xxforestfairyxx
Pisces | 22 | She/They <3
58 posts
Latest Posts by xxforestfairyxx
Mr. Linden's Library
short story i wrote for an english class that i was told was not good. anyways, figured it might reach the right people on here. enjoy!
word count: 801
~~~
It was dreadfully cold at Three o’clock on the morning of January Third when Mr. Linden woke, hearing a loud crash. Drenched in sweat, he sat up in bed and grasped the comforter next to him but, alas, clutched only onto air. “Clara!” he called. He got out of bed and quickly dressed in his bed jacket. Before he left his chambers, he took his lantern, making off with haste into the hallway and down the two flights of stairs that led to the basement.
“Clara!” He called into the darkness of the floor below. “Clara?” But no reply was made. He slowly illuminated it with his lantern, casting a soft glow about the room. He produced a set of keys from his pocket and made his way over to a small door. In his haste, it took him many failed attempts to unlock and open the door before he let himself in.
“Clara!” He called once more into darkness. He finally opened the door, pushing the lantern through. The light produced from it danced over the many bookshelves that covered the room’s walls, some books with shiny title fonts reflecting the dim glow.
This room, which he referred to as his study, was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, each stocked full and on the verge of overflowing. Every wall was hidden by a massive, looming bookcase except for the north wall, which housed his carved oak desk. Placed meticulously behind the desk was a brown leather swiveling chair that was always perfectly spotless and polished. In the far corner of the room lived an ugly green cloth armchair, which had perfected the art of both becoming an eyesore and collecting dust. He never used it; he could never even remember the last time he had sat in it. He only sat at his desk, often in a very official manner, looking over papers, contracts, and the like. He did not have time to read his books, nor did he want to.
Now, as he rushed into the room, he squinted, searching for any sign of human life. He walked along every wall, scanning the bookshelves for anything that looked amiss, until he reached the southern wall. He checked the shelf and noticed that one of his books was missing. To his horror, only a space remained where the book had once been placed. He had not taken the book out yesterday, and had he; it would have been returned to its rightful place on the shelf. He had learned too well what would happen when you left a book out all night.
He was terrified. Now frantic in his alarm, he turned round and round in the center of the room, calling out desperately, “Clara! Clara!” as his eyes grew large with fear.
He finally gathered himself enough to stumble to a doorway in between two bookcases on the east wall. Fumbling for the doorknob, he realized with great trepidation that it had already been opened. “Clara!” He wailed. He yanked the door open, pulling himself through it before he could bear to look around.
Behind this door was the other half of his study, which always remained locked. Inside was a wooden worktable pushed against one wall covered in beakers, baubles, and other scientific ornaments. Two large bookcases flanked either end of the table, and a bench in front. Now, however, the room was all but ripped to shreds. The bookcases had been smashed; their contents spilled over the floor. The worktable was flipped onto its side, all the embellishments broken on the floor, and strange liquids drained out of them.
The only thing undisturbed in the middle of the room was the bench, now pushed away from the table. Across the bench lay a young woman, seeming to sleep in a vision of picturesque womanhood, with a book settled upon her lap.
Upon seeing her, Mr. Linden walked over to the bench and sank to his knees, grasping the young woman’s hand. “Clara! Clara. I knew this was what would become of my horrible habit, but I have prayed that it would be me that they would take. Not you. Never you. Oh, Clara, what have I done?” He howled as sobs racked his figure.
After a moment, he removed the book from her lap, only to reveal a mass of spiders dripping from the book’s pages. Without a moment of hesitation, he placed the book upon his chest, laid down on the floor, the woman’s hand still held within his own, and declared, “If they demand one of us, I will give them both.”
Within the hour, he stopped breathing, the venom of the spiders plaguing his bloodstream, with the hope of being reunited with his sweet Clara once more, if not on this earth.
Every human life deserves safety. It doesn't matter what side you are on. Every human life deserves safety.
a list of vetted fundraisers sent to me recently. i apologize for not sharing them earlier, i haven't had access to my askbox, but here they are now. Thank you for sending your campaigns to me and i will do my best to donate what i can to each. please share and donate, even just a little!
Help Ahmed, Abedelrahman, and family Escape war from @ahmedalnabeeh11 - they are 2/3 of the way there but still need to raise $10,000!
Donate to Ahmed's Journey to Safety and Education organized by @ahmadresh. this is @mohiy-gaza's brother! He still needs $7,000.
Help me and my family escape the war in Gaza from @asmaayyad. Asma reached out a few weeks ago but the campaign for her family is still very low and there are a lot of people depending on it!!
Help Musab and his family,my pets survive this war in Gaza from @musababd. Musab's previous account and campaign were mistakenly flagged as fraud and he had to start over, but it is indeed a verified campaign.
Help us for the sake of God from @abdelmutei. another big family who has to raise a LOT of money. please help them!!
Help us and my elderly parents to get out of the war from @nedaapalestine. Nedaa's parents need medications they cannot access in Gaza.
Help Nour and his family escape from the war in Gaza from @noorabd1992. this is a relatively new campaign and needs a lot of support, please donate what you can!
Hope for Gaza: Support Ashraf's Family Rebuild Their Lives from @ashraf-family2. Ashraf has reached out to me before and is so close to reaching the campaign goal, but they still need about $4,000 more!
Get my relatives out of Gaza from @ghaziyounes1967. Despite being several months old, this fundraiser is stuck at $2,000 because of high cost of food and supplies in Gaza, as with each of the families and individuals above.
Please support Palestinians in whatever way you can--even just donating to one or two campaigns will lessen the load for everyone! If you cannot donate, share and reblog, i specifically linked people's accounts in this post so you can reblog their fundraiser posts individually. Free Palestine
me in a nutshell
Bruce: Stressed.
Dick: Depressed.
Damian: Possessed.
Tim: Obsessed.
Y/N: Impressed.
Jason: Chicken breast.
Everyone: ...What?
Jason: I just wanted to join in.
'you still listen to music from 10 years ago 🤨?' bitch if prehistoric humans had audio recording technology id be sat up here listening to grog and unga bunga's greatest hits don't play with me
All I want for Christmas is Matt Dillon oiled up in my bed 😔
Indiana Snow
an: We've just had our first snow of winter and everything looks so pretty! In honor of the first snow, here's a winter Eddie one-shot, a product of my boredom! Hope you enjoy it! (NOT related to 'The time before')
blurb: Andrea Emerson is back from college, but not even a week into her winter break, Hawkins receives a freak blizzard. Her brother, Gareth, has recently suffered an injury and calls in his bandmate to aid Andrea.
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The snow was coming down in small, sticky clumps when I woke up on a chilly morning in the middle of December. I could feel the blistering cold through my socks as I walked down the creaky stairs, trying my hardest to not wake the rest of the house up. I made my way into the frightfully cold kitchen, where a note taped to the fridge caught my eye.
Wanted to get out before the snow started. There are sandwich materials in the pantry. Josie's food is in the fridge. Love, Mom
Right on cue, I could hear my sister's tiny footsteps padding down the stairs. She came around the corner into the kitchen, her hair sticking out in every direction while she rubbed her eyes. "Hi, bubby," I said, picking her up and kissing her on the cheek. She was only two but had recently figured out how to climb out of the crib. "Hi, Andy," She sighed and laid her head on my shoulder sleepily.
Josie and I spent the rest of the morning making breakfast and coffee while watching the snow out the window.
Eventually, Gareth came downstairs, befuddled by sleep, and had breakfast. He glanced out the window, immediately refusing to shovel any snow. He sprained his ankle a week ago anyway, so I wasn't planning on him doing much. "I will take Josie out to play, though," he exclaimed, his statement punctuated by an excited squeal from Josie. I sighed heavily, marching to get my boots and coat on.
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What a great way to start winter break. Not even three days back from college, and already freezing my butt off while shoveling snow. I wasn't making any good progress either, barely getting the steps clear enough to get out of the house without falling over.
About half an hour into shoveling, I heard a voice behind me. "Hey, stranger." I turned to see Eddie, clad in a winter jacket, holding a snow shovel. The snow whipped around us, leaving snowflakes in his hair, which was held back in a ponytail. He looks like an angel, I thought. The idea bounced around in my mind briefly before I banished it. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "I came to help," He said, motioning to the shovel.
"You guys sure did get a lot more snow than we did at the trailer park. That probably has to do with how many cars drive up and down those roads. It's so much... prettier here." He said, looking out in our yard. Our house was nothing to look out for, nothing notable. It was small, with barely enough space for all of us. I made a slight noise of agreement before getting back to shoveling, Eddie following close behind. "Jesus, this snow is packed. I think what you need for Christmas is a snowblower," he exclaimed. I laughed mildly, watching a grin break out across his face.
"Can I ask you something?" I said, heaving snow to the left of me. "Shoot," He replied. "Were you actually 'In the neighborhood' and just happened upon me?" I asked. He let a few moments pass before heaving out a long sigh. "Not really," He finally answered. "Your brother called me." Bingo. "Oh." Even I could hear the disappointment bubbling in my voice. I'm gonna kill that brat.
"But I'm happy to do it. What other day do I get to spend with a college girl?" He grinned at me. "Shut up," I said, trying not to let him see me smile at such a stupid joke. "Well, tell me about it. How is college going?" He asked. I sighed. "It's good. I like it; it's just so... much. The schedule is really intense." I explained. "Geez. Sounds rough," he said. I was also tempted to ask him about school, but I knew there wouldn't be much to say. I could tell he took a hit on his self-esteem each time he had to repeat senior year.
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"Well, it looks like we're about done here," I said. After almost two hours in the snow, we had finally cleared the driveway and the sidewalk. He held his hand up for a high five, which I missed by about a mile. We both let out awkward laughter, eye contact slipping away. There was another minute of awkward silence. "Hey, I think we've got some hot chocolate inside," I suggested in a singsongy tone. "Hell yeah. I'm freezing my balls off," he said, letting out a chuckle of laughter. I walked past him, smiling, and let us into the house.
We shed our coats, boots, and scarves by the front door and entered the kitchen. Eddie followed me as I went through the cabinets, grabbing various supplies. Josie came running over, and I picked her up, cradling her in my arm while the other stirred cocoa powder into a few mugs. "Josie, you remember Eddie," I said, turning her to face Eddie, leaning against the counter next to me. He waved to her. "Can you say 'Hi'?" I prompted. She waited a few minutes while smiling at him and then said a slow 'hi.' He shot her a grin and returned the greeting. She giggled and hid her face in my neck. Me too, girl. Me too.
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The following afternoon was very calm, with Eddie and Gareth escaping to the basement to practice a little one-on-one. We drank our hot chocolate at the kitchen table, laughing the whole time as Eddie or Gareth cracked a joke.
"Why in God's name would you call Eddie, of all people?" I asked while shutting the door behind the cold. "Well... um.... I thought he would be the most willing?" He said, scratching his head. "And why is that?" I asked, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Because the guy loves you! I mean, do you really not see it?" He exclaimed. I scoffed. "Come on. Is there any other guy in this town who would subject himself to a day of manual labor just so he could spend time with you? He was practically begging me to give him an in like this." My heart thumped in my chest, and I could feel my cheeks blooming with heat. "Shut up. He does not," I said, walking down the hallway back into the kitchen. "Seriously. He doesn't shut up about it. It's a little weird, sometimes, to hear the kind of shit he says about my sister," He said. I focused on doing the dishes, pretending not to hear him. He sighed and finally gave up, walking down the hallway.
My mind continued to race in all different directions. He likes me? How is that even possible? I mean, we never even talked to each other, even though he was best friends with my brother, and we were originally supposed to be in the same year. It was all just... weird. Besides, I've been away at college for the past year! Sure, he was cute in high school and possibly even cuter now, but why would he ever have feelings for me?
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"You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you" AHHHHH WTF WHO TOLD HIM HE COULD BE THIS PERFECT????
kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader
Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he takes the step up into the front door. It gets caught on the latch, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside.
“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?”
Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light.
Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat.
He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside.
It’s good to be home.
He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated.
“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone.
“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.
He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive.
He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways.
Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.
Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves.
When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate.
Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m twenty minutes away.
You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast.
Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently.
You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in.
“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness.
You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side.
“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.”
You smile into his palm but don’t say anything.
“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.
You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.
“Did you…” Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?”
“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”
You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”
“All dinners are your best.”
You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.
“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.”
“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?”
“She won’t let me eat.”
Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.”
“What are you gonna do, H?”
He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, of course. What can I do?”
He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.”
You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for.
“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you.
“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.”
Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.
“You love eggs.”
“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks.
“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?”
“Avery’s always nice.”
Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.”
Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”
“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.”
Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.”
You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”
Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away.
“You comfortable enough?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.”
“But you had fun, right?”
“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.”
“Exhausted?” you ask.
“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.”
“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.”
“You did not.”
You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”
Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy).
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.”
Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek.
“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.”
“Love you, Steve.”
“Love you, too.”
The Time Before - Eddie's Movies
260 words
an: hey!!! life's been pretty crazy with exams and everything, and since I haven't posted in a while, here's a little fluff for you all! I've been obsessed with all the Godzilla and Kong movies recently, and wanted to put something in here because I think it fits Eddie so well! Hope you enjoy!
cw: fluff, slight mentions of child abuse
================================================Eddie had never gotten the chance to watch many movies at his former house; when his father was home, he would hog the tv, caring only to watch football games. The second time Eddie was placed in Wayne's care, Wayne decided to rent as many movies as he could that seemed like they would interest his nephew. Wayne laid them all on the shelf below the coffee table in careful piles.
Eddie had been quiet so far into his stay, much like the first time he was brought to Wayne, only much more enclosed, enveloped in himself. Wayne barely saw him leave his room, seeing it as a protective barrier from his brother's actions.
After they had finished dinner one night three weeks into Eddie's stay, Wayne suggested they put on a movie. "You go pick. They're all underneath the coffee table," he suggested. Eddie walked into the living room and picked the first one on the stack. He wasn't very interested at first, but once the opening scene of Godzilla vs. Megalon started, he was sucked in.
Practically attached to the movies, he spent the next two days watching every movie he could find. Godzilla, King Kong, and the Universal Monsters became his companions over the warm summer when his hair finally started to grow back out. Boris Karloff was his idol, and he even received a poster that has been tacked on his wall since his 12th birthday.
He wouldn't admit it until years later, but he cried at Kong's death at the end of King Kong (1976).
I got peer pressured into posting this
The Time Before - Vivianne Peretti
masterlist here
1,469 words
an: hey! this one's been in my drafts for a super long time, sorry about the wait! I hope you enjoy!
cw: mentions of abuse, fighting, aggression, characterological self-blame (CSB), weird age gaps (Let me know if I missed any!)
================================================
"Your mama was one of the most beautiful girls on earth. Or at least, we all thought so back in high school. She was from California, and she had the prettiest blonde hair. When she first moved out to Georgia, she had brown, mousy hair. But she said that she hated it so much she was gonna dye it blonde. And that's what she did.
"All of us boys used to go crazy over her. She was so new and interesting and had so many stories to tell about California that we all fought over talking with her. And when prom season came around; whew! You should have seen how many guys asked her.
"We were fascinated by her. She was always hip and cool and into the newest things. While the rest of us were playing sports or doing clubs at school, she was listening to rock n' roll records and partying with her friends. She's where you get your spunk from. And your taste in music. If she could see you now... my god, would she be impressed," Wayne said. "Really?" Eddie asked. "Are you kidding me? Having a son like you? She would be talking you up left and right, kid.
"Your mama always wanted kids. She once told me she wanted to have four boys. Can you imagine? Four? As much as all of us guys were crazy about her, she was crazy about kids. And she loved you. I know that much. Don't ever think she didn't, kid. She always loved you.
"When that woman knew what she wanted, she knew. And there was nothing you could do to change her mind about it. That's what your daddy liked about her so much. She was strong-willed and stubborn, just like him. But you know what happens when you put two strong-willed people in a room together..."
~~~
The year was 1967, and Vivianne was trapped.
The boy she had loved, the boy who spent four years of his life waiting for her, the boy whom she had married, the boy who had given her a child, had suddenly turned on her.
In a violent rage, Al had slapped her across the face. She couldn't even remember what they were fighting about; it was something small, something about dishes. She justified it to herself; she had egged him on, not stopping the argument when she saw his knuckles turn white while clenching the kitchen countertops. She hadn't stopped when the arguing turned into yelling, or after it kept escalating until boiling over. She hadn't stopped, she informed herself. She was at fault for this, not him. Besides, it was just one time.
But after the weeks passed and it didn't stay a one-time occurrence, she slowly began to recognize the shift that took place in Al. It happened right after their son, Eddie, was born. Eddie. She adored him. In her eyes, the sun and moon rose and fell at the mercy of this child. Her child. She coddled him, spending every waking minute with him attached to her hip or in her arms. She saw to it that he never cried, never was unhappy, never hurt, never was scared, and never felt sad.
She watched Al become bitter towards her and the baby. He began to pick fights with her over small things. The fact that the bed was unmade, that the kitchen table had crumbs on it, that the dishes hadn't been dried yet. He pestered her and followed her around, criticizing her every move. His requests were unrealistic and absurd; but when she chose to tell him that he would become irrationally angry.
At first, she chalked it up to both new-parent-nervousness and some jealousy over how much time she was spending with the baby. She figured that Al was used to all of her affection; late-afternoon love-making and morning chats in bed. Long drives out to the middle of nowhere, just for the hell of it. But now there was a baby to take care of, things to do, chores to be handled. Al was holding down a job at the mining company ten miles north, and the time he had at home was not spent wrapped up in his wife's affections.
Maybe he was nervous about taking care of the baby. It was new to him. Yes. That was it. Stress and nervousness were the factors that fueled his violence. Maybe if he were less stressed, he would be less angry all the time. She resolved to be a model wife; to live according to the rules of the white picket fence and the sundresses with aprons layered on top. She wanted so badly to be one of the women who had a pot roast waiting in the oven when her husband got home; to keep the house perfectly clean, to straighten his tie and kiss him on the cheek before he left for work in the morning.
And she tried. Oh, how desperately she tried. For a while, she even wore sundresses and aprons. But after the rain fell on the clothesline and the pot roast settled too long in the oven and burnt; she received the same reaction from Al; the yelling, the screaming. Every word that he said rang true in her mind. Then came the Big Anger.
She started to classify his rage into two sections; Little Anger and Big Anger. Although they shared certain qualities, they were very alike. Little Anger consisted of screaming and yelling. Big Anger was when Al began to throw things or hit. Unless she could calm him; which she usually couldn't, Little Anger would morph into Big Anger. There was yelling; then a fist through the wall. There was screaming; then there was a vase chucked at her head.
For two years, this continued. For two years, Vivianne was so stuck on thinking that she still loved the man she used to, that this was still the same man, that she let herself get beat up. She didn't even try to fight back, because she knew that it would do nothing but make him more angry.
The worse the abuse seemed to get, the more Vivianne retracted herself. She had a small place in her mind; a getaway paradise for when it all became too much. She imagined herself in the life she wanted to live; a small, perfect family of three, living in a house in a nice neighborhood with a big backyard where Eddie could run around.
Eddie. After two years of abuse, Eddie was her breaking point. It only happened once. It only had to happen once. When Al smacked the small boy over the head, citing the fact that he had knocked over a can of beer that was hovering dangerously close to the edge of the coffee table anyway, Vivianne saw red. After cursing her husband out and successfully ducking the punches he threw her way, she decided it was time. Time to set her and her son free. She didn't think she could ever stand to see her baby cry like that ever again.
That night, curled up in a rocking chair with a crying Eddie in her arms, she promised. 'I'll get you out, baby. I promise, okay? It may take me some time, but I'll get you safe. I love you too much, baby,' she cooed while pressing her cheek against his head.
~~~
As the years passed, she watched the abuse continue. Al started to hand it out regularly to both her and Eddie. With each passing day, the cracks on the surface of her heart deepened. She couldn't stand to hear another yelp or cry of pain from her little boy. She cared more for him than she did the heavens above, and she knew that watching this happen was slowly killing them both.
Right before Eddie turned ten, she confided in the only plan she could think of; Wayne. Wayne was Al's younger brother, whom she had known when they were in high school. She was actually closer in age to Wayne, and she knew now that she should have gone with him instead of with his older brother. But she had wanted Al. She couldn't, even now, put her finger on exactly what had drawn her to Al. Was it is bad reputation? The maturity she felt when telling other freshman girls that she was dating a senior? The reason escaped her.
But she knew now that Wayne was her last chance to get her child out of this. Her time had passed; she had made her bed, and now she must lie in it. But Eddie? She couldn't bear it. He had so much more life to live, and so many gifts to share with the world, that wouldn't happen or be released if he was stuck here. She had already kept him here too long because, selfishly, she wanted to hold him close to her. She wanted to hug and kiss him and tuck him in at night. But it became clear to her that it would hurt him more to stay than it would hurt her to leave.
So, in the middle of the night, she packed his things into a small backpack, carried him out to her car, started up the engine, and sped quietly off to Hawkins, Indiana.
It was a short drive; she and Al had taken up residence just 20 minutes outside Hawkins because they liked the scenery when they first bought the house. Now, it was a decrepit and lonely wood; but when they first moved in, it felt full of life.
That was how she felt. Once she had been beautiful and hungry to live; now she, too, was decrepit. The years of stress and abuse had aged her. She looked and felt older, she didn't read or play with her son any longer. She was now only doing the things she needed to do in order to survive. This thought made tears brim in her eyes as she drove down the dark and winding roads into Hawkins, her son asleep in the backseat.
When she first had him, she imagined a happy life for him. One where he could do anything he ever dreamed of doing, one where he was free. Now, she saw, that her son would never be free. These shackles in which she had borne him would live in his heart forever. He could never truly have complete serenity in his life. Her heart ached with guilt, feeling as if she had done this to him. If she hadn't stayed with Al or even if she had married someone else, his life could have been different. Both their lives could have been different.
~~~
She pulled into the trailer park, the soft rain pattering the car roof. She turned off the engine and sat in the front seat for a while, staring at the darkness that enveloped the world in front of her. She took a deep yet shaky breath, opened her door, and entered the dark, cold night.
There was a chill in the air as she slung Eddie's backpack over her shoulder and shook him gently. "C'mon, Eds, up we go," she said, taking hold of both of his hands and walking him out of the car. The small child was only partially awake, yet knew to follow his mother as she tugged his hand softly to the wooden stairs of his uncle's trailer.
As they waited quietly at the front door, she ran her hands through the small mop of curls on his head. They may have been the same, but they could not have looked more different. She, with her blonde wavy locks, and him with deep brown curls. She, with ocean-blue eyes. He, with eyes so brown it looked like they went on forever. Now those eyes looked onto hers with a deep, intense curiosity. His eyes asked all the questions his voice did not; Where am I? What are we doing here? Where are you going to go? Are you going to leave? "It's all going to be okay. Promise," she said, sticking out her pinky. He hooked his own pinky into hers and the promise was sealed.
Looking older and tired than Vivi had remembered, Wayne opened the door begrudgingly. He took the sight before him in. The two shadows of his past were now on his doorstep. Eddie had taken refuge behind his mother’s leg and was watching the man as he chatted with his mother. He welcomed them inside, and Vivianne coaxed Eddie into the doorway with her. "I'm sorry, he's shy. Eddie, say hello to your uncle," she spoke in a very soft, comforting tone. Eddie waved slightly at the older man, who chuckled and waved back. Vivianne squatted in front of Eddie, handing him his backpack that was still over her shoulder. "Uncle Wayne and I are gonna have a talk, okay? Why don't you go and sit on the couch?" she said. He agreed, walking skittishly over to the brown leather couch.
"Wayne, I know this is a lot to ask. I understand I'm coming to you with a lot of stuff. But I am truly afraid for him. Al's gonna put me in the ground. I know he's going to. And I have to live with the mistakes that I've made. But goddamnit, I will not let him touch my baby. If I leave him with Al, his fate will be as good as sealed. I don't think that I could ever forgive myself for that," Vivi explained, tears following the words, as she sat at the table across from Wayne. "I know you have a life, Wayne, and that this is probably the last thing you need, but just for a few months. After I'm gone, you can put him in an orphanage or in foster care or whatever you want to do. Just let me die with the hope that he's safe, okay?"
Wayne barely stopped to think before he agreed. Something deep inside of him compelled him to say yes, to keep the small boy sitting on his couch safe.
Upon the soil of his daughter's grave, he could plant a new seed, a seed that would this time flourish into a tree, sprouting its branches up toward the sun.
god the feminist in me leaving my body the second i open this app
we were robbed.
why is there barely anything of him from this period💔💔
The Time Before - The Early Days
masterlist here
1,962 words
an: I'm so glad people are enjoying this series. It's crazy to me that I'm garnering this much support in so little time. I really appreciate you guys!
If you have any requests for the next part of this series, please let me know!
warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of abuse, Eddie's dad being an asshole
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Eddie had been with Wayne for two weeks so far and had not said more than two syllables at once to the man. Wayne thought him shy in the beginning, but this passed even shy.
After a trip to Hawkins' local Mattress Emporium, they returned to the trailer with a twin-sized bed, mattress, blankets, sheets, and a few extra pillows. Eddie hadn't replied when Wayne asked him which sheets he wanted, just shrugged his shoulders.
During his time in the Munson trailer, Eddie had tried to make himself as small as possible. He wouldn't answer any of Wayne's questions on what he wanted, just shrug his shoulders so Wayne would have to make a decision.
The boy was so quiet he spooked Wayne. He wouldn't even hit the creaky floorboards. It was like he wasn't walking, just floating. Wayne couldn't believe that Al, his bull of a brother, could have raised a child such as this one. But then again, he strongly doubted that Al had much to do with raising the boy.
Once the room was finished and Wayne had set up the bed for him, the boy rarely if ever appeared out of his bedroom. He only appeared to be fed or to use the bathroom. Wayne felt as if he was still living alone, with the addition of another cat-like being who didn't seem to like him.
At first, it was like reopening the wound that losing Lisa had made in his heart. Many nights were spent thinking of ways he could make the boy like him, make him more talkative. But Wayne realized that the most he could do was to leave the child alone. After spending ten years with Al, anyone would go practically mute.
~~~
The first night that Wayne seemed to make any sort of breakthrough with Eddie was after dinner. The boy had been living in the trailer for about three weeks at this point, and dinner had been an almost silent affair, per usual. The only sounds that were made were either from Flopsy begging for food or Wayne replying to her, trying to get her off the kitchen chair next to him. Eddie ate his spaghetti and meatballs in silence, taking turns staring at the cat or down at his lap, never at Wayne.
But after dinner, Wayne was on the couch, nursing a beer and watching Mama's Family. This had become his new tradition, every night he would prop himself up in the living room, most nights falling asleep there. Eddie had retreated to his room, per his regular evening routine, and Wayne expected to watch TV for a few hours alone and then go to bed himself. But he only got through the theme song and opening credits before he heard a door creak open down the hall. Eddie and his mop of curls bounced their way around the corner and into the living room.
He silently sat down on the couch next to Wayne. He looked up, shocked now that his nephew, the ghost of a boy, was finally sitting next to him by choice. "Hey, kiddo," Wayne said, ruffling his hair gently. He didn't flinch, didn't move. Wayne had to hide his surprise by taking another swig of his beer, averting his eyes to the television.
All was calm in the Munson trailer, quiet for the night.
~~~
Eddie spent five weeks with Wayne before his father came looking for him. He showed up at the trailer while Wayne and Eddie were playing a round of cards at the kitchen table, but as soon as Wayne pulled open the door and revealed his brother, Eddie scampered back into his bedroom silently. "Wayne. Long time no see, brother," Al said, pushing past him into the small trailer. "Don't 'brother' me, Al," Wayne said through gritted teeth. Over the past few weeks that were spent with Eddie, he learned a thing or two about what his brother liked to do with his half-smoked cigarettes and rodeo belt. Al looked back at him, a mocking smile plastered over his expression. "What's got your panties in a twist, huh?" he asked. "What do you want, Al? Money? Is that it?" Wayne said, scoffing. "Jeez, where'd your manners go? Aren't you gonna invite me in? Give me a tour or a cup of coffee? I love what you did with the place," he replied, looking around him. The false admiration was dripping from his voice. "Al, when have you ever been welcome in my house? What do you want?" he said, putting a hand on his hip. "I think we both know the answer to that question, Wayne," Al finally said, dropping the smile from his face. Wayne tried his hardest to not let his eyes wander to Eddie's door.
"Why do you want to take him? You know you don't care about him, Vivi told me. She told me everything, Al. You act like he's a burden for you. He's happier here," Wayne said. Al took on a menacing stance. "You better quit sticking your nose in places you don't belong. It got you in trouble once, don't think it won't again. Besides, last time I checked, that boy is my son. Not yours," he gritted, making sure to stand a few steps closer to his brother than was comfortable. Wayne sighed. As much as he hated his brother, he was right. Eddie was not his son. Even just thinking that felt like stabbing a hole clean through his chest. He had to give the boy back, as much as his mind yelled at him that it was a horrible idea. Al wasn't backing down. "Fine. Let me go get him," Wayne decided, walking down the hall to Eddie's room. He knocked on the door. "It's just me, kid. Promise," Wayne offered, and soon the door was opened just enough for him to slip through.
Eddie stared up at his uncle with glassy eyes. "I'm sorry, kid. You're dad's gonna take you home tonight, okay?" Wayne said. He quit looking into the boy's eyes because the sight of it was bound to make him tear up. "But this is home," the small child spoke. Wayne sighed. "I know. And I promise, you're gonna be home soon, okay? Give me a little while to sort it all out, and then I'll bring you home, okay?" He promised. "Why don't you go pack up your stuff."
With that, Eddie packed his clothes and toothbrush into his small backpack. Wayne stood in the corner, watching the child solemnly. Once Eddie had finished, he spent one last ditch effort. "Please, don't let him take me," he pleaded quietly. Those six simple words almost broke Wayne entirely. "Kid, I've gotta. But I swear on my life that you'll be here soon, okay? Real soon. Promise," he said, squatting down to the boy's height. He was utterly surprised when the boy wrapped his arms around Wayne's neck, hugging him for the first time. Wayne hadn't been hugged by a child this small since Lisa was with him. He spent a few moments in shock, before wrapping his arms around the boy and enjoying the embrace.
Eventually, the pair let go and Wayne walked Eddie down the hallway. He watched a shift happen in the boy; it seemed like all the joy and talkativeness had disappeared from his body once he had walked within 5 feet of his father. At the same moment, Al started on his berade of the child, immediately pointing out what was wrong with him. "Boy, who let you keep your hair this long? Your mama? I ain't gonna be seen with no hippy of a son. Stand up straight, too," he complained as they walked out of the trailer door and into the night. Eddie quietly obeyed his every direction. Wayne was silently thanking his stars that the boy was as compliant as he was. It would be easier for him that way. Al had always gotten along better with people he could boss around.
Wayne finally understood why the boy was so quiet; he could barely get a word in edgewise with how much Al reprimanded him.
Watching his nephew walk out the door without even having a chance to say goodbye felt like a kick in the stomach. He was suddenly winded and tired and decided to sit down on the couch, flipping on the TV. Before he got the chance to change the channel, he caught the end of Mama's Family.
"That's what family is all about. Doing things that make you miserable," the laugh track cued.
Just that simple phrase, just two sentences, was the last nail in the coffin for Wayne. He felt his waterline brimming with tears, and quickly changed the channel, wiping his eyes.
When he couldn't move on from the thought of his nephew, all alone with his brother, he got up and walked down the hallway into Eddie's room. He sat down on the bedspread, which was spaceman-and-alien-themed after Eddie couldn't make a decision at the store.
~~~
Six months later, Wayne was woken up at three o'clock by the telephone ringing. He answered and was met with the voice of the police. "Mr. Munson?" the voice asked. "Yes, that's me," he replied, trying to rid his voice of sleep. "We have your brother, Alfred, in custody. You're the closest living relative of his son. Would you be able to come and get him?"
Wayne didn't waste a second. He said yes without hesitation.
Within five minutes, he had tugged on a pair of work jeans and was in his truck, reversing out of the trailer park. It took him 15 more minutes to pull into his brother's driveway, the house illuminated by the flashes of red and blue emitted by the police cars. Wayne pulled himself out of the truck and jogged over to the police officer. "Hello? I'm Mr. Munson, I've come to pick up Alfred's son," Wayne explained. The officer shook his hand. "Jim Hopper. Chief of Hawkins Police. We've got the kid sitting in one of the squad cars. He's a little freaked out right now. I mean, we all are. In all my years working here, never have I worked a case with as much gore as this one," he explained. Wayne must've had a look of confusion on his face because Chief Hopper elaborated. "You are aware that Mrs. Vivianne Munson was considered a missing person for a few months. We found traces of her blood and flesh in the house and a bag of her body parts buried in a field close by. I mean, his fingerprints were all over everything." The moment after he explained, Wayne was sorry that he ever let his brother take that boy away.
He gathered himself as Hopper walked him over to his nephew. The boy was sitting in a squad car, the door open, his feet hanging outside. He looked wildly different than the last time Wayne had seen him. His father had shorn his lovely curls down to his scalp, and he sported dark rings underneath his eyes. He stared at the ground, his hands clenched into fists. "Eddie?" Wayne called, shoving his hands into his pockets. The boy didn't make eye contact with him, or anyone else for that matter. He just got up from the car, walked past Wayne, and got into the passenger seat of his truck. Hopper and Wayne shared a look, until Wayne shrugged and walked back to his truck.
"He took her," Eddie muttered quietly. "What was that, kid?" Wayne asked, his eyes focused on the road. They had been driving for some odd time by now, and the truck had been silent thus far. "He took her. From me," Eddie repeated, louder this time. Wayne didn't know what to say. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and focused. "Yes, he did, son. He did. He's gonna pay for it, too, okay?" Wayne explained. The boy finally looked up at him. "It won't bring her back, will it?" he asked. The man looked over at him for a sheer minute and saw his eyes gloss over with tears. Angry tears. Hot, burning drops that trickled in steady streams down the boy's cheeks.
He cried quietly, almost silent, until they pulled up at the trailer and Wayne patted his back. He was sobbing at that point, cries racking through his entire frame in the passenger seat. He held his face in his hands, letting the tears fall into his palms.
"Listen. My Pop wasn't good to us either, you know? But guess what; I made it through. I know you can too. Hell, if I can, you most definitely can, kid. You got more spunk and courage in your little pinky than I've got in my whole body, hmm?" Wayne explained once the boy had stopped crying. "You can make it through, Eddie, I know you can. You're better than your past. You're better than this." This would be a phrase that Eddie would hear from his uncle many times in the coming years.
Eddie, only eleven years old, looked up at Wayne with huge, glossy eyes and a twinkle he had only ever seen in Lisa, and that was when he knew. He knew it would be the last time he ever let that boy go.
If you want more about Jonathan's Music taste, it's here
there’s a lotta unrealistic shit about stranger things but i think jonathan not knowing siouxsie sioux is the worst thing
apparently we have a type of man ...
long-haired man >>>>
“My child is completely fine” your child wants to get their back blown by a 60+ year old man with a former addiction problem
The Time Before Masterlist
The Time Before (Part 1) here
The Time Before - Wayne's Time in 'Nam (prologue/part 2) here
The Time Before - The Early Days (part 3) here
The Time Before - Vivianne Peretti (part 4) here
The Time Before - Eddie's Movies (part 5) here
All the works can now also be found under the #xxforestfairyxx's The Time Before
And on Wattpad!
My heeeaarrtttt <3
eddie’s love letter to reader after leaving her in chicago where he’d followed her after meeting for the first time. (i was in my feels despite not even being in love myself)
masterlist or series tag #enam3ls rockstar eddie
Dear sweetheart,
I’m considering hijacking my own plane and making them turn back to Chicago, back to you. My lips left your skin an hour ago and already they’re itching to be reunited.
Ready to commit felonies in order to feel yours once more. The guys have ditched me, they’re sitting further up the place. Apparently I talk too much as is, now I’m worse than ever and the only topic on my tongue is you. I can’t blame them, I wonder how I’ll ever shut up about you.
The flight attendant brought her little trolley round and all she got from me was a lecture about how you only mix your drinks with lemonade, never soda. I told her my girl has a sweet tooth. I suppose I don’t know for sure if you’re my girl yet. Not even officially my girl and you’ve got me hopping states and writing love letters.
You’ve bewitched me, babe. Appeared out of thin air on a dark stormy night in a small town like Hawkins? It all makes sense. I knew you had to be other worldly. You hexed me that night, turned me into a lovesick teenager. I hope the spell is irreversible if it means I get to be yours.
Shit, this could all be nonsense, I don’t know. I’m so god damn tired. You kept me awake. I’ve not even got my mind in the gutter. Just mean, how could I possibly sleep when I got to have you to myself? There’s only 24 hours in the day and you’ve existed for nearly 24 years. Hard to hear all your stories in that time. I want to hear them all. It feels cruel the universe robbed me of 24 years of you. Think I could listen to you til the oceans ran dry and I wouldn’t get bored.
I took my jacket off once I was seated to get comfy but then I realised it smelt like you. Had this thing since I was 16 and it’s only ever smelt like smoke and cheap beer. You wear it for a weekend and it smells like you. You you you. That pretty perfume and that sweetness natural to your skin. It’s soaked into the leather. Under the fibres. I think you’ve done that to me as well. Seeped under my skin. Running through my system.
Already owe Dustin and Steve my life in ways you don’t even know. I owe them it all once over for introducing you.
You were right when you said this wasn’t normal. People don’t just feel this way with someone they’ve known for a couple of hours. I think my heart was yours from that moment in the Hideout. It’s still with you now in Chicago. I don’t want it back. Keep it in the back pocket of those tight little jeans you wore yesterday. If you gave me yours, it’d be the most precious think I owned.
When you get back home to New York and read this, call me. I’ll be on your doorstep in seconds if I’m not already camped out there. I should’ve stayed in bed with you in that fancy ass hotel in Chicago.
Call me and I’ll crawl back into your sheets and promise to never leave again.
Yours if you wish,
Eddie.
don’t worry i know it’s been a while but i could never forget about my lil star crossed lovers
my taglist angels: @whoahoney @lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos s @munsonology @mseddiemunson @kreepja @midnightsgetawaycar
go easy on your fanfic writers.
they’re writing for free. they’re unpublished, untrained, unprofessional. they’re writing between real jobs, having families, kids.
go easy on your fanfic writers.
they’re working to a standard that paid writers rarely are held to. they’re creating fully fleshed out characters on personality alone. they’re doing their best to avoid using descriptions when writing about a person, one thing they were always told to do, the thing they always read about.
they’re trying to ignore their own experiences, their own lives to give you stories about a person without size, colour, weight, height, hair length, eye colour.
go easy on your fanfic writers.
they’re putting their heart into their works just to post it online and hope it’s received well. they’re writing thousands of words, they’re writing chapters and books. they’re nervous.
they’re worried about being called things they aren’t, they’re worried about coming under fire for something they’re not maliciously trying to do. they’re worried about someone accusing them of stealing, of plagiarising, of an anonymous grey box calling them awful things.
they’re trying their best.
this isn’t just self serving. this isn’t just a cathartic release for myself. I’ve spoken to dozens of writers in this fandom who are constantly and consistently getting hate. they’re all talented people doing this for free. for you to read. be kinder or there’s not going to be any writers left.
The Time Before - Wayne's Time in 'Nam
part 1 here
Photos not mine
997 words
an: hey! I'm so happy that people are enjoying this writing! Originally I was thinking about just making this a drabble/blurb, but with the addition of this, it will hopefully be a series! Thank you so much for your support, it means the world to me!
I had to actually do considerable research for this one, so I hope it's accurate. If there are any war buffs reading this fic (I doubt it, but if you by chance are) please let me know if I got anything wrong!
warnings: mentions of war, mentions of death, PTSD, Vietnam War
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Wayne never planned on fighting in Vietnam. He himself never liked fighting and once he was back in the US he wasn't a fan of the war.
But back when he was freshly 18, starry-eyed, and eager to impress his Pop, he enlisted.
The year was 1958, the war was only three years old, and it seemed so interesting. Fascinating, if you will. A young Wayne packed his things in a gray duffel bag that he then slung over his shoulder. He can still remember what he was wearing when he left home; a red and black plaid button-down that he still wears today, a pair of blue jeans, a pair of cargo boots, and a jacket that was draped over his arm. By the time he returned to the United States, this fashion would be so far out-of-date it made his head spin.
Most of his buddies went with him, wearing practically the same clothes as him, the same combed-back hair, the same hopeful look plastered on all their faces. That look would not be there when they returned (if they returned at all). But none of this was a worry to either Wayne or any of the five guys that went with him; Joey, Billy, Tucker, Jack, and Arthur. Tucker and Wayne had known each other the longest out of any pair in the group: they were next-door neighbors for their entire lives. Growing up in Redmont, Georgia, a town of under 1,000, everyone was practically your neighbor.
Tucker and Wayne were inseparable. Both of their mothers used to say, 'You'd think those boys were sown together at the hip, with all the time they spend together.' It was true; their entire lives were spent with each other. As kids, that meant skipping rocks in the creek and climbing trees. As teenagers, they shotgunned beers that they had stolen from Al, Wayne's older brother (he had a friend who made fake IDs, and good ones at that), jumped fences to irritate the chickens in their coop, stole cigarettes from their fathers' pockets and coats, and generally spent their days causing as much trouble as they could think up.
They all were shipped out to basic training in California first. Some of the guys were split up between different platoons, but they all saw each other often enough. These seemed minor inconveniences to them; they were ready, excited, and filled with energy.
The strictness of the rules and regulations was nothing new to Wayne, either. The high school had the strictest administration, it was said, in the entire state of Georgia and possibly the surrounding states. Their football was compared to basic training, and most of the guys had been on that team in high school, so they were not phased by anything that the Army decided to throw at them.
But once they were shipped out to Vietnam, the excitement quickly subsided. Over time, each man came to learn the price of war. The price that they each had to individually pay.
Wayne spent five years in 'Nam, fighting alongside Tucker. They were rumored to be the most indestructible duo on Vietnamese soil. But five years seemed to be Wayne's unlucky number.
He still has nightmares about the war. He used to say, 'You don't realize the price you have to pay when you're going to war. It's all fine and dandy when you enlist, and even through basic training. You don't think about the fact that in five years' time, you're going to be holding your dead best friend, his head in your lap, eyes wide open and staring right at you, somewhere in the Vietnamese wilderness with shots still coming at you.' Of course, that was when he still talked about the war at all.
After Tucker passed away, Wayne left Vietnam. He was twenty-three by that point and was sick of fighting. The effect of the excitement had worn off long ago, but once Tucker was gone, it felt hopeless. He was homesick, endlessly tired, and was done with combat.
Of the six that shipped out, only four returned; Wayne, Joey, Billy, and Jack. They finally reunited in 1965 after they had all returned to the US, deciding to indulge in the spoils of war. They traveled as a band, a crew, a group, a lineup. You didn't see one without seeing the other three close behind. They were like this for many years afterward until they scattered across the country; Wayne moved to Kansas and soon started to take care of Lisa, Jack married a young girl named Francine and they settled down together in New Hampshire (to have a whopping six children throughout their marriage), Joey stayed single, moved to Kentucky and still visits Wayne often, and Billy moved to Florida and started a family with a nice woman named Becky.
When the infamous 'make love, not war' protests started to pop up around America, Wayne found himself supporting the cause. He had never gone to war because he hated the other side or loved fighting; he had gone because everyone told him to go. Because it was all so new and shiny, and because he wanted to impress Pop. Because all of his friends were going, and because he wanted the glory. But in reality, he always felt bad when he was over there. There was always a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw the destruction that people suffered at his hands. The main reason he stayed was because of Tucker. Tucker made it nostalgic. Fighting with Tucker reminded him of being a teenager and hopping Mr. Luschogi's fence to tip his cows in the middle of the night. It felt mischievous and a little dangerous, and it gave him a huge adrenaline rush. But without Tucker, he didn't get to keep those blinders on. He saw, plain and simple, that he was hurting people. And that was never what Wayne signed up for.
Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you...
I used to work for a trade book reviewer where I got paid to review people's books, and one of the rules of that review company is one that I think is just super useful to media analysis as a whole, and that is, we were told never to critique media for what it didn't do but only for what it did.
So, for instance, I couldn't say "this book didn't give its characters strong agency or goals". I instead had to say, "the characters in this book acted in ways that often felt misaligned with their characterization as if they were being pulled by the plot."
I think this is really important because a lot of "critiques" people give, if subverted to address what the book does instead of what it doesn't do, actually read pretty nonsensical. For instance, "none of the characters were unique" becomes "all of the characters read like other characters that exist in other media", which like... okay? That's not really a critique. It's just how fiction works. Or "none of the characters were likeable" becomes "all of the characters, at some point or another, did things that I found disagreeable or annoying" which is literally how every book works?
It also keeps you from holding a book to a standard it never sought to meet. "The world building in this book simply wasn't complex enough" becomes "The world building in this book was very simple", which, yes, good, that can actually be a good thing. Many books aspire to this. It's not actually a negative critique. Or "The stakes weren't very high and the climax didn't really offer any major plot twists or turns" becomes "The stakes were low and and the ending was quite predictable", which, if this is a cute romcom is exactly what I'm looking for.
Not to mention, I think this really helps to deconstruct a lot of the biases we carry into fiction. Characters not having strong agency isn't inherently bad. Characters who react to their surroundings can make a good story, so saying "the characters didn't have enough agency" is kind of weak, but when you flip it to say "the characters acted misaligned from their characterization" we can now see that the *real* problem here isn't that they lacked agency but that this lack of agency is inconsistent with the type of character that they are. a character this strong-willed *should* have more agency even if a weak-willed character might not.
So it's just a really simple way of framing the way I critique books that I think has really helped to show the difference between "this book is bad" and "this book didn't meet my personal preferences", but also, as someone talking about books, I think it helps give other people a clearer idea of what the book actually looks like so they can decide for themselves if it's worth their time.
Update: This is literally just a thought exercise to help you be more intentional with how you critique media. I'm not enforcing this as some divine rule that must be followed any time you have an opinion on fiction, and I'm definitely not saying that you have to structure every single sentence in a review to contain zero negative phrases. I'm just saying that I repurposed a rule we had at that specific reviewer to be a helpful tool to check myself when writing critiques now. If you don't want to use the tool, literally no one (especially not me) can or wants to force you to use it. As with all advice, it is a totally reasonable and normal thing to not have use for every piece of it that exists from random strangers on the internet. Use it to whatever extent it helps you or not at all.
I want to see a movie of Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice but with Jamie Campell Bower as Lestat and Joesph Quinn as Louis