NullsVoid
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Summary
In the wake of loss, what else is there to do but sleep?
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You hate flying, but you have to get home somehow.
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Summary
“Beej, I feel that you’re not adequately appreciating the majesty of the sunset,” Hawkeye said, gesturing wildly with his wine glass.
“I’m appreciating it plenty,” BJ said, because he was. The light was bleeding through the curtains and casting Hawk’s face in a mess of deep oranges and warm golds.
(a couple beejhawk kiss roulette prompts!)
Bookmarked by NullsVoid
02 Oct 2025
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Henry Blake is dead, and it's up to Radar to deliver the news to the rest of the camp. He manages to hold it together - and hold it together - and hold it together until, to his horror, he eventually breaks in front of the man he admires most.
Bookmarked by NullsVoid
30 Sep 2025
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Hawkeye, the beach, and the future.
Bookmarked by NullsVoid
29 Sep 2025
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He filled hundreds of pocket-size notebooks with every and anything that came to mind, scraps of memory, turns of phrase, lists of names, and at night he’d sit in front of the typewriter and tap away until he was too tired to continue.
It became his hallmark—O’Reilly, competent, quiet, always writing something. Fine. There were worse things to be known for.
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Or: Radar comes home, starts writing, and never really works out how to stop. Life elapses. In June of 1963, a couple of old friends arrange a visit.
Bookmarked by NullsVoid
26 Sep 2025
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Hawkeye, too, is sharpened by autumn: hands in his pockets, overcoat flapping, eyes feverish-bright.
Bookmarked by NullsVoid
25 Sep 2025