#it felt like a lot of the movement between “lands�� was super unnecessary. and took up a lot of time that could have been used in narrative

[heatmiiiiser]

Ggrrr I wish disenchantment was better. I binged it all because I'm sick somebody talk to me about this.

[thisisthehardestthing]

This Is The Hardest Thing - 4

Synopsis: A exchange student from the US in enrolled into UA when her father has to move to help with the increased crime rates in Japan. The final year of high school is a lot to handle, adding on top the class of 3-A and the trouble they get into will make for a wild ride.

Triggers: swearing, i think thats it.

A/N: Not in this one, but it’s about to get spicy real fast. Super short chapter

Tags: @aizawascumslut @whats-her-quirk @pnkcts (you liked my masterlist, so I hope you don’t mind me tagging you?)

Masterlist

CHAPTER 4

You and Bakugou were on a yellow couch in the break room, sitting as far from each other as possible. The smack to your chin had caught you off-guard, making you slip off your seat in the middle of class. The chair that followed your body caused a bang so loud, Present Mic had to look at his quirk support item to make sure it hadn’t activated. He’d quickly intervened once he realised it was, to no one’s surprise, Bakugou and the new girl butting heads. He was just going to reprimand the hot-tempered student, when he saw the thick black lined drawing of male genitals penciled in the notebook, balls and all. You remembered the red of the teachers face against the yellow blonde hair exploding upwards as he kicked you both out of the classroom for some reprimanding. He was more embarrassed than angry.

You sighed and leant an elbow on the armrest, pressing some ice against your face.

Todoroki had given it to you as you passed by his desk. It was wrapped in a tissue in order not to give you freezer burn, and you gladly accepted it as you were shooed out and ordered to wait in the current room. Your other hand picked at the material of the sofa. It wasn’t leather, yet it wasn’t canvas either, and you racked your brain trying to think of what it could be.

You tried to keep yourself distracted in this way, focusing on the cold water dripping down your wrist from time to time. However, you couldn’t help yourself as your eyes wandered over to the blonde porcupine. He was slouched down, hands shoved angrily in his pockets, jaw clenching over and over again. Unfortunately, you knew were definitely in the wrong this time. You should not have teased him with your quirk and so you shifted in your seat to face him.

“What?” He snapped as you opened your mouth. His eyes narrowed as his head whipped around to stare at you. Why the hell is he so infuriating? You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that your father would want you to stay ‘grounded’.

“I’m sorry,” you began, “for drawing a dick in your book.” He frowned, looking away from you and staring at the beige wall behind the matching couch that was opposite you.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry,” He spoke, voice carrying in the silent room. The ego behind his words made your blood throb in your ears. He’d been throwing insults at you since yesterday, and here you were trying to make amends first.

The door slid open as Aizawa walked in. His loose hair tumbled over his shoulders in a mess. He had that kind of sour expression like he’d woken up from a nap that lasted too long, and he was both dehydrated and pissed off.

“You two…” He began as he stood in front of both of you, behind the brown wooden coffee table. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he took in the tense air. He sighed and called your name. You sat upright, turning to face him attentively. While Aizawa may look like a mess, he commanded an authority beyond anything you would’ve expected from a man hidden behind bangs.

“Why did you draw this in Bakugou’s notebook?” He asked, pulling the notebook out from a pocket behind his back, opening it to show you the crude sketch. You wanted to tear the page out.

“He was being one.” You shrugged, giving Bakugou a side-eyed glare. He huffed.

“Was fucking not.”

“You kicked my chair!” 

Aizawa let out a sigh.

“You were on my desk, shit-brain!”

You almost lost it, then, saying what was actually on your mind. You wanted to shout, but it came out soft, in such a small voice that almost wasn’t your own.

“You called me fat.” He froze, his frown of anger instantly disappearing as it was replaced with confusion. Even your teacher hesitated, not knowing whether to interject, before falling onto the couch behind him to lean forward attentively. Realisation flickered over Bakugou’s face as he remembered the early morning fight.

“No, I called you heavy. Not fucking fat.” He was laughing, gums baring to the world as the rumble exploded from his chest and filled the room. “I’m not a liar. You’re heavy as shit, look at you. Muscle is like, 10 times as heavy or something. Eijirou can tell you the exact fact.” You felt a blush begin to creep up on your cheeks. Your palm squished the soggy ice tissue, forgotten during all the commotion and the cold water ran down your wrist, cooling down your rising body temperature. You wanted to throw it at him. You wanted to hear the satisfying noise it would make when coming in contact with his cheek. You didn’t.

“Bakugou, you shouldn’t mention someone’s weight.” Aizawa threw the book onto the table, effectively silencing the laughter. “You also shouldn’t punch someone in the face.” Bakugou huffed in response, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I was aiming for her hair.”

“You’re both suspended from class for the rest of the day, with cleaning duty.” Bakugou’s excuse came at the same time as Aizawa’s punishment. Your mouth fell open. Without leaving room for any rebuttal, your teacher stood up, took a final look at his students and walked out of the room.

You were on your way to the residences. Bakugou was stomping, hands shoved in his baggy pants as he walked a couple steps ahead of you. He didn’t even leave the front door open after he walked in. You blocked it with your toe before it shut, stepping into the empty common area.

A rough hand darted out at you, grabbing your uniform shirt collar and slamming your back against the door. He made you wince as his knuckle pressed into the bruise he left yesterday. He knew it, and dug just a little bit deeper. His red eyes bore down into yours. It made you wonder if he enjoyed the fact that there was a tangible mark under your shirt.

“You really piss me off.” Bakugou stated, voice low and menacing. His free hand planted firmly next to your head, potentially scorching the door with the smoke that had begun to filter out from between his fingers. He smelt like a campfire.

“Yeah, well, bite me,” you pried his fingers open as you kept his intense stare. He moved so that his arms were boxing you in, muscled forearms rippling near your ears. For a second, you thought he would. There was something indiscernible stirred in with his anger. It was the center of a blender, swirling together. It was hypnotising. You slowly placed one of your hands against the door behind you, finger tips spread, palm flat. You almost shivered when you felt the vast amount of energy rolling in waves through your skin, oscillating in your nerves and vibrating your bones. It was all encompassing, making your shoulder jump up with the sheer force of it.

“What’s wrong with you?” His face scrunched up, eyes darting down to see your hand against the door. “Oi, what the fuck are you up to!?” He tsk’d, pushing away fluidly and crossing his arms.

The second his palms left the wood, it’s hum returned to the normal dull pattern that chopped trees would usually give off. It felt empty, stagnant, . As dead as the door itself. Your fingers twitched as they ached to feel such power again. I want to touch him. You bumped the thought out of your head and curled your hands into a fist to subdue the itch. You thought about the ways your father taught you to keep a level head. That’s why wood had such a consistent vibration. Be like the wood.

“You’re the one that keeps picking fights.” You gloss over his quirk comment, straightening your school uniform to make a point. His eyes followed your hands. “I get it, we never established a clear winner in our sparring match, so we should do it now to get it over with.” Bakugou seemed like he was about to explode, but he nodded his head. His eyes darkened as he thought about it, tongue swiping across his teeth and under his lips.

“Fight rules?”

You were almost sorry to pass up the chance to make him land on his back again.

“Rock, paper, scissors.” You deadpanned. A frustrated growl erupted from his throat. His nostrils flared and instead of saying another word, he turned on his heels and stalked his way to the kitchen, slamming open the fridge. You could not help the snicker that escaped your lips. Worth it.

I guess I won this round. You mused, making your way to your room to begin replying to your fathers messages.

You had been talking to your dad for what seemed like hours. You spoke to him laying on your bed, sitting against your closet doors, spinning in your desk chair. Now, while he was finally reaching the conclusion in his speech of disappointment, you were standing on your balcony. You held the phone away from your ear as you lazily took in the details of the building opposite you. Your room was on the side of the dorms, and therefore, was face to face with someone else’s balcony across the grass. There were trees planted that should’ve obscured the view, but there was still a direct line of sight to a sliding door.

His voice rang out loud over the speakers, reprimanding that it was the second day of school, and how he did not raise you to continue unnecessary conflict. You continued to stare in the cool blue reflection of the window opposite you, eyes unfocused as Soil went on and on. Movement on the other side of the glass made you snap back to reality. You squinted to try and see through it, wondering who could be on the other side since it was… lunch time!? Shock coursed through your veins as you realised you’d been on the phone for 2 hours, listening to a one sided conversation.

“Dad,” you interrupted him mid sentence and his voice lulled. “Sorry, I know I—” The sliding door opened and the tall purple haired boy from this morning walked out, cradling something in his hands. Your words of apology forgotten on your tongue.

“Hm, beansprout, can’t hear you.” You brought the phone closer to your face.

“Just, I’m sorry.”

You heard your father let out his heavy sigh that told you the conversation was over. As you said your goodbye’s, Shinsou looked out across from his balcony, catching you with lazy eyes. He held your gaze with a smirk, slowly lifting up one of his fingers to his lips, zipping his mouth shut. Then he lifted up the other hand that was cupped against his chest. You could barely see it, but in his palm was a small black kitten.

***********

Soil tossed the phone back onto his desk with a clatter. Large, calloused hands wrapped around his forehead as he rubbed at his temples before pulling it down his face to scratch at his chin.

What am I going to do with that girl? He thought as he shuffled around the paperwork he was working on, going over what he wrote about the encounter with Giran.

It’s been two years since Shigaraki had disappeared, but the underground network of villains have seemed to surge in number over the last few months, tipping the balance of power ever so slightly. It was enough to bring out the worst in people, have them lose their faith and security they had once felt all over Japan. Soil knew he had to come back home when the influence had started reaching his part of the world, like an incessant hammer until cracks had started to form. He had to stop it at the source.

A knock on the wall of his cubicle interrupted his deep train of thought. One of the many sidekicks at Endeavor’s agency stood there, sheepishly grinning at the visiting hero. His thumbs were twiddling in the thick yellow gloves.

“It’s time for patrol, Soil, sir!” The sidekick snapped to attention. A polite smile graced the Hero’s lips as he pushed his hulking figure away from the desk. Soil nodded as he followed the younger man. The mental image of that hammer would not leave his mind, try as he might. He felt the same nagging feeling that something might happen soon, the same inkling on the night he spotted Giran.

[thefilmsimps]

Avatar (dir. James Cameron)

-Jere Pilapil- 8.5/10 I dunno, man, I’ve spent a lot of time underestimating the love that this movie apparently got that earned it the biggest and most tickets sold in the world for any movie ever or whatever. I have an ungodly amount of PTO to burn and had to take my cat to the vet at 9AM yesterday (he’s OK, but asthmatic). So I took the whole day off and indulged in the 3D spectacle of James Cameron’s Avatar, a movie that I didn’t love when it first came out. The provided 3D glasses are a nice improvement on what I’ve experienced before; they fit nicely enough over my own glasses. Personally, I see well enough to watch a movie without my glasses, but this was nice. And the 4K remaster of this movie looks mostly great, though objects in movement felt noticeably blurrier as a result (in other words, motion blur is normal, but is way more jarring when a mostly still image is so much clearer). I’ve never loved 3D, though: I’ve rarely felt immersed by the technology. For me, it always felt like it turned the TV screen into a diorama, with multiple planes of 2D images stacked in close proximity to one another. What Avatar is most brilliant at is the world is creates, and maybe Cameron is too in love with that world, because the first 20 or so minutes of this movie are rough. Every line feels like the first draft of a character archetype from the most generic of action movies. Sam Worthington’s Jake Sully provides voiceover that is painfully unnecessary and stilted, both in writing and delivery. The latter is cleverly revealed as a result of his unwillingly vlogging his experiences For Science, but every time he explains or re-explains ideas or emotions communicated elsewhere, the movie stops dead. Things improve greatly once the movie moves mostly into the alien tribe of Na’vi as they defend their land from encroaching capitalist interests. Sully’s caught between the two, as he pilots a fake Na’vi body and learns of their culture while also acting as a spy for the militaristic bad guy, Col. Quaritch (Stephen Lang). There is a lot of science both on screen and behind the scenes to bring us a story that is decidedly not rocket science: Avatar is a dreadfully boring, predictable story about a generic protagonist, but luckily it’s set in a beautiful world full of exciting creatures and incredible possibilities for adventure. Hell, once a lot of the dialog winds up in the Na’vi language and in subtitles, it feels less like bad writing and more like they did a lazy job with the subtitles.

Avatar is a dumb movie, but in hindsight I’m ready to say that dumbness is an asset. It is absolutely earnest about believing its White Savior narrative, and Cameron creates a world so vibrant that I found myself rooting for Sully just so that I could see more of Pandora. I’ll go one further: there is something to be said about a hero you barely need to know anything about (Jake Sully had a brother, is a wheelchair user, was in the military and I could not map any more information onto him). Our action movies and shows are filled to the brim with colorful and memorable characters as they all exist in ever-expanding universes. But I also constantly have to keep all those characters, their actors, their relationships to one another, and super powers (where applicable) straight in my head. Maybe that’s why I found Dr. Strange in the Multiverse of Madness exhausting: sometimes modern movies, even the good ones, feel like a midterm exam covering years of your life. Moreover, James Cameron is an old pro. He knows how to direct action scenes with clarity and purpose in a way that has mostly been lost to American film makers, and the last 40 or so minutes of Avatar - the explosive climax, where our heroes race against time to prevent a sacred tree from blowing up (haha, holy shit, what?) - are invigorating in a way I haven’t felt in awhile. All in all, James Cameron may have found the laziest, most painful delivery service for an incredible cinematic experience.

P.S. Just as I was willing to give more love than I expected to Avatar, the Avatar: Way of the Water footage knocked me on my ass. I almost felt like they’d cheated my eyes by making me look at Avatar for 2 hours and 40 something minutes. Count me in for opening weekend.

[labyrinth-of-headcanons]

Next to me

Characters: Judar, Kenmei (OC)

Genre: Romance, Songfic

Summary: 3 insights on moments, Judar realized that he was in the wrong. And yet, Kenmei was always right there, next to him.

a/n: This is somewhat an art-exchange, though also my pleasure to have written this, as I kind of had this idea since I first heard the song! It’s for the amazing @hvalross-art, please go check out her art/writing blog, she’s amazing! I hope I managed to write your OC okay, as well as make Judar not look like I am super biased xD Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you so much again for my lovely commissions & drawing my OC on occasion!  ❤

Next to me - Imagine Dragons

Something about the way that you walked into my living room Casually and confident lookin' at the mess I am But still you, still you want me Stress lines and cigarettes, politics, and deficits Late bills and overages, screamin' and hollerin' But still you, still you want me

“Man, I’m exhausted,” Judar complained, raising his arms into the air and stretching his back. The cushions on his back let him lean back easily, supporting his body which felt tired after consuming half a bottle of liquor. From the glass in his hand, a few drops of the pinkish peach drink falling from its brim, dirtying the white bed sheets. Not that he minded it at all, this late in the morning, servants would change them anyway. Yawning, he reached over to Kenmei, driving his fingers through her black hair. The girl laid face down in the pillows, nudging her head upwards slightly against his hand as she felt his touch. “You don’t have any right to complain,” she mumbled, the pillow making her voice even more muffled as it already was. “You just disappeared when all the people came to talk to you, leaving me all alone with their questions.”

There was a hint of frustration resonating in the tone she gave him, though it only made him grin. “I didn’t want to deal with them.” Judar took his hand back, leaned it over to the side table and poured himself another drink. For a second he thought about filling Kenmei’s glass too, but since it stood on the other side of the bed and her ears already had a deep red color, he decided not to. “And I mean, it was way more fun to watch you storm into this room and tearing up when you saw me.” His side was hit with one of the smaller pillows, as Kenmei prompted herself up on her arms, giving him an angry look. “That’s because you had the nerve to just sit here and drink!” Letting out an audible breath, Judar just shrugged, downing his glass thoughtfully. “You’re so unfair…” she whined, tilting her head to the side and away from him, staring outside through the window at the night sky.

Oh, I always let you down You're shattered on the ground But still, I find you there Next to me And oh, stupid things I do I'm far from good, it's true But still, I find you Next to me (next to me)

Maybe, so he thought, it really wasn’t quite fair. Maybe Kenmei had a point. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done it. But at that moment? He thought it was better to get away before any of the stupid questions dared to bother his incredible mind. Judar didn’t think of consequences for his partner. Truthfully, she’d have to speak for him too, but she managed that just fine, maybe even better than him. In any case, there she was again, sulking. Peeking over the glass rim, he gazed at his partner, who was sighing into her pillow. Most of her red garments she had already kicked off, as he could see some of the fabric laying around on the bedroom floor. However, she seemed comfortable enough in the rest that still covered her body, softly tending to her skin and hiding it away from anyone’s eyes.

Judar knew she had put a lot of effort to look flawless today. After all, he had asked her to come with him to this very formal meeting. She would have spent even more hours in the bathroom if not for Judar shooing her away so he could get ready too. By now, even he was sure that it was pretty awful of him to leave her there alone. She had anticipated the festivity so much. Done her hair, put on make-up, only to later say it was nothing at all. But even though he knew how anxious she had been, he had still left her all alone, like an idiot. Not that he regretted it, but he pitied her a small tad. It’s the alcohol speaking, he told himself, slowly circling his glass in his hand and making the contents swirl around. Swiftly switching the glass from his right hand into his left, he reached out again, taking some strands of her hair closer to him and letting them run through his fingers, twirling and twisting around. For a second she pulled up her feet, alternating in letting them bump into the mattress again and making him smirk. Obviously, Kenmei enjoyed his attention and Judar? Judar simply enjoyed her presence.

There's something about the way that you always see the pretty view Overlook the blooded mess, always lookin' effortless And still you, still you want me I got no innocence, faith ain't no privilege I am a deck of cards, vice or a game of hearts And still you, still you want me

“Judar!” He heard her voice from behind, as she approached quickly. The magi flopped down, feeling both exhausted from his recent magical output and from having to deal with a huge amount of enemies. Their bodies were strewn all over the battlefield, and the view wasn’t as pretty as he’d like it to be. However, even though she gasped at the sight that unfolded in front of her once she reached him, the worry in her eyes as she looked at him saved him from the grim reminder that the battlefield was. “I’m so glad I found you,” she said, letting some of the tension out of her body, as she took a deep breath and clutched her chest. “You’re wounded…” she noted, kneeling down beside him. Almost immediately when she reached out her hand towards him, a cool, calming force field erected, the rukh working hard to heal him. He knew she was troubled, but for the moment she held herself together, prioritizing him and the few slashes he had to endure. She would have overseen anything if it was for his sake, Judar believed.

There was a short moment of silence, the healing progressing towards the end, before she mumbled, “You did it, Judar.” He only grimaced at her, replying in an frustrated tone, “Of course I did. What did you expect? I took them all out, one after another!” Judar made a small pause between his sentences, leaning back as the healing magic did its deed. Even after all the time he knew her, nothing ever got to him like her healing. Even though the water magic made it a rather cold procedure, it was filled with her feelings. Almost a weird feeling, being able to heal with a cold magic, that was always warm and comforting to him. His gaze went over the countless dead bodies, then to his lover. Her face was stern, she was concentrated. Kenmei was concentrating on healing him and not being disturbed by the countless dead bodies before her. “Nobody else could have…” he started, ending mid-sentence, noticing how her countenance grew dark and she bit her lower lip, as his voice reached her. Nobody else could have killed them like I did, was what he had wanted to say. But he didn’t. Not in front of her. Not as long as she bore being with him.

Oh, I always let you down You're shattered on the ground But still, I find you there Next to me And oh, stupid things I do I'm far from good, it's true But still, I find you Next to me (next to me)

The pale blue field slowly dissolved, leaving him back at the fresh air. Kenmei took a deep breath, wiping some sweat pearls off her forehead before she looked at him again. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her body tense again after working on healing him. “Good,” he said, indifferent on how he was supposed to feel after all this. Judar couldn’t look back at her, fearing she’d ask more unnecessary questions that he didn’t feel like answering in that moment. From her kneeled position, she slowly flopped backwards, landing on her butt with a small thud. “Okay…” she said, slowly adding, “I was worried.” Judar snorted, doing that to  emphasize how she never trusted in him. “You’re so dumb, Kenmei. I am the greatest magician alive, why would I have any troubles with some small fries?” She only let out a sigh at his comment, looking at the dusty, brown ground that was between them. His brows furrowed, as he studied her face and poked one finger into her cheek, trying to get an reaction from her. She brushed his hand off, a harsh movement that didn’t quite fit his image of her.

“Are you pouting?” he asked, expecting an answer with big eyes. Maybe that comment was too harsh, he thought to himself. Kenmei had a tendency to pout over how abrasive he could be when in reality he didn’t always mean it as such a hurtful comment as she made it out to be. The moment of silence that followed from her tore at his patience, and Judar felt himself getting frustrated. Helping himself up from the ground, he took some steps around her, leaving her behind. “Still, you could have been seriously injured…” Crossing his arms behind his head, he waited for something more to come, but there was nothing. True, he thought. Next thing he knew, her hand was tugging on the fabric of his pants. “Let's go home…” she mumbled, starting to walk. He loosened his arms from the stretching motion, to which she immediately reached out, grasping for his hand. He didn’t take it from her, as the two started to make their way back home, hand in hand.

Oh So thank you for taking a chance on me I know it isn't easy But I hope to be worth it (oh) So thank you for taking a chance on me I know it isn't easy But I hope to be worth it (oh)

The tree he was sitting in, was in full bloom. The green leaves swayed in the summer breeze, and it put Judar in a good mood. At his side was Kenmei, peeling away the skin of a rosy peach, trying to prepare it for him. The fruit juice ran down her hand and arm, some of it dripping onto her clothes. “I have an awful boyfriend,” she complained, a soft smile resting on her lips, while her eyes focused on the peach in her left and the knife in her right hand. “He always lets me do everything for him! Like a child, he can do nothing for himself!” There was a teasing undertone in her voice, and Judar replied by sticking out his tongue at her for a moment. Kenmei must have known what he was doing, without having to look up, as she gave a short laugh back, carefully peeling the fruit in her hands.

“You can admit it, you like doing all these things for me,” he spoke, haughty and with a wide grin on his lips. She carefully slit her knife into the peach, cutting out a piece of it and reaching it up to her mouth, before looking at him. “Me? Doing something for you? Never!” And with that she swallowed the fruit, making him gasp at her for acting so harshly. “You little! How dare you eat that!” Judar leaned forward, reaching his hands out for her, as Kenmei quickly held her arms to the other side, far away from him. “Judar, careful! The knife!” The two of them jostled a little, Judar determined to get his peach, while Kenmei felt herself slowly losing her seat on the branch. Letting go of the two items in her hand, she tried to steady herself by holding on to the arm of the tree, fearing to fall down, but Judar reacted faster. He quickly put his arms around her torso and pulled her back to himself against the trunk. For a moment they remained like this, before breathing out simultaneously. The small shock escaped their bones and their bodies relaxed.

“Thank you…” Kenmei mumbled, staring at the fruit and silver knife, which was shining through the grass on the ground. “Whatever…” he replied, but his actions were clearer than his words. Pulling her even closer against his chest, he hid his face in her hair, making her ask, “Judar? You okay?” He didn’t reply. All he did was take in her scent and warmth. He could feel her body moving in his embrace and hear her steady breathing, calming him too. For a moment his heart had really sunken into his gut, when he saw her struggling to hold her balance. She was so clumsy but really, it had been his fault that she got in trouble in the first place. Maybe she was a klutz, but he should have known better and protected her. What an awful boyfriend she has indeed, he thought.

It was then that he felt her hand slowly reaching for his shoulder, caressing him softly as if to tell him everything okay. She’d always say that to him. He believed it for once.

Oh, I always let you down (I always let you down) You're shattered on the ground, (shattered on the ground) But still, I find you there (yeah) Next to me And oh, stupid things I do (stupid things I do) I'm far from good, it's true But still, I find you Next to me (next to me)

He was an awful boyfriend. He gave her nothing but troubles and never apologized or appreciated her efforts. Even if she didn’t fall down that tree that day, she always ended up at point zero when she was with him. No matter if it was on the battlefield that she hated, but couldn’t bear to let him go alone to, as she was way to afraid of losing him, or a formal event that he really didn’t want to go, but that she took super serious, only to get disappointed by him again in the end.

And yet she always returned to him. He always found her smiling stupidly and acting like an idiot when she saw him. And she always scolded him, even though he never listened to one word she said. She got angry, sad, frustrated and wrecked whenever she was with him, having to push her boundaries and comfort away constantly. Judar never did her any good.

But she was always there nevertheless. Next to him.

[ramrodd]

Where were you on May 4, 1970?

On 4 May 1970, I wanted to get out of the Georgia sun and into some air conditioning before the starch in my summer khaki uniform wilted completely.

COMMENTARY:

I assume that you mean, where were you when you heard about Kent State?

My first visual memory that comes up is walking just south of the Post PX/Commisary cluster at Ft. Benning with the packet of my orders to Vietnam in my hand as I was clearing off post going to some office I had to present a copy of the orders to. The US Army has always depended heavily on personal initiative from the Seven Years War, going forward. It is still pretty much the frontier society it was the day George Custer dropped a letter to his wife off at the Quartermaster and trotted cheerfully off to glory. As a result of MacNamara, the Army community was beginning to lose some of this capacity that showed up for me on C-SPAN in the run-up to Desert Storm: the community was very sluggish. The Army noticed and began to fix that in 1994 just in time for the continuing decades of high cycle deployment the applied stupidity of Richard “Dick” Cheney and the neo-cons created with their historic and totally unnecessary diplomatic blunder compounded by their cosmic incompetence when they got us into Iraq and realized that the planning for occupation based on chocolates and flowers suffered from the basic operational assumptions inherent in “The Art of the Deal” and Duck Ass Don’s government shut down and tarriff wars.

But on 4 May, 1970, I was done with spring training as a Boy Soldier and the next step was the Big Leagues. I mean, you don’t go to Ranger School to run a Wall Street bucket shop and Vietnam was where the series was being played that year.

Kent State was not a surprise to me: it was an accident waiting to happen. The Nation Guard had been gunning down black folks since 1963 in places like Watts, Detroit and DC: the only difference this time is that it was white kids getting shot down and the reaction of the mostly white anti-war mob was, from my perspective, virtually the same as Roger Stone’s complaints about being arrested like your average black male who happens to be in the room when the FBI breaks down the door with the right address on the warrant but the wrong address afor the perp. I mean, they let him pull on some pants and polo shirt for his perp walk and he got about the same kind of coverage the times George Clooney got arrested for DUI or something. I mean, come on. But I digress.

I was in ROTC at Indiana University from the beginning of the drafts in 1965 until I graduated in the lull between Nixon’s election and Kent State. On my way to report to Infantry Hall, I picked up a couple going to the Atlanta Pop Festival on the 4th of July and I took them there and stayed unti almost dark and listened to a lot of music I didn’t recognize and drove to Atlanta for a shower and a little clubbing. The Atlanta Pop Festival was the first in a series of concerts leading to Woodstock. I was going through the Patrolling Committee training of Officer’s Basic that weekend and I didn’t really get the scope of the gathering, but it was like a migration celebrating what they believed was the end of the war because the Selective Service was shutting down and the All Volunteer Military coming on line. And, all in all, I think Woodstock is probably the one thing that has prevented assholes like Steve Bannon and Newt Gingrich from finally blowing up America like John Galt in Atlas Shrugged. If you were there and you remember the underlying moral statement being made by everybody being there (I think first of Joan Baez’s cover of Joe Hill soaring across the crowd and, today, I can see AOC guiding a generation of Secular Humanists into the tabula rasa of the 19th Amendment), I went to Vietnam for exactly those values.

I know why I went to Vietnam and I haven’t changed my mind. AOC validates my expectations and, before her, Barack Hussein Obama. On 4 May 1970, I was on my way to do my bit to make sure Obama got elected President. I wasn’t surprised about Kent State except in the timing, because I was surprised by the sheer brilliance of the Cambodian Incursion, after the fact, and by the sheer chutzpah of Nixon launching the operation at all.

As I say, I am an Army brat and I was raised around major headquarters all my life until I actually reported for duty. I knew about the Tet Offensive Christmas before the Tet Offensive. Ft. Monroe knew about the godless commie cocksuckers were going to spring something and it was clear to everyone that the holiday of Tet was the first pitch. My Professor of Military Science at IU didn’t know it was coming during the last class of the semester. I may have asked the question, how did he, a Major with at least two tours at the company level behind him, measure progress in Vietnam and his answer was the party line coming out of Saigon at the time, but it wasn’t informed of Saigon’s expectations in the next three weeks.

I was surprised by Cambodia because I was no longer hooked into that command level except when I was home. It was now literally above my pay grade. At the time, my first response was that it was a very gutsy move on Nixon’s part because the memo the Woodstock Nation was circulating. This was before the Oliver Stone version of Vietnam solidified around the mythology Ken Burns presents in Vietnam because it was still happening, but the first complaint about the incursion was that Nixon was widening the war and that establishes the boundaries of the emerging mythology. The common wisdom of the Woodstock Nation is that we invaded Vietnam in 1961 and 1961 in order to prop up French Colonialism. Noam Chomsky riffs of several versions of what happened in Vietnam in 1962 and he’s full of shit, lingusitically speaking.

Anyway, Nixon stole the march on the NVA in Cambodia and Laos and on the expectaions of the MSM and the Woodstock Nation and landed the sucker punch on the godless commie cocksuckers that let Nixon keep his promise to turn the war over to Saigon and to pull the troops out of the country without reprising either Dien Bien Phu or Dunkirk. The NVA was a world class military and Hanoi fanatical about siezing Saigon as a property of the People, etc, but the US military kicked ass and took names and kicked what was left to the curb and, when I got there in July, just after everybody got back from their road trip, there were 525,000 American soldiers in Vietnam and when I left in May 1971, there was less than 165,000. The Army knew what it was doing and Nixon let them do it. The Cambodian Incursion probably avoided 30,000 US casualties as a low ball estimate and the only cost the Woodstock Nation tallys is 4 dead in Ohio. They don’t even count Jackson State, because, after all, it’s a black university and the National Guard had been gunning down black folks in places like Watts and Detroit and DC since 1963 and they weren’t white boys and girls.

Do you see how I could turn this into a sermon about #BlackLivesMatter and why it was important for me to to go Vietnam to make sure Obama got elected? I mean, if I was wrong in 2008, I’ve been wrong since 4 May 1970. And, if I was wrong in 1970, I might as well pony up for a MAGA hat and go kiss Nick Sandman’s ass at half-time in the Super Bowl for ever suggesting his MAGA hat was hate speech.

So, anyway, my first real response, walking across post in the sub-tropical George sun at high noon, was not surprise that it happened but that it took so long for it to happen if it happened at all. After all, the only thing about the Chicago Police Riots in 68 that prevented it becoming a lethal blood bath like something out of the Russian Revolution or Ghadi’s peaceful resistance movement. I’ve had a chance to review what happened and I think the troops just wanted to frighten the crowd by putting some live rounds over their heads: the sizzle of volley fire can discourage a heavy investment in a “fuck you” attitude facing troops with fixed bayonets. And a couple of them didn’t fire quite high enough.

And here’s why I believe it was an accident: I could put myself in the place of that company commander. I wouldn’t have issued live ammo in the first place. If even weekend warriors can’t handle a crowd, defensively, with fixed bayonets, they need to transfer to the Air Force. That’s the first thing. They had secured the public property and why anybody felt a need to clear the meadow is a bit hazy to me. It’s like a high-speed car chase: you don’t really want to catch him so much as pen him in: let time work for you.

I wasn’t there. I don’t know, but from what I do know, that’s what I would have planned to do. The Kent State protests were not really structure but spontaneous, kids on their way to class up for a little heckling of the National Guard. There were professors there, talking the crowd down and outrage was going to drain away, nation wide, as the military operation completed its mission and returned from the thrust, no harm, no foul. And then these kids get shot and it mobilizes everything, all over again.

But it was an accident. If I had been the CO and determined that lethal force was the necessary action, I would have killed everything going up that hill side and anybody trying to get away at the top. Not 4 dead. 400.

In the numerology of the Bible, 4 is what’s left after the Finger of God touches down. There were 67 rounds fired up that hill at Kent State and, in my application of the numerology of the Bible, 67 reduces, first, to 13 and 13 is an ideogram that symbolizes the triune crown of Yaweh, Queen of Battle, with a lightening bolt above Her crown, the Finger of God. And, then, 13 devolves to 4.

From a military point of view, Kent State was an accident waiting to happen, but, as a Secular Humanist and Christian heretic, I have come to see divine purpose in the event.

But on 4 May 1970, I really just wanted to get out of the sun and into some air conditioning before the starch in my summer khaki uniform wilted completely.

And that’s the truth.