I’m Here For A Good Time Not A Long Time

Trying To Pull A Ferris Bueller Everyday Of My Life

[almostpleasantrebel]

SHE ARRIVED WITH PASTRIES

[petaltexturedskies]

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

[petaltexturedskies]

Sylvia Plath, from "Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices" in The Collected Poems

[mournfulroses]

Sylvia Plath, from a diary entry featured in The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[petaltexturedskies]

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

[mariekristina]

I think that life back home after Korea felt a lot like living in a Edward Hopper-painting to Margaret. Isolated, lonley. Like she was watching life go on around her, but couldn't really relate. The light harsh, angular, the shadows deep. The shapes and forms too, no more tents that moved in the wind, with the sound of other people constantly present, just massive, unmoving walls, looming, and waiting, just like her. Waiting for her real life to begin, for her to feel all the things she thought she would, to be swept up and embraced by the world she had chosen to live in.

(Automat, Morning Sun, Room in New York, Sunlight in a Cafeteria)

She would see her friends in strangers in the street. A bad posture, a big mustache, a bald head shining in the sun. Or friendly eyes in a wrinkly face, but they were only just echoes of the real people. Of her family. Her yellow sunrise-pillow she had carried back all across the world would look stupid on her new bed, so she'd throw it in a closet and try to forget it existed, try and stop making her new home remind her of her real one. A tent wasn't a real home anyway, it was stupid to think of it like that, stupid to long for it. She had chosen her new life, and she would get used to it, damn it, that's what a Houlihan did, they adapted. Even if the light was too harsh, the shadows too deep, and it felt like her back was always turned away from everyone else.

[petaltexturedskies]

Sylvia Plath, Letters of Sylvia Plath Vol. II: 1956-1963

[petaltexturedskies]

Sylvia Plath, in a letter to Ruth Tiffany Beuscher, written c. July 1962, from Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume II: 1956-1963

[roboticoutlaw]

first time trying to draw margaret houlihan from m*a*s*h!

can't flip the canvas with traditional art so she's a little wonky but i still like her :P

[almostpleasantrebel]

What was supposed to be a simple, little longer fic delving into Margaret’s family dynamic post-war over a holiday visit (both her immediate family as well as her marriage to Hawkeye and their two kids) has turned into a giant fic, 44k words and counting. I’m having a GREAT time with it, look out for Miss American Pie on ((hopefully, fingers crossed)) July 4th.

Here’s a little preview:

Margaret had stayed there a long moment, receiver still pressed to her ear, listening to the empty line.

Now she stood at the sink, hands buried in soapy water, doing the math again, like the number would shrink if she approached it from a different angle.

Her and Ben.

Julie and Harry.

Carol and Tom.

Jane and Lucy.

Her father.

Her mother.

Karl, her stepfather, who had apparently existed for years but had only been introduced to Margaret three months ago in a letter that began with Surprise.

[almostpleasantrebel]

Sooooo this is taking much longer to write than I thought. HOPEFULLY before the end of July it will be up

[major-marg]

loretta's laugh <333

[major-marg]

howitzer al houlihan you will never be sherman t potter !!

[bracketsandunderscores]

I wonder what reminds the 4077th of their friends when they arrive home. Does the smell of fudge or the sound of whispering remind Margaret of her nurses - or do dirty socks and soapy water remind her of BJ and Hawkeye? Does Mulcahy think about his friends whenever he sees a poker game being played? Does Charles ever look at magazines and hope to God they aren't Hawkeye's nudist issues? Does Potter ever think about Radar or Klinger when he has to sign a document? Does BJ ever walk into a bar and search everywhere for his best friend, only to remember he's back in Crabapple Cove? Does Hawkeye ever say a little too much and look for BJ to back him up, just to be confronted with the fact they'll likely never meet again?

Do they ever walk into cafeterias and feel an immediate sense of dread when it comes to grabbing their food, even when they know it tastes perfectly fine? Have they ever called holidays R&R instinctively even when they know they aren't back in Korea? Do the colours army green and blood red make their stomachs turn? Do items crashing down onto floors make them hide under tables? Do they ever forget to check the mail because they assume someone will take it straight to them?

Do they ever see helicopters or Jeeps and feel the need to run? Have they ever talked a little too much in the operating room (if they ever return to surgery) or wondered why it's so silent, because for years it was all they could do to keep their minds away from just what they were doing? Do they ever look around and just wonder where the hell everyone is?

[kellyeswife]

I made an edit of margaret from a song that's been going around on tiktok and I'm proud of it so here you are <3

[almostpleasantrebel]

What was supposed to be a simple, little longer fic delving into Margaret’s family dynamic post-war over a holiday visit (both her immediate family as well as her marriage to Hawkeye and their two kids) has turned into a giant fic, 44k words and counting. I’m having a GREAT time with it, look out for Miss American Pie on ((hopefully, fingers crossed)) July 4th.

Here’s a little preview:

Margaret had stayed there a long moment, receiver still pressed to her ear, listening to the empty line.

Now she stood at the sink, hands buried in soapy water, doing the math again, like the number would shrink if she approached it from a different angle.

Her and Ben.

Julie and Harry.

Carol and Tom.

Jane and Lucy.

Her father.

Her mother.

Karl, her stepfather, who had apparently existed for years but had only been introduced to Margaret three months ago in a letter that began with Surprise.

[myriap0da]

my mashlings

[tgirl-tamag0tchi]

I love women who are actually like coyotes or robots or eldritch horrors.