appalachianapologies
Hey there!
Vi | AO3: AppalachianApologies | author | autistic | she/her | 21 | lesbian | terfs get blocked and then punted into the sun via cannon
9421 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
kenozick-blog
Fingerboarder
eggussy
eggless
feyrecvrsebreaker
A NIGHTMARE.
lipeng19
Untitled
antonyarts22
Antony art's
Text
i would love you regardless of whether or not you were a worm
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
hey happy anniversary to them!
noticed that y’all are always reblogging my old mash art from like three years ago. makes me very happy. but thought i would say hello today and share some recent stuff because my art has come far recently. and i have been rewatching mash of course. i never stop feeling crazy about mash.
291 notes
·
View notes
Text
Finally got a clear shot of noonoo carrying her spring, it's her favourite toy
99K notes
·
View notes
Note
Alrighty, how about "another wip don't fucking @ me"?
Okay so for this WIP I had to go through and reread to see what exactly I was getting at because it's years old at this point and could not actually remember what it was for/what I was going for. It looks to me like it was some sort of timeline where Mac and Jack met under different circumstances (I say, knowing full well that that is nearly every single AU that I write lmao) and are in the process of finding each others' footing (ALSO the same thing I rewrite over and over again)
Here are some words from it!
“You know, you really don’t have to follow me everywhere. Just saying.”
“I kinda do.”
“You kinda don’t,” Mac counters, before turning his full attention to the keyhole in the door. After a bit of jiggling, he mutters, “It’d be easier if I just lock picked my way in.”
Even though Mac isn’t looking at Jack, he can almost feel the older man’s eye roll. “Alright, c’mon, give it here. You youngins don’t know how to open doors.”
“Youngins? I-” For his own sake, Mac cuts himself off when Jack’s able to open it on the first try.
Ignoring his smug look, Mac snatches the key back as he walks in the door. The house looks like what Mac expected it to. Same thing in the pictures, including all of the furniture.
Jack whistles behind him. “Good lookin’ stuff here, huh? And all for free?”
“It was grandpa Harry’s,” Mac replies, carefully walking, as if disturbing the dust will somehow ruin the house. “And my dad never had it. Harry was my mom’s dad, so he never offered it to him. He lived in it until he, um, you know, had to take care of me.”
Nodding along, Jack takes in the house. Not the same way as Mac though. It takes a few seconds of ‘overwatch watching’ for Mac to even realize what he’s doing. Hecking the place. Scanning to make sure that there aren’t any decade old assailants who have been biding their time in the shadows.
Mac’s chest flops, and he doesn’t know why.
“So, anyway,” He suddenly announces, feeling far more awkward about the whole ordeal than before, “The place isn’t liveable yet. The plumbing probably needs to be changed, and the house itself might be old enough to still have lead pipes, which, you know, isn’t really ideal. And it’s a toss-up on whether or not the hvac system works, but I don’t really like those odds.”
“And you’re gonna fix it up?”
Mac sends him a look. “Yeah? Who else?”
“Professionals, maybe? You know, the guys who do this all the time?”
Shrugging, Mac replies, “It’ll be a good challenge. Besides, it’s not like I have anything else going on.”
“School?”
The single worded question hangs in the air for a few moments, before Mac turns his back. It’s been assumed, sure, but he hasn’t actually told anyone yet. “I’m not going to graduate.”
#me reading my own writing like ''ooh this is intriguing i can't wait to read more!''#only to realize that i in fact will not read more unless i actually sit down and write it myself#in which vi thinks about writing#in which vi actually writes#macgyver 2016#asks
12 notes
·
View notes
Note
WIP game: Jack reads files👀👀
I talked about it a bit here, but here's some unused words for you!
Deacon lurks over Dalton’s shoulder like he’d been directly hired by Mason to do so.
He doesn’t bother to shut the file, knowing full well that Deacon already knows what he’s been staring at, before turning around. “Do you fucking mind?”
“It’s the third time in the past hour that you've growled at a piece of paper, Dalton.”
“Can’t a guy want to know what he’s getting into?”
“I’ve seen you more unbothered going into a kill box. That’s not what it is. What’s got your attention?”
Dalton glances back at the manilla folder, papers spilling out the edges. “Artemis.”
“Still?”
“There’s somethin’ about her that I’m missing, man. I swear.”
#YES SIR THERE IS!!!! YOU ARE MISSING SOMETHING!!!! WHEN IT COMES TO HER!!!!!!!!!!!!#in which vi thinks about writing#in which vi actually writes#macgyver 2016#remittent distress#although these words specifically might not be used the sentiment is absolutely going to be there in chapter seven. 10000%#asks
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
I’m cackling PLEASE tell me about ‘this man is going to have problems!!!!!’
asdfkjdskjfjk okay so this is the working title for my The Martian fic that i wrote literally 95% - 99% of in january of 2022 and have STILL NOT FINISHED and it bothers me more than i'd like to admit that i cannot find the right way to end it. i wrote 7k words and then shrugged and said "okay well all i need is like 300 more words to conclude it!" and then got stuck there for over two years. and now i'm writing my thesis on mars, so mark watney has clearly gotten the last laugh here.
I'm not sure if you're familiar with The Martian, but here's some fun words from that fic regardless :D
I’m going to go back home. Back to a planet that isn’t actively trying to kill me at any given moment.
And just like that, all of the fight leaves me in an instant.
I feel so unbelievably naked, and that’s not just because I’m sitting on a cot wearing only my boxers. It’s like a switch has been flipped in my brain, and all I can think about is Earth.
Home.
“...ney. Dammit, Mark!”
Swallowing, I look up. Beck’s hand is on my shoulder and he’s closer to my face than he was just a second ago.
At least, what I assume was a second ago.
Who actually knows?
“Holy shit,” I mutter, looking at Beck. “I’m a fucking mess.”
There’s a quiet breath of relief when Beck realizes I’m speaking to him, but he still doesn’t pull his hand off of my shoulder. “Honestly Watney, I think that’s an understatement.”
#to date the only fic i've written in first person and only because the martian is written in first person#it feels SUPER weird to do that#...okay i guess my mash letters are technically also in first person but that doesn't feel the same to me even though it is#anyway mark watney i love u <3#and andy weir i want you to know you have unironically rewired my brain and i am willing to give half blame to you#for making me write my thesis about mars#[shakes fist]#in which vi thinks about writing#the martian
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
@dancing-my-life-away ask and ye shall receive!
jack reads files was originally going to be another fic in the Smoking Room series before I realized it'd be easier for everyone involved if I just wrote a big fic (Remittent Distress) instead of continuing to write smaller ones. A lot of the original words inside have since been cannibalized to fit my needs as I write Remittent Distress, however if it had been it's own thing, it would've been set around chapter 6 of Remittent Distress. The original idea was going to be a flip and flop between current day Jack Dalton and past time Riley Davis.
tragic backstory™️ (and yes, the trademark is actually in the title in my google drive) is a fic about Samantha Cage set in the same universe as A Stranger Close By, where we'd learn more about how Sam became the woman she was today by some events as an old teen/early twenty year old. After fleshing out this idea so much to the point where it couldn't even almost be considered canon to Cage nor anything that had to do with the MacGyver Reboot, it eventually became the skeleton for one of my novels, Paradigm, which has been sitting at about 50k words for about a year and a half now... oops 😅
tagged by @rosieblogstuff to make a new post and drop the names of my WIPs, and because I also don't have a WIP folder (my folders are far more nuanced and I don't have the brain cells to do something that smart), this probably won't be all of them
I have a handful of relatively tame ones:
jack reads files
snips from juvie
tragic backstory™️
fuck it desi lore
mash or pass
and then just random words that somehow make sense in this brain of mine:
fight club except not at all and also people die
autism be damned my boy can COOK
this man is going to have problems!!!!
another wip don't fucking @ me
the long needed abandonment complex overhaul
I also don't know if I can tag enough people, especially people who have already been tagged before so if you're reading this, I'm tagging you in all ways but physical and you can absolutely say that I tagged you
#as i write these i realize that my definition of WIP is quite loose lmao#in my defense. remittent distress IS without a doubt a WIP and so is paradigm#so the wips that made the actual WIPs should count too... right?#if you're curious. the WIP title for remittent distress is ''autism be damned my boy can COOK''#and i could not for the life of me tell you why that is#anyway i hope this answer answered some questions sorry if it raised more/was not ideal rip#speaking of remittent distress i am about 3k words into chapter 6 and. well. it sure is distress#it sure is
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
tagged by @rosieblogstuff to make a new post and drop the names of my WIPs, and because I also don't have a WIP folder (my folders are far more nuanced and I don't have the brain cells to do something that smart), this probably won't be all of them
I have a handful of relatively tame ones:
jack reads files
snips from juvie
tragic backstory™️
fuck it desi lore
mash or pass
and then just random words that somehow make sense in this brain of mine:
fight club except not at all and also people die
autism be damned my boy can COOK
this man is going to have problems!!!!
another wip don't fucking @ me
the long needed abandonment complex overhaul
I also don't know if I can tag enough people, especially people who have already been tagged before so if you're reading this, I'm tagging you in all ways but physical and you can absolutely say that I tagged you
#all of them are macgyver 2016 fics#except for the following: ''mash or pass'' is the name of the document where i'm keeping prompt fills/small little drabble things for MASH#yes i think i'm funny#and ''this man is going to have problems!!!!'' is a martian fic that's been 99% written for about 2 years at this point#if you're thinking to yourself ''how do you keep track of wips if you name them these things that are so unidentifiable??''#the answer is that i don't#it's kind of a problem#in which vi thinks about writing
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
2x06: Kim
Dear Dad,
There are very few things in Korea that I could ever consider missing. Ironically, those few things are probably the only ones that aren’t going to come back to haunt me in nightmares for the rest of my life.
We see bloodshed and dying kids and shrapnel on the good days, and send off boys with white sheets over their heads on the bad days. Or we would, if the army could afford to lose a few sheets. More often than not, the deceased go away on the same buses filled with the guys that managed to make it out.
Thousands of Korean civilians are getting caught up in this war. This Police Action. Which you’d think would make sense seeing as how it’s taking place in Korea, but nobody’s fooled by that. This isn’t a Korean War so much as it is a war taking place in Korea by chance. Sorry, Police Action. It gets me every time, you know that?
My point is, there’s very little to look forward to. Your letters are one of them, and the supply closet with rotating guests after an OR session is another. Especially now that I’ve managed to consistently sleep again. Consistent is a strong word, actually, but that’s neither here nor there.
I write to you today with almost good news! What a first, right? I can bet you that you weren’t expecting that one. So rarely is there a day that the sun actually feels like it’s shining down in a way that isn’t gunning to give us all horrendous sunburns. Even less so when children are involved, but for once, someone seemed to have taken pity on us for more than a single minute.
A kid came in, no older than eight years old, orphaned, ill, and unable to speak a lick of English. Now now, stick with me, I assure you this isn’t going to be as grim as it sounds. At first we tried to get Henry to track down his parents, and then Radar because we all know that kid’s got some uncanny power to find these things out, but nada. We came out blank.
Again, stick with me.
First of all, this kid was probably the most spoiled one in all of Korea for as long as we had him. The nurses adored him, and hell, even Margaret cooled down that fiery breath of her and showed her maternal side. Frank wasn’t quite as much of an imbecile as he always manages to be, and it’s like every single person in this whole damn camp knew that this kid was the most important thing in the world.
Kim, by the way. I realize I haven’t actually told you his name. A kid named Kim. But it’s not like we’re set up for keeping a kid at the 4077th, and we certainly aren’t authorized for it, so after we couldn't find his parents, the orphanage was the next on the list.
Which is just plain shit. It’s shit, dad.
And clearly I was not the only one who felt that way, ’cause Trap barely hesitated a second before admitting that he’d like nothing more than to take Kim home and raise him with his daughters. As much as that guy hates being sincere—almost as much as I do—you could just tell he meant it.
Trapper’s a good dad. Not as good as you, don’t start getting insecure on me, but he’s a good dad. Stuck in a place about 9000 miles away from his girls, and yet he still manages to be paternalistic like he never left. It’s the kind of guy that a girl would love to settle down with, you know?
Anyway, it all went by so fast. Confirmation from Louise (that’s his wife, I’m fairly sure I’ve told you about her before), excitement all around.
For just a couple of moments, it actually seemed like something good could’ve come out of this war. No no, police action. I’ll get myself there, yet.
Of course, this damn place turns everything rotten in some way or another. Optimism, I’ve found it, is more of an enemy than the guys shooting at us. At least we always know what to expect from the North Koreans.
That’s not to say it was all fun and dandy. There was a certain trip to a minefield that I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to forget, and if the past two nights have been any indication, I’m sure the nightmares of Trap’s limbs landing on my table aren’t going away any time soon either.
But things were supposed to work out.
Trap and Kim were safe in the end, and everything was supposed to fucking work out. It all was. It actually seemed like it was going to, and I think that’s the worst fucking part about it all.
It’s crazy just how quickly something good can be taken away from you. For a lot of people out here it’s their lives, their brothers, their sons. In this unit specifically, it’d take both of my hands to list the number of daughters that fathers have had to leave behind.
You could snap your fingers and in a fraction of the time for the sound to reach your ears, you could lose everything. Korea keeps humbling us, dad.
And even though I know it could’ve ended so much worse, it still feels like a punch in the gut for Kim to not be on a plane to Trap’s family. Finding Kim’s mother was nothing short of a miracle. It’s a goddamn happy ending if there’s ever been one, and yet I still find myself, selfishly, thinking about the McIntyre’s having a third kiddo running around.
How could such a crummy place give us so much hope? More importantly, how come we keep falling for it? Sometimes I think that’s the most cruel part of it of all.
I’m sorry if I was ever a difficult kid to raise. I’ve always known I got lucky, even with the whole dead mom thing, but seeing the shit out here really makes me wish I could go back in time and slap myself and tell me to appreciate every last thing in Crabapple Cove. Especially you.
I love you. I don’t think I say it enough. I love you, dad.
Hawk
Previous | Next
#even i was naive watching this episode 50 years later#what do you mean trapper doesn't get one good thing happen to him???? :(#once again reblogging my own writing#again i promise i will not forever
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
3x11: Adam's Ribs
Dear Dad,
Remember that flu season back in ’32? When it felt like you were gone every night jumping to every single household with a kid in it because everyone all got sick all at once? And how it was after mom died but you decided that I was old enough to stay home alone, only for you to come back on that Tuesday to find me throwing up my guts all over the floor?
Good times. Terrible times, actually, but despite my pacifistic tendencies, I’d fucking kill to go through that again than the fresh hell that is my current hell. I nearly wrote you this letter from the latrines, which is terrible on multiple levels, especially considering I was actually looking forward to write to you this time.
I’ve said before that one of these days I’m finally going to snap, and even though I’m still in one piece, I’m not convinced that it’s an uncracked one. Eleven days. Eleven straight days of liver of fish, making our own damn never ending season of seafood up in Maine truly dwarf in size. Eleven straight days and I’m half convinced that each subsequent day was just the previous one’s leftovers! The fact that they’re serving us kidney at all blows my fucking mind, and over a week and a half of it for every meal has me half convinced that I’ve dreamt it all up.
They don’t tell you about how every grueling day feels like a dream, same motions, same food, same jokes, just different supporting actors underneath my scalpel.
On the seventh day God rested, and on the eleventh day Hawkeye Pierce fucking cracked. Like I said, there’s only so many days where a man can eat liver of fish. Trap and I made this ridiculous plan—honestly, dad, I didn’t think about it working or not. I just needed something to break up the monotony. Anything. ANYTHING.
You know the place in Chicago I told you about however many years ago? The one that had the best barbequed ribs in the entire country? Couldn’t remember the name at first, but it’s Adam’s Ribs.
Adam’s Goddamn Ribs.
A couple of pulled strings and a hell of a lot of favors somehow managed to bring us back to Chicago. Or I guess Chicago to us. It doesn’t matter- the only thing that mattered is that we somehow fucking managed to get Adam’s Ribs in the worst corner of all of Korea and Igor cooked them up and hell dad, they were the best damn things I think I’ve ever smelled in my life.
Course, ambulances poured in the second I had my hands on them, but it made for a hell of an OR session. That’s how they should be teaching speed for MASH surgeons. Nevermind the live rounds and constant shelling, just put the idea of tantalizing, edible food on a stick right above a surgeon and you’d get the fastest cutters in the West. East.
But, oh father, I know what you’re thinking now: why the reminder of the great flu season of 1932 when so far the only thing your dear child has spoken about has been spare ribs from the great state of Illinois?
Here’s where the story gets good. And by good, I mean fucking terrible.
Great OR session, by the way. Took out enough shrapnel out of intestines to build a full new bomb, and not a single patient lost. Igor reheated the ribs for me and Trap and we had what could only be described as the greatest midnight snack in the history of the entire war. Or not just in the war, but in the history of the entire world. We headed back to our bunks more full than after a Thanksgiving spread, and not even Frank’s sniveling could change a thing.
That is before a solid and conscience five minutes had passed.
Five minutes. Five lousy minutes of euphoria that just nearly made me forget about the terrible place that I’d been forced into. And then I spent the next hour and a half, throwing up every single bit of edible food. Made the worst flu pale in comparison, I’ll tell you that much. Couldn’t even make it to the latrine the first time, and I think I scared the wits outta Trapper since it probably sounded like I was vomiting up my organs right outside his side of the tent.
He’s a good man, Trap. Picked me up off the ground like you would’ve and helped me stumble to the latrines where I could continue throwing up every bit of goodness that I had managed to make for myself in this camp. Practically held my hair back like I was his girl, believe it or not.
I’m writing this letter from post-op, you know. Trap’s got himself convinced that I managed to get food poisoning from the long trip that the ribs made in order to get from us. Not sure how he’s reached that conclusion given that he has exactly zero symptoms, but hell, I’m not volunteering any other explanations to him.
Between you and me, I think I’ve become a bit of a cuckoo, if you can read between the lines there.
I mean, what sane person would practically stage a mutiny just to get food from a specific restaurant that he couldn’t even remember the name of in the first place? If Henry was just 2% more done with my shit, he could’ve gotten me in real trouble. Hell, if Henry was any other CO, I’d probably be on trial with a death sentence looming over my head for the shit I pulled just to get the first real food I’d have since stepping foot on that plane.
All that just to throw it up a few minutes later. I may not have snapped quite yet, but I’m cracking, dad.
I hope next flu season is kind to you up there.
Love, Hawkeye
Previous | Next
#what's this? writing that looks and sounds suspiciously like me own? that's because it is SIKE#this is my new mash sideblog where i am just going to write fics in the form of dear dad letters for however many episodes i want until#i start frothing at the mouth#give me a follow if you'd like or don't if you don't want to!#i'll probably reblog from here a handful of times in the beginning but not forever so fear not non mash followers and fans
1 note
·
View note
Text
girl help I’m crying over an astronaut meme
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
howdy d’ant used m’lady! it’s highly effective
They should invent a new pokemon called "howdy d'ant" and he should look like this
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
poke-classics series ~ each available as archival giclee prints in signed editions of 60
10K notes
·
View notes
Note
Wrote an expansion of the fic!
Ether Way, It's No Good
Because @impossiblepluto's tags had me in a chokehold and I couldn't not write a bit more...
For your prompt, then maybe a broken bone? Or passing out? Whatever you prefer, no certain fandom, you decide✨
decisions are hard :( i'm thinking about mash now though so i think it'll be mash 😅
“...Hawkeye?”
“Put a mask on, Radar.”
“Oh-” the kid reaches for his face for a second before shaking his head. “You’re not in surgery anymore, Hawk.”
This time when he opens his eyes, Hawkeye actually looks around. “Why the hell not?”
“Oh, gee, do you not remember?”
“Gimme the footnotes. And help me stand up.”
“I don’t know Hawk, you’re lookin’ really pale.”
“Dammit, Radar-”
“Colonel said it was the ether. ’Cause you ran out of the- the- look, I don’t know to say it. The sleepy drug.”
“Did it start with an ‘s’?” Before Radar has a chance to answer, Hawkeye waves him off. “Forget it. Tell me I didn’t fall in my patient.”
“Oh, no sir. You fell backwards. Into Hunnicut.”
“Oh, good, a damsel in distress falling into the man of my dreams.” Eyes still slightly glassed over, Hawkeye reaches out for Radar with one hand, the other pushing up on the wooden box currently keeping his body off of the ground. “Help me up- how many left in pre-op.”
“Colonel said to bring you to the swamp.”
As if he didn’t hear the last sentence, Hawkeye adds, “And grab me a new mask, wouldja?”
#i wish it was possible to show a graph of written words versus irl time#because the ensemble scenes take me almost exactly twice as long to write the same amount of words as non-ensemble scenes#it's wild#but you know what? we work on it and we improve 😎#in which vi actually writes#mash#M*A*S*H#hawkeye pierce#bj hunnicut#radar o'reilly#margaret houlihan#i also did in fact remember what episode it was that they ran out of sodium pentathol#the fic is set after that by the way#i should probably mention that somewhere#anyway#do you. do you get it. the title#it's a pun :D (i promise it's not misspelled it's like that on purpose)
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
currently bursting with love and joyous emotions
3K notes
·
View notes