[mijmeraar] and they lived, Hawk/BJ, 13+
Apr. 15th, 2007 08:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mijmeraar.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mash_slashTitle: and they lived.
Characters: BJ/Hawkeye
Prompt: Red.
Word Count: 460
Rating: 13+
AN: Distortion of a classic fairytale.
IF it were appropriate for wartime – although wartime itself is not appropriate - we might have ourselves a story. Past the binding of mortar fire and the leather-like cover of dead flesh; past the falsely persuasive blurb around back, where the soldier can’t see. Inside, at the core, between the lines, the story might go something like this:
BJ Hunnicutt was a wolf in pretty pink clothing.
There were big blue eyes to see better with – and this BJ, he did well to see everything. He would watch, unassuming, from his patch of the war. He would know you without even asking. There were bright white teeth to smile better with – and when he did, he would put all at ease. Perhaps not the greatest of jokes, it was true; but a smile across a stuffy Post Op was worth every good joke ever told.
There were funny, pointed ears to hear better with – and when spoken to, that BJ, he listened. Free always to talk and to talk and to talk, and it almost felt real again. It was almost like home. There were long arms, to embrace better with – and he was not afraid of affection. He would hold you and you would remember there is not only hate, that hate is something taught and he could teach you otherwise.
IF this were a story, a real one, and we had reached our journeys end: we would feel happy, and sated, and warm. Let us not dwell on the blood stains, the fading prints we leave behind or how it is to look into nothing, or to die. Take away the dog eared pages; the alcohol, curse words, bare fists. Jump forward to the final scenes, to:
Hawkeye Pierce, falsely innocent, clad in a deep red robe.
Broken by another, seeking refuge from the cold; he stumbled upon that BJ, that wolf, and offered up himself. Said, come on, dig your claws in. Come on, need it, need me. He cajoled him with sweet coated words, promises and oaths. It will get easier, this game, this charade. I’ll help you. I’ll pretend too. Hawkeye Pierce falls for the pretty clothing – big eyes, funny ears, blinding smile. When BJ draws him close Hawkeye will not see the wolf underneath: double lives and twisted lies and the animal weakened by the blunt end of the axe [the war] not killing him completely, but changing him, his ways.
Long arms, to embrace better with – and Hawkeye will be swallowed whole by it.
He’ll pretend this is someone who wants him, for life.
Not someone who needs him, for survival.
The moral of the story is: to stagger through the woods unknown, you will do well not to stray from the path.
Characters: BJ/Hawkeye
Prompt: Red.
Word Count: 460
Rating: 13+
AN: Distortion of a classic fairytale.
IF it were appropriate for wartime – although wartime itself is not appropriate - we might have ourselves a story. Past the binding of mortar fire and the leather-like cover of dead flesh; past the falsely persuasive blurb around back, where the soldier can’t see. Inside, at the core, between the lines, the story might go something like this:
BJ Hunnicutt was a wolf in pretty pink clothing.
There were big blue eyes to see better with – and this BJ, he did well to see everything. He would watch, unassuming, from his patch of the war. He would know you without even asking. There were bright white teeth to smile better with – and when he did, he would put all at ease. Perhaps not the greatest of jokes, it was true; but a smile across a stuffy Post Op was worth every good joke ever told.
There were funny, pointed ears to hear better with – and when spoken to, that BJ, he listened. Free always to talk and to talk and to talk, and it almost felt real again. It was almost like home. There were long arms, to embrace better with – and he was not afraid of affection. He would hold you and you would remember there is not only hate, that hate is something taught and he could teach you otherwise.
IF this were a story, a real one, and we had reached our journeys end: we would feel happy, and sated, and warm. Let us not dwell on the blood stains, the fading prints we leave behind or how it is to look into nothing, or to die. Take away the dog eared pages; the alcohol, curse words, bare fists. Jump forward to the final scenes, to:
Hawkeye Pierce, falsely innocent, clad in a deep red robe.
Broken by another, seeking refuge from the cold; he stumbled upon that BJ, that wolf, and offered up himself. Said, come on, dig your claws in. Come on, need it, need me. He cajoled him with sweet coated words, promises and oaths. It will get easier, this game, this charade. I’ll help you. I’ll pretend too. Hawkeye Pierce falls for the pretty clothing – big eyes, funny ears, blinding smile. When BJ draws him close Hawkeye will not see the wolf underneath: double lives and twisted lies and the animal weakened by the blunt end of the axe [the war] not killing him completely, but changing him, his ways.
Long arms, to embrace better with – and Hawkeye will be swallowed whole by it.
He’ll pretend this is someone who wants him, for life.
Not someone who needs him, for survival.
The moral of the story is: to stagger through the woods unknown, you will do well not to stray from the path.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}