

“What do you mean?” Don couldn’t understand that these people did nothing wrong. I’m sure his mind went to why would they lock these people up if they were innocent?

“Jews, Poles, Roma, musicians, people with disabilities, people of colour, this is who they have captured. And this isn’t the only one! There are thousands of these camps, some far worse than this. Don, Hilter wants a superior race, anyone who doesn’t fit that bill he’s exterminating.” Don couldn’t stop the horror in his eyes as he realised my words. 

“You’re saying there are more of these camps? That more people are in this condition?” Don asked, his eyes flicking around our surroundings imaging more of these exact situations. 

“They split up the families, women and children together and then the men together. These camps cover all of Germany and some other countries as well.” I explained the best I could to Don, who didn’t look like he was able to wrap his head around the information spilling from my lips. 

“Wait, how do you know this?” He asked his brows furrowed together as he glanced over at me. 

I bit my tongue, this wasn’t the time to expose my true self, all of this was too much in itself. 

“The nurses have been talking about it, I didn’t quite believe it till now.” I lied through my teeth, but Don didn’t notice, he was too wrapped up in the scene playing before us. 

“What are we going to do?” He asked, his sweet eyes full of sorrow as he looked over each person that walked in front of us.  

“I don’t know?” I answered honestly, as I stared off into the distance.   

I again glanced over to Lieb who was translating for the officers. Each man with their own look of horror and shock on their face. I bit my lip, waiting and watching. 

“Juden, Juden.” The prisoner they were talking to repeated. I didn’t need to be translated, I could see it clearly on Joe’s face what the man had said. 

“They’re Jews.” Lieb uttered, in his own disbelief and rage. Lieb was a loyal man. This camp, this attack, was on his own people, his family. 

“Lieb knows.” I told Don who was giving water to a man. I wanted to run over and hug him, but he was keeping his composure, still translating for the officers. So I turned my back and helped the men who gathered before me.  

The further we walked into the camp the more awful it became. The huts the men were living in were burned down to the foundations, burnt skeletons still resided in the ash and rubble. 

“Jesus Christ!” Don muttered covering his face with a piece of fabric, the smell was so strong it almost made it unbearable to breathe. 

“Look at their arms.” Don pointed out two men who lay still in the ruins. Numbers etched into the flesh on their wrists. 

“Like cattle.” Babe shook his head. We walked in silence through it all.  

We helped as much as we could, going into the huts and bringing people out. Each time I stepped inside, my heart clenched and cracked, it was tearing me up. 

The tears had stopped long ago, there was nothing more left to cry. I just needed to help, I think at some point I switched off, just to maintain some sanity, because before I knew it we were back in the beds of the trucks.

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

Chapter 28

[gwandas]

Okay but what are the top 5 bullet points for hating MCU Spiderman? His arc? The actor? Accuracy?

You probably forgot you sent me this but I DIDN'T. This is a very serious question to be asking me and thus this is probably much longer than you initially bargained for <3

His friend group is ass. MCU MJ and Ned exist to be his yes men, they always help him, they always get along, it sucks and it's boring. People always dog on the Raimi movies because the Peter-MJ-Harry triangle is toxic but honestly that's nothing compared to the drama the original Peter-Gwen-MJ-Harry-Flash had going on. That shit would kill an MCU stan they were SO messy... and that was what made it fun and juicy. Peter's complex interpersonal relationships are so so crucial to Spider-Man. One of the reasons he became so popular is because the Peter Parker part of his story was just as interesting as the Spider-Man part, people loved his personal problems! That's why his supporting cast are just as well known by even casual fans.

Stole too many plot points and personality traits from Miles Morales. For example, see point no. 1, MCU Ned Leeds is literally just Ganke (Miles' best friend) that they slapped a Ned Leeds nametag onto.

Tony Stark and MCU Peter's desperation to be an Avenger. I actually cannot stand the desperation it's pathetic and unbecoming. Comic Peter Parker would tell MCU Tony Stark to go fuck himself on the regular if he pulled the stuff he does in the movies. Spider-Man is also not even close to as fun when he has access to all the toys and funds he could want. Also the first time he meets the Avengers in the comics they literally stalk him trying to get him to join and he keeps going "LEAVE ME ALONE" so I think it's funny MCU Peter is so desperate to be one

The personality could not be worse. One of my favorite things about Peter is that he's a reluctant hero. He wants to do the right thing, use his powers for good, but it always comes at a cost to his personal life. The constant push and pull and deliberate decision to be a good person when he doesn't want to... I love that about him. There are always hard choices in a good Spider-Man story. I once saw a movie critic that said "MCU finally gets Spider-Man right. He's a happy go lucky guy that loves being a superhero." Literally every word of that sentence is incorrect. People think that because comics are so vast, with different authors and different ways they're written that you can do whatever you want in the movie and it's fine... NO. There can be some variance, sure, but Peter has always had a distinct personality. Sure sure sure you can tweak things here and there, I'm not saying Peter always has to be portrayed as a selfish asshole who's always broke and never happy (because obviously there are times in the comics when he isn't those things) but you can't change EVERYTHING at once. Making him a guy that loves being a superhero and has zero personal life problems (aside from ??? wanting to vacation in europe and get with the girl he likes)... literally destroys everything interesting about the character.

Less about him and more about the conversation around him, my biggest pet peeve used to be people that would go "well this is the third reboot, of COURSE he's different." well NO because the MCU chose to adapt Peter Parker and Peter Parker has a specific personality and storyline. "Of course they changed the storyline" first of all they had a million options and could've just inserted an adult Peter into the MCU if they didn't want to do his origin story, but his origin story is important... I honestly think the decision to skip over it is what caused the terrible writing because without that origin you've removed all his motivations and drive. You can't just say hey we'll use Peter Parker but in order to differentiate ourselves we'll make him unrecognizable... just use a different character at that point... LIKE MILES which is what SO many people said before Homecoming came out.

Bonus: My favorite hate posts I found on my blog from like 2019 or whatever

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/187539416484/beerecordings-portrayal-of-aunt-may-really-tells

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/188036695984

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/187480534389

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/187177201644

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/187158420054

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/187154929204

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/187153389594/mcu-had-the-audacity-to-have-a-grown-women-force

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/187152145584/peter-parker-is-leaving-the-mcu-i-didnt-know-he

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/186857669531/wlwintersoldier-here-is-my-argument-on-why-tony

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/186839380098

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/186835788169/wow-i-sure-do-love-peter-parker-who-made-his-mark

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/186758593029

https://gwandas.tumblr.com/post/186450361464/spidermanwlw-me-and-the-girls-when-a-new-mcu

[ash5monster01]

Ashley my love. I recently reread your masterlist, YOU ARE FANTASTIC. Just needed to shout that out =) I've got an idea for a story. Don't know if you like it but I give it a try, especially after discovering that Miles Teller is on your character List????? Omg yeah. Here it comes:

Miles and reader are best friends since for ever and always more than happy to film together. Her excitement is marred by a new regisseur who gives her instantly a bad feeling (guy is flirting with her, gives her creepy looks and stares whenever he gets the chance). The whole situation is getting worse when gets touchy and handsy and when he corners her when she's alone. The creep harasses her and even threatenes her that when she's not dating him or be more friendly to him he will end her career. Miles notices that there's a change in the behavior of his normally bubbly sunshine best friend. Got more details in my mind, but that doesn't mean that you have to use them in any way!!!!!! I imagine that Miles and her always sharing an apartment when they're together, so he notices her sleeping not well, hearing her having nightmares. But she always brushes him off. One day he finds her having a panic attack behind her trailer (the creep just touched her rough and claim her dating him)....yeah well I need some good angst, drama, some hurt and an protective Miles, a fluffy end mayhabs?!

Love ya girl, it would ne fantastic if you let me know if you like my idea

Not Yourself

Pairing: Miles Teller x FemReader

Warnings: 18+ due to heavier themes, mentions of SA, abuse, depression, language, control issues, gaslighting, fluff

Summary: Being best friends for a long time can be like wearing rose colored glasses, ignoring the fact that feelings can change, touches can become more, and love can evolve into an entirely different thing. Some people ignore these signs for their entire lives but when Miles notices you’re not the same bubbly girl anymore he discovers a sad truth and in the midst of it all he can’t deny how he feels about you any longer.

a/n: I've had this request for ages and I am so sorry, I am busy literally all of the time and try to keep up with my own series and requests all the time. plz enjoy now that it is finally here xx

word count: 3,038

Masterlist

It’s been three weeks. Three weeks since you stopped smiling as much, since you stopped looking him in the eye, since you stopped laughing at his jokes, since you stopped spending time with him, since you had a full night of sleep. He had heard you, crying, having nightmares, your sobs barely muffled by the door. He wished he could figure out when it all changed. Everything was fine. You both landed another project together, found a perfect apartment to use while filming, you had been so happy. It was the two of you against the world like always. Yet now it’s as if the sun didn’t shine and because of your broken smile the world couldn’t really thrive.

Being an actor in this industry was hard, you had heard the horror stories, yet you still took it on knowing you had your bestfriend by your side. From highschool plays until now you were continuing to face the craziness of this job head on. Luckily enough with him by your side, landing new projects together left and right. You figure you had gotten too comfortable, too blind with happiness to see the warning signs, too scared to say no when one of the producers had asked you on a date. You figured one date couldn't hurt, that you could just go and keep your job, make up an excuse to get out of a second date, but it was too late. You had let him in and now he held the power. He held more weight in the bustling world of show business and now his threats of debunking your career were enough to scare you silly.

It was supposed to be the fun part of the date, the walking you to the doorstep, pink cheeks hidden by the dark of the night and revealed in the glow of street lamps, a shy kiss shared under the porchlight. Instead it was a tight grip around your wrist, back pressed into the hard brick of the home, wide eyes, as he threatens to end your career if you don't date him. Then you finally realize all that flirting and staring he had done on set was more creepy and forceful than anything. Blood pulsing through your veins you agreed, a harsh and unwanted kiss forced upon your lips. You waited till he got in his car and left before breaking down in tears on the front steps. You had promised yourself you wouldn't be one of those Hollywood horror stories and yet here you were, blindsided, and completely alone. You couldn’t even tell Miles, the keeper to every secret and embarassing story in your life. Once you realized this you waited until the living room lights turned off before entering the home and hiding in your room so he couldn't see the heartbroken look on your face.

Now it had been three weeks of this torture. Unwarranted touching and kissing all over set and it was as if nobody noticed or they ignored it for their own benefit. That broke you more than anything. The only person to inquire about your change in demeanor your best friend Miles, but you denied him every time. Assuring him everything was okay even though it definitely wasn't. Your only safe place was your room at night, but the abuse had followed you into your dreams, nightmares startling you awake until you were too scared to fall sleep, tears taking place of sleep. So you learned to live with the pain, but the thing about holding everything in means it dulls the parts of you that shine brighter. It’s harder to smile when something so heavy sits on the weight of your shoulders. You just prayed nobody would really notice.

Opening your trailer door you were prepared to make it to set, thankful you were a good enough actor that your emotions hadn't tainted your performance. Least expected as always, the strong grip curled around your wrist, and practically tugged you off the trailer steps before pulling you around and out of sight of anyone passing by. Your heart instantly quickened and suddenly you were slammed against the cool metal of the trailer before his large hand wrapped around your ass. You let out a shaky breath due to the close proximity and he snarled in your face. Barring his teeth like a wild animal and you were instantly fear stricken, frozen in place, and prepared for more trauma to add to your plate. Another nightmare brewing just at the edge of your fingertips, not even your work place safe from the abuse.

"You look good today, just for me?" his hand squeezed tighter, heavy breaths landed on your face. Your stomach churned with disgust over his weird attraction towards you. "Bet you sat in that makeup chair, begging them to make you look good so I could have something to see"

His other hand finally let go of your wrist, wrapping around your neck, the coolness of his rings practically stinging you by the touch. You shuddered as his face closed in, warm mouth landing on your neck as he left wet kisses, devouring you like a meal in the worst way. You prayed it would be enough, that he would leave, but then his hand was gripping your chin, mouth landing againt your own, and tongue shoving inside your mouth despite how hard you tried to keep your lips closed. Tears burned at the back of your eyes but you knew not to let them fall, to not give him the satisfaction. After what felt like hours he finally let go, backing off with a sly smile on his face. Hiding your shuddering body he pointed in your direction.

"Keep that pretty little mouth shut" he sneered and then he was gone, leaving you behind the trailer in a broken heap, heart racing, and life ruined. Once you could no longer hear his footsteps you were on your knees, tears free falling as sobs raked your body. You couldn’t control it as the panic rushed through, anxiety closing your airways, as you tried to wrap your mind around what had just happened. Unexpected and harmful all the same. You were late for your scene, but as the panic attack set in you had no part of you that could care.

As for Miles he knew you'd never be late to a scene, you didn't want to be one of those dramatic Hollywood stars that let the fame get to your head. So when it had been ten minutes and you still weren't there the panic set in. He told the director he was off to find you and before he could protest Miles was out the door and running to your trailer. Without knocking he forced himself inside but you were not there, sighing he walked back out and that’s when he heard a cry. Just not any cry though, the same ones he had heard from your bedroom every night. Bending down he looked under the trailer to see you were behind it, a heap in the gravel as you cried your eyes out.

"Y/N!" he was around the trailer in a flash, dropping beside you as he cradled you in his arms. You cried against him, barely aware he was even there. He found tears seeping out of his own eyes as he tried to determine what was wrong with his best friend, his oldest friend, the girl he loved more than anything in the world.

"Miles" you finally cried, gripping onto him like he could disappear any second, and he found himself lifting his head, trying to calm his heart and he let it settle in that something was really really wrong.

"Y/N I want to help you but I need you to tell me what’s wrong" he finally said, pulling you close and rubbing a hand through your hair.

"I will, I promise, just not here. Please not hear, when we're home" you begged and he heard the desperation in your voice, the fear that strangled you from telling him the truth he needed three weeks ago.

"Okay, at home. You can tell me then, just please calm down" he cried and you nodded againt his chest, counting your breaths like you had practiced. He held you through it, silent as he allowed you support while you did what you needed to do. Finally you gave him a nod and he helped you to your feet. He wished you would tell the directors you were sick, that you’d do the scene tomorrow but he knew youd be mad that he suggested it so he walked you that direction anyway, wiping tears from his eyes and painting a fake smile on his face and he realized that's exactly what you had been doing the last three weeks.

After that you both had been jittery getting through the day. Finally the director called it and awkwardness enveloped you as you collected your things and headed towards Miles Bronco together. He did his best to keep silent as he drove you through the busy LA streets, driving towards the safe haven you both shared. Miles did his best to keep his mouth shut as he locked his car and unlocked the apartment door. You were very clealry distraught and he watched as you dumped your things on the kitchen counter, the weight of the world crushing you into the ground. So he moved towards the couch, very obviously leaving the seat open beside him for you to take and start explaining yourself. You knew not to fight it, you had made a promise, and you never broke a promise with Miles.

"I'm not taking anymore bullshit Y/N, I want the truth and all of it right now" he finally broke the silence as you took your seat beside him. Hugging a pillow to your chest, tears lined your eyes as you finally told him everything from the beginning. Miles did his best to not get angry and interrupt as you told your truth, the weight of the news much heavier than he expected.

"For three weeks, that's almost a whole month Y/N" guilt bloomed through your body and he pressed his head in his hands, trying to not let the anger consume him. Yet as he thought of how angry he was he was able to recognize the jealous pull. That some bastard got to kiss you without permission when he's been wanting to kiss you the way a real man should since college. He had never realized that he had hid that from himself all these years, denied himself of recognizing his attraction towards you. Stopped himself from loving you, and maybe if he didn't do that this would've never happened.

"I was scared he would hurt me, we were always alone" you told him, wanting him to know that you wanted him to know but sometimes fear controlled you in ways you couldn't explain.

"I was right inside that first night, I could've come out and stopped him" Miles argued and that’s when it hit him. The front porch, the doorbell, his phone. His eyes widened and you watched as his thoughts danced across his face.

"What is it?" you asked and without answering he rushed to his room, plugging in his phone as he opened the app that could hold the key to everything.

"Don't worry Y/N, I got a plan" sighing you let him hide out, making yourself some dinner. and trying to go to sleep despite knowing a nightmare would awake you soon. Yet when you woke up Miles was snoring softly beside you in your bed. A wave of calm rushed over you and you scooted closer before falling alseep again, the first real rest you had gotten in a long time.

When you woke up to your alarm he was no longer there, his car not even in the driveway. You figured he had early scenes and you had forgot. So you got ready, tried to slow your heart as you made your way to set, trying to prepare yourself for another day of torture. Yet before you could be called to set a knock sounded at your door, a worker telling you that you were needed in the table read room, a meeting with the show runners. Realizing that you were more than likely going to be fired you allowed a few tears to fall as you made your way in that direction. Your situation did not look good as you spotted the director, all the producers including your own abuser, and Miles all sat around the table.

"We're glad you could join us Y/N, have a seat" the director told you and you nodded, scurrying to the open seat beside Bradley.

"Usually we don't call meetings until production time John, what is it" one of the producers asked the director and John gave you a soft smile.

"Miles came forward to me today with some information I think we can't ignore" he finally said and your heart doubled in speed as you realized what he had done, started a battle you would never win without any evidence. "Mr. Conway here has been harrassing Y/N for the last three weeks, threatening to debunk her career if she told anyone"

"Oh this is bullshit and you know it" Conway said, but everyone clear as day could see the fear across his face.

"Miles has also provided evidence" John said before clicking the screen, ring doorbell footage of the first night appearing on screen. Miles hand wrapped around your own, knowing this would be tough to watch. It was hard for him to watch himself, crying the moment he realized you sat outside in tears waiting for him to go to bed.

The group watched as you and Conway approached the door holding hands, they all watched as his smile turned into a growl as he shoved you against the wall, fear clear as day on your face and he got so close you were breathing each others air. "If you don't agree to dating me I will proceed to make your life a living hell, you'll never be hired ever again, people will think of how trrible you are, your fans will hate you, after tonight your mine and if you tell absolutely anybody it’s game over, you'll never amount to anything ever again"

Then they all watched as you frantically nodded and he forced himself on you, you clearly trying to push him away. Then they watched him harshly release you, walk to his car, as you clearly sobbed on the front porch. John ending the video before they could see anymore, you clearly distraught from reliving that moment.

"We're going to allow Y/N to decide if she wants to press charges and I am fully prepared to pause production if you aren't willing to immediately terminate him" John informed them and you felt your heart warm over at the thought of him protecting you.

"We understand completely, Conway you’re fired. Have your things packed by the end of the day and be expecting a court order coming your way" relief washed over you completely as Conway sat there, shock all over him. Miles pulled you into a hug, Conway leaving the room with profanities falling from his mouth.

"We're sorry for this Y/N, if you need anything at all we're here for you. We will also testify in court if you choose to go in that direction" you nodded as they also got up and left the room. John placed a comforting hand on your back before leaving as well, a true hero in this situation.

"I can't believe you came forward for me" you told Miles, still hugging him like your life depended on it.

"I had too, your my bestfriend. I love you, I have always loved you" Miles told you, pushing some hair out of your face. Losing you was never an option.

"What if your plan didn't work?" you asked and he shrugged.

"Then I was quitting the movie" he told you earnestly and you smiled, pulling him tighter into your hug.

"I love you Miles" you told him and he smiled before pulling back a little.

"I know this probably isn't the right time but after all this I figure you deserve to know that I'm in love with you Y/N. I love you in that more than best friend way and after this whole disaster you deserve to know that beause you deserve to be loved the right way" for a moment you were shocked, allowing his words to sink in because there was a moment you considered you and Miles. You just figured he'd never feel the same so you brushed it off, ignoring it for the sake of your friendship.

“Are you sure?” Miles hoped that this doubt wasn’t a symptom of the last few weeks of abuse.

“Positive Y/N, it took a lot of self control to not kill that asshole” you found yourself giggling through tears, a wide smile on your face for the first time in a month.

“I love you in a more than a best friend way too Miles” you grinned at him and he smiled arms pulling you close again.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, wanting to make sure it was okay since that asshole never did.

“Yes, please” and he didn’t need any more confirmation before his lips were on yours. Instead of holding your breath like you had been for the last three weeks you inhaled him, breathing his air like he just filled you with life after the past month of torture.

A kiss to redeem every bad one, a kiss to start the healing process, and start finding yourself again. Which you had a feeling would be better than ever considering you had finally allowed yourself to love Miles in a way you always wished you could. This time you didn’t have to look out for the warning signs because you had Miles to protect you, and look for them too.

[theside-b]

I have cooled off and think that I can now talk about At 25:00 at Akasaka without disrespecting (much) the people involved in it.

First things first: it was boring. And if you read the book you know that last thing this show should've been was a snooze. Honestly a whole lot of that has to do with the script and direction, everything is tepid, apathy runs deep here. For a show about acting and drama not a whole lot happens here. And is very predictable, you can see every single thing coming a mile away.

Now for the not so polite part: I disliked Shirasaki, and unfortunately can't blame this just on the direction or script. Shirasaki is a very flawed character, not the character itself, but the writing of him. The show starts with him being presented as an aspiring actor with lots of talent and brimming with potential, his manager saw him act and was so impressed that kept pushing him, but he is played as if everything is new, like he never had any experience with acting, a total lack of social skills, no self-confidence to speak of. Would rather have him as a total newcomer than what we got because what is presented, what is shown of him simply doesn't mesh with what they want us to believe. And things don't improve, with the show always aiming at this sort of melancholic, low-energy vibe, Taisuke never does much with the character leaving him monotone for most of the time (he cries eventually but that's about it, which is something I guess), Kiita's Asami fares a tad better, but mostly because he is not given too much screen time.

25:00 is also guilty of one cardinal mistake: wasting potential. The moment Nagumo Shoma's Yamase steps into the scene he is up on everybody business, serving as the closest thing to an antagonist the show has, sparking emotions and stirring drama wherever he goes. Shoma has good chemistry with the entire cast, but it's when Usa Takuma crosses his path that things light up. They have about 5 minutes of screen time together, and manage to outperform the protagonists with ease. The energy, humor, and flow they have shines through and is undeniable that they were both wasted here, especially Usa. I said it before, knowing these two from Kiss x Kiss x Kiss makes it mind-boggling that the 25:00 producers didn't let them run loose.

Considering this was a streaming original, which supposedly allows for a more mature approach and lack of constraints At 25:00 in Akasaka was surprisingly tame, even the sex scene seemed prudish (couldn't help myself but compare it to the ones we got in Love Is Better The Second Time Around). Take into consideration the source material this is borderline criminal.

Worst thing is that I didn't hate the show. I feel indifferent towards it, and that is somehow even worse.

[liptonsbabe]

A Ribbon for my family

Richard Winters x fem! oc

Inktober : "Grief"

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, war, a little bit of angst.

a/n: well hello! This is a little something that I did for the inktober! (@fayestardust) I'm not an artist but I thought it would be cute to write a few fics for our favorite boys on this month! Hope you like it!

Btw English is not my frst language so tell me if something's wrong

ofc this is based on the hbo series and the actors who portray the characters, no disrespect for the real heroes!

It was past midnight when the sky in Eindhoven was glistened by the bombing. Orange, red, and yellow lights covered the city and the fire could be felt from miles away. You sighed in pain. You were wounded during the attack in Nuenen and in the retreat, fire from one of the explosions hit your arm.

Eugene Roe checked your wounds and tried to heal them as best as he could. He asked you to get some sleep that night and to let him know if you have any complications that he had not anticipated. You promised to do so, but the truth was that there was something worse than your injuries that was bothering you.

The image of Private Miller dying in front of you made your heart ache like never before during the war. He was one of the many replacements that had come into the division, and even though you hadn't known him since Toccoa like all the others, you were able to talk to him a couple of times and laugh along with the other replacements about your stories before you went into the army.

Most of the replacements were practically kids and a sense of protectiveness was ignited in you from the first moment.

You remembered the day when, whilst you talked with David Webster, you overheard Cobb ask Private Miller about the ribbon he proudly wore on his chest and you rolled your eyes when Cobb laughed at the replacement of how nervous he'd gotten.

"it's a Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation" he said, trying to smile through the embarrassment. Webster looked at you, irritated by Cobb's bullshit. You sighed and kept listening "For huh… for what the regiment did in Normandy."

"That's right, for what the regiment did. And as far as I know, you weren't there."

"Hey, hey, ease up, Cobb, hm?" asked Hoobler, drinking a beer beside you "Let the kid alone. It's a Unit citation."

Cobb shrugged his shoulders and went on as if nothing had happened, as if his words hadn't hurt a huge portion of the people there, not just the replacements. Your blood boiled as you watched Private Miller take off the ribbon from his chest and leave it on the table before getting up and walking out of the room.

You'd never felt so annoyed with Cobb before, not even some of the times he made sharp comments about you back in Toccoa, or when he downplayed your position as an officer just because you were a woman in a man's world.

Your fists tensed and Webster had to put a hand over you to stop you from doing something, but he couldn't stop you. You got up from your seat and walked over to where Miller had been earlier. Cobb looked at you, lifting his chest, as if the lieutenant's insignia you wore on your shirt collar meant nothing.

"So, for what the regiment did in Normandy, huh" you said, holding his gaze. He nodded

"That's right."

"I guess you of all people here know what happened that day, don't you? The jump" Cobb had his beer in his hand and you took it from him to take a big sip without looking away. By that time, the eyes of the entire pub were on you "Tell me, how was it?"

He cleared his throat but said nothing. You smiled and looked at the replacements who, confused, looked at Cobb waiting for an answer. You turned your head and looked at Bull. He just approached, annoyed at Cobb's harsh words. Randleman winked and took a long drag on his cigarette .

"Bull, do you remember seeing Private Cobb meeting up with the others after we landed?"

"No, lieutenant."

"And when the Kraut 88s got blown up?"

"I don't think so, Lieutenant."

"But surely he was at Carentan, wasn't he?

"No, ma'am."

"Well, then it seems to me that you didn't fight in fucking Normandy either," you told him putting the beer down on the table. Then you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him towards you until your noses touched. His back was tense and you could hear the muttering of the guys in the bar.

"I… i got hit in the plane before i got a chance to jump."

"That's fine. A lot of people here had the same thing happen to them and didn't get to fight alongside the others, but that doesn't make them any less deserving of the recognition of being here, risking their fucking lives in a godamn war. Being a Toccoa man doesn't give you the right to feel superior to the replacements who, like you, don't even know what it's like to be in real combat. Otherwise, you can give me your ribbon right now" You let go of his tie and extended your hand in front of him waiting for him to do so, however, it didn't happen and in return, he just looked away. You rolled your eyes and grabbed Private Miller's ribbon from the table. The replacements looked at you and you smiled "Keep enjoying the evening, yeah? You deserve it just like everyone else."

You left the room and looked around the bar for Private Miller until you found him walking towards the door. You followed him and before he could leave, you grabbed him by the arm.

"Private Miller, I think you left this."

"Lieutenant, thank you but uh…that's not mine."

"Sure it is" you said and put the ribbon on his uniform. You placed the little rectangle where it should be and gave it a couple of taps with your finger "You are part of us now and you should wear this on your uniform as everyone else."

"Even though I didn't fight to get them properly?"

"All of us here have fought for a greater good. In this company there is no 'me' or 'you' there is only 'us.' And this ribbon was achieved on behalf of all of those who believe in that unity, including you, kid. Don't listen to Cobb, he's just... Different"

Miller smiled. His cheeks reddened.

"Thank you, lieutenant."

"I want to see that ribbon where it belongs, you hear me?" You pointed at him and he laughed

"As you command, ma'am."

"You'd better, private, because if you don't, I'll give you latrine duty!"

Miller stood at attention and saluted. You laughed

"Yes ma'am!"

A tear fell on Private Miller's dog tags which were stained with blood. You had grabbed them from his neck before Lipton had pulled you to retreat that night. As you watched Eindhoven being bombed, you put the dog tags in your uniform pocket and silently promised him that you would send the ribbon intact to his family.

"A penny for your toughts?" You heard Dick Winters' voice, slowly approaching until he was at your back, watching the lights in the sky. You sighed as you tried to wipe away your tears "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, everyone is dig in for the night and you're the only one still awake."

"I couldn't sleep even if I tried."

Suddenly you felt his hands on your waist embracing you in a hug that warmed your heart, his chin rested on the top of your head and he pulled you tighter against his body

"Surely they won't be waving so many Orange flags at us tomorrow"

"No, they won't"

"I don't like retreating"

"First time for everything, I guess"

"Nixon told me the same thing. It doesn't lift my spirits much."

"This is hell, Dick," you said and turned to him. Dick noticed the tears in your eyes "I knew the war would be… difficult, exhausting, but I never thought over anything like this"

"We lost a lot of men today" he whispered cupping your cheeks "It's been… hard for all of us but we have to keep moving. We have to go on, for those who are no longer here, with us."

You nodded and let him wipe away your tears. He rubbed your arms lovingly and gave you a half smile wanting to lift your spirits.

Then, you thought you could spend the rest of the night doing something better, something useful.

"Who'll write to the soldier's families who died today?"

"I was going to, but…"

"Can I do it?"

"Do you want to?"

"Yes. I…I think I could do with spending the night writing letters. I don't want to watch this anymore."

"Okay, then do it" His strong arms wrapped around you and he buried his nose in your hair. You couldn't see him, but you were sure he had closed his eyes as he sighed slowly. You clung to him and felt his dog tags against your face. You thought to yourself that perhaps, at some point in the war, you'll have to send a letter to his family along with his dog tags or that he'll have to do the same for you. You squeezed him tighter against your body and asked your god to get you out of that place alive "Just a moment. Stay here with me"

"i'll always be here for you"