dailyydreamer
🐊📻💌🌞🚬 🌹🍊🌙🌊🪖20
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Latest Posts by dailyydreamer
Somebody to love
Summary: Erik’s been gone a few months. You’re eight months pregnant, sick every day, and terrified he won’t make it back in time. He’s scared too—that you’ll have the baby alone, and he’ll lose more than just time
Pairing: Complicated! Remorseful! Erik x Pregnant! Alone! fem! reader.
Warnings: 18+, swearing, graphic details of pregnancy complications, mentions of sadness/ depression, marital problems due to career, mentions of sex. MDNI
WC: 3.4k
*This highlights the military life and the toll it can take on relationships, the missed milestones and the anger it can cause. It’s also nowhere near 100% accurate, don’t shoot me pls*
*It’s not meant to be a happy fic either.
Erik has been gone for a few months now and you’re just counting the days until he comes back. You miss your husband, but you worry yourself crazy about him too. How things are going, if he’s okay, what could go wrong, what if he’s changed and more. He always tells you to stop that, but you can’t help it— especially now, since you’re 8 months pregnant.
This pregnancy has been hard, you’re sick constantly and diagnosed with Hyperemesis gravidarum. It’s been hell, you’ve lost weight instead of gaining and had multiple doctors visits in such a short time. Your son is healthy and growing, but you’re drained.
Erik worries about you too. No matter how intense the situation was, he is always worried about you— constantly thinking about you. He hates being away during this time, your first pregnancy and he’s gone most of it.
His biggest fear is you delivering the baby alone, without him at your side. He worries that this would make you resentful, even though it’s out of his control. He fears that this could ruin your marriage.
You clean the house as you always did on Saturdays. It’s hot today and not cooling down anytime soon, you make sure to have the ac on, blasting cool air. You look outside as you stand at the sink in the kitchen—cleaning baby bottles and your cat Soku running in between your legs. The sun beaming down in your backyard, trees moving with the wind and the smell of the cinnamon rolls you made lingering in the air. It was quiet in the house, just you and your thoughts.
This pregnancy was supposed to be a loving experience, but even on the good days it wasn’t and you were alone. You felt the baby kicks by yourself, discovered the gender by yourself, had doctors visits by yourself, went to the hospital by yourself. You wouldn’t have tried for a baby, if you knew it would come to this. He was supposed to be done, he went back on his promise.
The military has already cost both of you so much and you just wanted him to stick to his word, but that still comes first no matter what.
You hold back tears as you’re scrubbing the bottles, scrubbing harder than you should. You accidentally make your nail bed bleed.
“Damn it!” You shout, tossing the scrubber and bottle back into the water.
Walking to the bathroom to get ointment for your fingers.
You sit on the edge of your bed and feel a kick. You jolt up slightly, his kick was hard this time. He kicked you in your ribs, which he had been doing a lot lately— it never made it any easier.
You can’t help but laugh a little, rubbing your belly.
“You’re gonna have to go easy on the kicks. Your mama can’t handle any more.”
You clean your finger and apply a bandaid, catching a glimpse of your wedding pictures with Erik. A simpler time for the both of you, a happier time.
Erik sits there talking to Elliot about you, trying to pass the time.
Elliot finishes chugging the water, handing the bottle to Ray.
“What’s the gender of the baby again?”
Sam shouts, “it’s a boy, babyyy!!”
Erik smiles, fidgeting with his gloves.
“Yeah. We’re having a boy, I’m going to have a son.”
Elliot nods, leaning back against the wall.
“Congratulations dude. You’re the first out of the group to become a dad.”
Ray giggles, catching everyone’s attention.
“Most of you fucks can’t hold down a relationship, of course he’s first.”
Erik smirks, knowing deep down inside he agrees.
Elliot, Ray, and Sam start throwing jabs at each other and laughing. Erik makes his way into the other room.
He sits in a corner, pulling out a picture of you. Holding it close to him, so ready to have you in his arms. He will be home in a few days, but he hasn’t told you yet— he doesn’t want to disappoint you if something changed.
Elliot comes into the room and shuts the door, Erik can still hear Ray and Sam being loud in the next room.
Elliot sighs, debating on asking this question.
“Man, are you okay? You’ve been quiet and distant.”
Erik hesitates to respond, thinking on his answer.
“Uh, yeah. Just worried about my wife is all.”
Elliot sits in the chair near the door.
“Is she okay? talk to me man.”
Erik’s lip twitches, he feels guilty.
“She has Hyperemesis gravidarum, a condition that makes her sick. She’s been sick this entire pregnancy and I haven’t been there.”
Elliot just sits there, watching Erik and listening to him vent.
“I’ve missed most of the pregnancy and I think she hates me for it.”
Elliot shakes his head, disagreeing with that statement.
“Nah, there’s no way she hates you. She adores you, you two are the happiest couple I’ve ever seen.”
Erik chuckles, because that is probably true— which is saying something.
“I was supposed to be out, man. We were trying for a baby—because I said I was done. Said I wouldn’t take another contract. But I knew I wasn’t. And I didn’t say a word.”
“Damn, dude— that’s kinda fucked”
Erik fiddles with your picture, understanding how bad it is.
“Tell me about it.”
“I haven’t even been able to talk to her for a few weeks now. She might’ve already had him for all I know.”
Elliot chews on his crackers, talking with his mouth full.
“You would’ve gotten the message from Red Cross, if that was the case.”
Erik responded, feeling defeated.
“This has to be my last contract, I can’t lose her over this.”
You took a nap and when you woke up it was dark outside. You got up to feed Soku, who was screaming at you for his food.
“Soku, calm down. I promise your food is coming.”
You shake your head, laughing. He always acts like he’s starving.
You waddle into the living room, then the bedroom and by the kitchen sink— closing all the curtains. Debating on what you will eat for dinner, it’s late and you don’t feel like cooking anything or cleaning dirty dishes. You immediately think of Chinese food, something you haven’t ate in ages. You call and place your order of lo-mein, generals chicken and egg rolls— your go to.
The food arrives 30 minutes later and you eat just about all of it. You were starving, but now you hope that it all stays down. Normally you get sick after eating food, not always— but often enough that you keep a bag near you.
Your belly feels like it’s expanded a shit ton, now that you’re full. You sit on the couch propping up your feet and call your friend Jessica, Ray’s wife.
The line rings a few times.
“Hello.” Jessica answers.
“Hey, girl!”
“How are you mama? How’s my nephew?” Jessica laughs.
“He’s fine, kicking me to remind me that he’s fine.” You let out a playful sigh.
“What have you been up to?” Jessica asks.
“Not much. I’ve been preparing for his arrival— cleaning bottles, having my dad set up his crib, painting his room and washing his new clothes.”
“Are you excited? He’s almost done baking.”
You laugh.
“I’m ready for it to be over, this pregnancy has not been fun at all. I’m also preparing myself to do this alone.”
“You won’t have to do this by yourself, don’t be dramatic. You have Erik, me and the rest of the family.”
Tears fill your eyes, because what she said is what you needed to hear.
“Who knows when they will be home. I’m just so damn frustrated.” You cry.
“I know, it’s okay to be frustrated. Just know that you are never alone, no matter what.”
Your line buzzes like there’s another call trying to come in.
“Jessica, I’ll have to call you back— someone else is calling.”
You disconnect that call and respond to the call coming through.
“Hello?”
It’s loud and muffled at first, almost making you hang up.
“Hellooo?”
The line clears up.
“Hey, baby.” A familiar voice says on the other line.
Your heart skips a beat at the voice.
“Erik?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
You’re unsure of what to say next, it’s been so long.
“How are you and the baby?” Erik asks, trying to ease the awkwardness.
“We’re fine. He’s been kicking me a lot lately.”
“He’s strong already. I can’t wait to see you two.” Erik chuckles.
“Mhm.”
“I’m sorry it’s been so long since we last talked. There’s been alot going on and I—“
“It’s fine.” You interrupt him, being short with your response.
Erik sighs, realizing very quickly that he’s in the doghouse with you.
“Baby, look I love you and we will be home soon. I’m done then, I promise.”
You rub your belly, tears running down your face.
“I.. love you too.” You say, getting choked up.
“Sweetheart.. don’t cry.”
“It’s just.. it’s been so hard, Erik. I don’t want to do this without you.”
“You won’t have to. You won’t.”
“What has your doctor said? Is everything okay at the check-ups?”
“I’ve gained 10lbs and he’s measuring a little small, but everything is healthy.”
“Okay, good.”
Erik abruptly stops the conversation.
“Oh, shit!—“
“Baby, I’ve got to go and I’ll call you back at another time. I love you.”
The call disconnects before you can respond.
“Fuck!” Erik shouts, getting up from the table. So irritated, that the one call he gets with his wife is interrupted.
There was a situation outside that needed his attention. Normally, the guys would handle it on their own if they could— but this time they couldn’t.
He’s trying not to get emotional, but the call was barely five minutes— after weeks of not talking. He wanted to hear more about you and the baby.
He could tell that you weren’t happy during the phone call and once again, he couldn’t be there for you. This whole situation was starting to worry him tremendously.
You just sat there on the couch, trying to calm yourself down. You couldn’t help but sob after that phone call. The navy comes first with everything you do.
You run lukewarm bath water, so you could maybe relax before bed.
You sit in the tub and rub your belly, humming a lullaby your mom would sing to you as a kid. You start feeling pressure on your lower belly, it’s enough to make you sit up in the tub. You’re thinking that maybe the baby had moved, but as you sat up in the tub— you see blood and a lot of it.
The sight sends chills down your spine and sends you into a panic. You carefully stand up to get out of the tub and the cramps start coming, the first one almost making you drop to your knees. You’re able to throw on the pajamas you had waiting and you try to quickly walk to the phone. The breathing exercises weren’t helping and you’re scared.
Something is wrong.
You get to the phone and dial the emergency number that Erik called you from, it rings and rings— no answer.
you call again and again.
Finally someone answers, it’s Elliot.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Elliot. It’s me, is Erik around?” Your voice filled with panic.
“Um, he’s busy. Is everything okay?”
“Ow! Ow!” You cry into the phone, the pains getting worse.
“I need to talk.. to him. Something is wrong.”
“Fuck! Okay. Okay. Hold on for one minute.”
You stand there holding your belly and you start to feel worse, just different than normal. All of a sudden, everything goes black and you’re on the floor seizing.
In the background you hear Erik on the phone, panicking and out of breath.
“Baby?”
“Baby, are you there?”
You black out.
Elliot runs to get Erik, who was still in a bad mood from his interrupted phone call.
Erik is tapped on the shoulder from an out of breath and worried Elliot.
“I need you to come here.”
Erik is confused by the statement, “what’s wrong?”
“Your wife is on the line.” Elliot huffs, bending over to catch his breath.
“What? Why would she call that number?”
“You’re sure it’s her?” Erik asking Elliot, still not understanding why you would call that number. It’s something you never did.
Elliot catches his breath.
“She’s crying on the phone and said there’s something wrong.”
“Oh, god!” Erik takes off running faster than he ever has.
He gets into the room and grabs the phone, putting it to his ear.
“Baby?”
“Baby, are you there?”
You don’t respond and he feels sick. He points at Elliot to leave the room and shut the door.
He hangs up the call and immediately calls your parents.
“Hello.” Your father answers, seeming like he just woke up.
“Hey, it’s Erik. Can you go to our house and check on her? She called this emergency number and said that something was wrong— now, I can’t get in touch with her.”
Your dad jumps out of bed, scaring your mother and hanging up the phone.
Erik paces the floor. He’s so scared, terrified of what could’ve happened.
Your parents rush in the house using their spare key. They scan the room looking for you and find you on the floor in the living room, by the phone.
Your pajama bottoms are soaked in blood and you’re still seizing, foaming at the mouth.
“Oh, my god!” Your mother screams, trying not to cry.
“Help me get her on her side!” Your dad demands as he rushes over to you.
“Honey, can you hear me?” Your dad asks as he holds your head.
Your mother frantically dials 911, letting them know about the situation.
She checks your pants to see if you had delivered the baby, there is so much blood. She couldn’t tell what had happened.
They rush you to the hospital and prep you for an emergency C-section. Your son, Emerson— is born early, but still relatively healthy. He was in distress, due to the umbilical cord being wrapped around his neck— he will need further observation.
You’re in and out of consciousness, not remembering what was happening. The doctors don’t know the cause for the seizure, but your labs look okay.
Your parents had a Red Cross message sent to Erik.
Erik continues to pace the room for hours, until he gets a call.
“Hello, is this the Officer in charge?”
“Yes, this is he.” Erik struggles to spit out.
“There’s been a Red Cross message sent through for Erik. His wife has been rushed to the hospital in critical condition and their baby was delivered early.”
“Does he wish to return home for this matter?”
“Yes, he does”
“Okay, we will put that in the system and notify his command.”
Erik holding back tears, his heart dropped in his chest.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good day.” The lady hangs up.
Erik starts sobbing holding his head in hands.
How could this happen? He should’ve been at home. He could lose both of you. This can’t be happening.
Erik rushes out of the room, startling the guys. His face is red and wet from crying.
Sam looks kinda scared at the sight, “what’s going on? are you okay?”
Erik’s grabbing his things and stuffing them in the bag.
“I don’t—“
“I don’t know what happened. All I know is my wife has been rushed to the hospital in critical condition and they had to deliver our baby early.”
The guys collectively gasp, all of them saying things— trying to be there for him, but he tuned them out.
Erik manages to pay for his flight and get his commands approval to leave.
You wake up— groggy, sore and confused on how you got here. You’re hooked up to a few machines and Erik is laying beside you in his uniform.
How the hell did he get here? Are you dreaming?
“Erik?” You mumble, voice hoarse and throat sore.
Erik opens his eyes as they adjust to the light, just waking up.
You start to panic, still confused.
“What’s going on? What happened?”
Erik looks at you with relief, jumping up and kissing you on the forehead.
“Honey, something happened and they had to take to baby early.”
The realization of what he said hits you and you start crying.
“No… No..”
Erik holds you, trying to comfort you as you’re now sobbing in his arms.
“Shh.. shh.. he’s okay— Emerson came out perfectly healthy and you will heal nicely.”
Your doctor comes in and addresses your concerns, telling you that if everything goes right— you’ll be going home in 3-4 days. Emerson has to stay longer, maybe 1 week— just to make sure he’s okay..
You feel so upset and defeated. You almost died and in your mind, almost killed your baby. Erik wasn’t home until after the fact. This is a nightmare.
Today is the day you go home, you’ve been cleared. Emerson is still staying at the hospital and that crushes you inside. He should be going home with you and getting used to you.
The drive home is silent, you didn’t have much to say to Erik and you haven’t since you woke up. He has his hand on your thigh as he drives, rubbing his fingers along it— like he used to always do.
You make it home and into the house, Erik helps you upstairs and into the bed.
He tidies up the bedroom as you sit there.
“So, when do you leave?” You question Erik, breaking the silence.
“Huh?” Erik responds, not understanding the question.
“When do you leave? Duty first and all.”
“I’m not leaving again. I’m home for good.” Erik replied, moving the folded baby clothes off the bed.
You wish you could believe that, you so badly do.
“You’re always leaving.”
“I know that I haven’t been able to be here, but I will be now. I will be here for you and Emerson.”
Erik checks his watch, making sure that he keeps an eye on it for your medicine.
“I almost died and you weren’t here, doubt that will change now.”
Erik finds himself getting frustrated, not at you— but the situation.
“Babe.. I didn’t have choice in the matter. I had to go for work.”
You laugh at what he says, showing that you don’t believe him.
“No choice—“
“Did you not have a choice when you fucked me and wanted to make a baby? Did you not have a choice when you broke your promise to me?” Your voice cracks as you start crying.
Erik’s heart breaks at the sight of you crying.
“I should’ve told you how I felt. I’m sorry for that, I am.”
“Sorry? You led me to believe you were done, you had me trying to make a baby with you and then doing the pregnancy by myself.”
Your tears turn into anger. You sit there watching him clean the room and avoid looking at you.
“Once we get Emerson home and I get back on my feet, I want a divorce.”
Erik’s head snaps your direction.
“Honey.. what?” Erik feels ill, almost like he wants to throw up.
“I can’t do this shit anymore, being picked second to your job-“
“If I hadn’t gotten to the phone in time, you would’ve had a dead wife and son. You were halfway around the world, when you could have at least been here with me. I gave you the baby you wanted and you couldn’t give me honesty.”
Tears fall down Erik’s face.
“Baby.. the job is complicated. I’m done with it now and I’m here from now on, you won’t have to go through anything else by yourself.”
“Complicated? Erik, you lied to me. You weren’t ready to be done.”
“Yes! Complicated—“ Erik raises his voice a bit.
“That job is the one thing I’m good at. Outside of starting my life with you, it was the best decision of my life. It’s all I’ve known for a long time. I made a mistake and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know how to tell you that I wasn’t sure what to do.”
You sit there listening to what he says, realizing that how he would feel never crossed your mind.
“You could’ve said something, Erik. I would’ve waited on the baby.”
Erik stands there with his hand on hip.
“I didn’t want to wait.”
“I didn’t want to wait due to my career. I wanted to start a family with you.”
Your heart aches, you have a good reason to be mad— but maybe you should’ve considered his feelings.
“Babe.. I’m sorry. It’s just been a rough time.”
Erik crawls in the bed beside you, kissing you passionately and rubbing your head.
“Don’t apologize to me, I’m sorry. Your pregnancy could’ve been totally different if I had spoken up.”
“Please, forgive me..”
Deep down, you had already forgiven him. Your emotions are just all over the place. You can’t imagine your life without Erik, but the hurt feeling still lingers.
Erik fell asleep, his hand over your belly— almost like it was a natural instinct. If only he could’ve felt Emerson kick and rub your round belly.
He’s finally home and finally able to get rest in the place that brings him the most comfort.
The room is silent, your mind is racing and your body is sore.
Emerson is still in the hospital, hours away.
Nothing is perfect here or even close to fixed, but at least you’re no longer in this alone. No longer dreaming of the day Erik is back at home.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
｡⋆manifesting a military man.𐙚₊
And I think I’m gonna miss you for a long long time….💋🪖💼🎇✉️
Featuring: Erik from Warfare
Taking a break from my regular scheduled content for Warfare
Loading from a hot LZ somewhere in Vietnam
passionate, deep, raw with heavy eye contact
Lace 🤍
I Cant Quit You Baby - Led Zeppelin
My latest find at the thrift store
🪖📻☢️🌅
Almost In Your Arms - Sam Cooke
Yessss Crawford getting attention 💛🏄♂️🌊
Could you please do some relationship headcanons for Crawford?.
---
Crawford; Relationship Headcanons.
---
― Genuinely a very positive person, lets get that immediately straight and out of the way --- not in some forced, artificial way either. It just shines through him naturally; You know how sweethearts writing letters to their loved ones in war are usually the ones comforting them? Pretty expected, correct? Well, in Crawford's case, it is the other way around --- he is the source of feelgood vibes towards you, back home. You receive an envelope and it is filled to the brim with words of encouragement directed at you; reminding you how he counts down the days eagerly, what his methods to make the months fly by faster are, how time passes and that's a good thing, how he is fine, no trouble on the horizon and even when something bad does happen, like him getting injured, shot, the platoon falling into an ambush, Crawford is very likely to just downplay it all, not because he is lying, being honest or swerving the truth, but simply because he always looks on the brighter side of things and it oozes through every word he's ever written you, making letters from him something you happily anticipate to get rather than dreading the notion. He's your fix of wellness and sunshine in that regard, but during deployment and away from it.
― Speaking of which, he has a natural knack at making you temporarily forget the very vivid danger he is realistically in; his correspondence including descriptions of the favorable weather, some beautiful beach he might've seen around Vietnam and took time to immortalize through descriptiveness, the circumstance of the tides, the waves, sending you the odd occasional trinket or souvenir he's either bought, found or handmade himself, be it an unusually colored seashell(s) collected somewhere off of the coastlines dotting the southern portion of the country, the occasional glass colored handful of tiny pebbles stringed together in the vein of a puka necklace, maybe some statuette of a local deity bought in some city or market place passed by a patrol; the image of a mermaid or a local, folksy oceanic spirit Crawford carefully wraps up with merely the jokey description, a singular one, on a white piece of paper that accompanies it and says 'You' --- whatever the case, the subjective feeling is that he's merely on a short lived vacation doing just fine and that he'll back to you soon, which is generally the whole point to him anyway.
― He's unabashedly, through an through, a California kid at heart. A surf boy. As a result, irregardless of where you're from yourself, you're his 'Babe', his 'Beach girl', his 'Valley Girl', his human incarnation of an easygoing, eternal summer and a promise of better days to come --- those are just some of the playful endearments he has for you and in fact, the less close you live in proximity to California itself, the more interesting it is to see just how keen Crawford is to sweetly claim you into the fold like you're a born and bred native of the place. You could be from Alaska or far off Timbuktu and he'll generally talk about you, refer to you, reference you like you downright lived on the sunny, carefree coastline somewhere all your life and that's where you rightfully belong and chances are, the boys of the Underworld might just get surprised to discover the person Crawford keeps mentioning isn't in fact from the West Coast or even anywhere near it. Say, if you are, that is simply an added bonus. But, it generally changes nothing, because he, through affection alone welcomes you into everything he is so readily you really start getting the subjective impression you are exactly who he keeps teasingly saying you are. You really are his 'beach girl' because you sure as heck feel it.
― Not a confrontational partner towards you whatsoever; he gives me the impression that he doesn't think a relationship should be...well...stressful. In fact, ideally, nothing should be stressful. Love and peace, man? That, or peace out, bro. Either or. He's very much in that mindset and mentality. What's the point of anything that's a draining hassle? A relationship should be fun, loving, dedicated and all things that feel good and if it ain't, there's no point it --- that being his laid back Cali self talking ---meaning that this thing you two have is oddly mellow and well balanced for all intents and purposes, making you feel like really well adjusted friends as well as significant others; in fact, so well adjusted that one might get the impression of a settled couple from you two even if you were together significantly shorter. Or maybe you weren't. Regardless of the combination of how things work between you you both give off vibe of a really young, carefree couple and two people who almost act like an old married partnership of people. From quiet walks on the beach wrapped in thin, pale cardigans, to screaming and chasing each other in the sand, the two aspects are combined just perfectly. One perhaps, wouldn't immediately expect a surf boy to have a relationship this...mature and healthy...but it is.
― You're his pearl, his mermaid, his sunshine, his sea-breeze; he realizes the nicknames are deliberately cheesy, and that they make him snort as well as they make you giggle and roll your eyes, endeared, but see, that's exactly why he likes them; the same way he likes strengthening the further impression that he is a-okay and safely out of harm's way while in-country by regularly taking polaroids and snaps of himself shirtless with his skin going through the process of red peeling due to the sharp, overhead sun, finding ways to tan during breaks on base the way he would home and sending you pics of himself covered form head to toe in creme as a joke, having photos of himself snapped near beaches, bodies of water, thumbs up and smile in tow, purely so you'd have tangible proof and reminders not to worry. He might even jovially label his own photos sent to you as 'Greetings from California, Da Nang' or 'Love from somewhere around the Cambodian Border, San Diego' purely to comedically intermix and interconnect the 'here' and the 'there' and make his deployment feel as close to home as humanly possible; like he merely popped out of town for a brief blip, but he'll be back before you know it.
― If you can't swim, he'll teach you. If you can't dive, he'll teach you. If you can't surf, he'll teach you that too, if you've a fear of water, he'll try to ease that up in you in a prodding, teasing manner; he could be generally surprised by anyone who doesn't know how to do these things because this boy's like a fish in water and he might project the notion that everyone's a natural at said skills too, but in his mind he's already rubbing his hands together eager for the opportunity to be the one to meticulously explain everything to you first, even though he is just as likely to be surprisingly fine if you never quite take to the water like a natural the way he does, because he'll be entirely content with you just smilingly, peacefully sitting in the shallow, waterfilled bosom of the tame coastline, perhaps from underneath the hooded shade of a beach parasol, waving him off lovingly while he does tricks and stunts with his surfboard for you like a champ, showing off, making you laugh or simply having you drift off, immersed in observing him from your tucked away, serene corner. If you aren't a swimmer his letters might sweetly remind not to 'head out there without him to hold unto you'.
― It is less so about a specific look where his 'type' is concerned and more so about details and aspects that show off a body and an appearance hints at being lived in; So, what does this mean, you may ask? The occasional awkward suntan on your shoulders, the way your nose might've gotten adorably red due to too much exposure to sunshine, perhaps, if your skin is prone to it, the odd freckle here and there brought about by the heat, if not, the way your complexion either got bronze or dark, maybe your hair developing an odd decolorization, fizziness or highlight from the rays, knees white with sand, salty skin, body smelling like tanning lotion washed off by the waves and the open oceanborne air and the sea, your breath smelling like the sweetness of excess ice cream, your body being paler underneath your clothes than the parts that are open to direct exposure due to spaghetti straps, cleavage, short sleeves, daisy dukes, hot pants, flip flops and the like, peach fuzz and the odd bit of body hair whitewashed by the extremity of high noon conditions --- all of these things drive Crawford absolutely bananas and he adores to see it. Probably keeps something unusual like that as his wartime keepsake. A polaroid of the different of skin shades after you've tanned in your swimsuit. He think it's cute.
― Get the impression that while he was home he wouldn't have really cared for you cooking for him in the classical, traditional sense; big, tiresome meals that take hours to prepare and all that, rather, Crawford likes the odd, quick concoction he and you can eat on your feet and on the move and he seems really taken with combinations that nobody understands but him and you; fact is, he might tell the boys of the Underworld, all endeared, how his girl likes to make him Baja bay beach sandwiches or on the go Surf San Diego style burgers, talking about all of it like it is the peak of cuisine (and to him, it is) but nobody's ever heard of any of these things even though he talks about it all with a smile plastered on his face, and the reason why nobody's ever heard of these recipes because he enjoys it when you put together something you and him can simply chow on while outside, on a pier, a dock or the seaboard and he might even reference it in his letters to you. Babe, you've no clue how much I wanna try what we ate the last time we were out on the shore. Oh, man, I'm dreaming about it.
― What he enjoys getting back from you in terms of correspondence is the same thing he sends, give or take. The simplicity of your day-to-day life in his absence, your problems, joys, hopes, thoughts, feelings, pictures of anything and everything you can possibly send; your sandals in the water, his name written out next to yours in the sand before the waves wash it away, an interesting surfboard in a shop window, a meal, a dessert or cocktail drink you've prepared and that you would've shared with him if he was with you, you trying on a new bikini or sundress, interesting newspaper clippings you think would make him laugh, some sand in a small bottle vial he can wear around his neck as a piece of home not unlike a memento, a lock of your hair particularly chewed by the salt of the beach and that you cut off and tied with a ribbon, sending it him so he can be amused by it as he safeguards it. -"Yeah, babe, I'm def. sending you a cap next time."- He might comedically respond in his next letter, legitimately finding the bright side in every situation, regardless how serious or unserious, serving as a sparkle of guiding light for you throughout the war.
“ I’ll give you ( Captain Ben L. Willard) shelter from the storm” 🪖🤎🥾📺🏠
goodnight
Phenomenal movie probably the most realistic one and the actors did an amazing job. I literally was in tears.
(War is hell and that’s what the movie portrayed)

Just saw warfare… wowowowowowowowowow
Lance Johnson
“Wouldn’t it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belong” 💙📿👙🚙🪖💌
Whitman’s Chocolates ad, Easter 1943
Surfer and Navy gunner Lance B Johnson
“California I’m coming home” ☀️🏄♂️🌊🌅🏖️
unfortunately obsessed with this guy rn. blorbo
1940's Whitman's Chocolate ad
boys in camo.
Hashtag heart eyes
Crawford returning to California to his girl and getting to have a family
🌊🐟🌅🏄♂️💗
why do all of the [fictional] men i like have severe issues or are just war criminals
The vibe of the day 🌤️
California Dreamin’ ☀️🌊🪖
(Crawford because I got inspired while listening to the Mamas & Papas )
